November 30th2018 was an important date: one year clean to the day. The “miracle” had already happened; the cravings and nightmares had subsided, but the shame and guilt remained -and still do, but not exactly. The events which led up to and occurred during my period of addiction are hazy fragments at best. I choose not to recollect them, to forget and push on through, but there remains a lingering dysphoria: not all is well with me upstairs. I’m nervous, paranoid and angry. I did not want this. When I saw it coming, I cowered.
Then there are questions and regrets. Of course I regret doing what I did, and often wish I had just fucked off out of there, never tried it, but then I wouldn’t be where I’m at now, and that’s a tough thing to deal with. Where would I be? Would things have still turned out this way, or would I be living a different life altogether? Would I have learned as much about myself? Would I have learned humility? I’ve always valued wisdom as a thing which can only be acquired through experience. It’s a powerful trait, but I still wonder if the sleepless nights, sclerotic veins, the persistent feeling of despair, the self-loathing, all of this and so much more, if everything was worth it. At this point, the cards have been dealt. But maybe, if I play my hand right, I’ll keep up top. I’m not invincible. That was an important lesson.
Another thing I learned: I don’t trust anyone anymore. I thought I understood that man was a sick animal before, but I wasn’t ready, and I still think most humans and their secret faces areuglier than I know even now. Everybody wears a mask, sometimes a few. It’s the face beneath that bites hardest; it’s the real deal, teeth and all, the one not to fuck with. I suppose I’m like that, too.
But I’m trying.
Towers of Rust 