I'm beat.
An overly ambitious commitment I made just prior to beginning recovery finally wound itself up this past Friday. (Hence the two week pause in posts.)
I survived with sobriety in tact, but let me tell you, my friends, it's a miracle.
Whether it's the stars, the moon, or the flow of the Universe, this weekend was full of endings for me (and, perhaps, a few beginnings...) I'm physically and emotionally drained. To steal a quote from Joyce Carol Oates, my soul feels as thin as a playing card.
I just re-read my last post with some good natured, ironic amusement.
One thing that's become abundantly clear over the course of the 428 hours since I last wrote is that nothing stays the same. Life is always changing. Every hour, every minute, every breath.
My life is up and down. My emotions and thoughts circle, soar, dive, bounce, rebound. I have earth-shattering epiphanies followed promptly by prolonged episodes of whiny, self-centered, bellyaching.
I hurt. I smile. I feel numb. Then I feel so much that numbness seems like a blessing.
Every other moment I'm on the verge of tears. That sensation is syncopated by white hot flashes of rage, oceanic swells of grief, and barren stretches of futility and hopelessness.
Thankfully, my higher power has seen to it that the right people tend to show up at the right time to keep nudging me back to the middle of the road. I'm not moving very fast these days along the road of recovery, and I'm weaving like someone seriously soused.
The trick, of course, is acceptance. To recognize and acknowledge all these ups and downs but not chase off after them. Not judge myself for feeling this way or that. Not to get caught up in the craziness of it all.
This tipping point of emotions is a strange perch for me. I've always been one to swallow (literally and figuratively) what I'm feeling. To disappear. Now that I've given up my trusty escape hatch, I'm stuck feeling all the things I've been ignoring for so long.
I've affectionately labeled this state "the thaw". My emotional iceberg is breaking up. Cracks in the ice are loosing big chunks of frozen feeling. My insides are rumbling and shifting. Sometimes it's so thunderous I think the world might end.
It's really difficult for me to stay put. I'd do just about anything to get away from it all. I've been unfocused, distracted, edgy, and wild. I've been horny and restless and anxious and mean.
But I've also done positive, productive things. My friend P. came over this weekend and we created a new flowerbed in my back yard. It was hard work (and only two ex-drunks would attempt to start a garden in high heat of a Kentucky summer!) Nevertheless, we put the finishing touches on this evening, and I feel like I've accomplished something meaningful and spiritual. (Next I have to learn the names of whatever the hell it is we planted...)
If there has been any theme for the past two weeks, it's been the war I carry on with myself between control and letting go. My emotional self it terrified by anything transitory. I want everything in its proper place, clearly labeled, and well lit. Then I can feel safe. Then I can let myself feel. Life, of course, just rolls on along and is outrageously indifferent to my preferences.
You'd think I'd learn pretty quickly to stop trying to fight the flow--especially since it always, always wins. I, of course, with my predilection for addiction, want to hang on to those experiences that feel good, while rushing everything negative straight out of the yard.
Speaking of...my front yard has been infested with these Clive Barker-esque nightmare wasps that live in the ground. Supposedly they're non-aggressive towards humans, but they're scaring the neighbors, and they make me nervous, (they're about 4 inches long, black-and-yellow striped, and there are probably 60 of them) so an exterminator is scheduled for tomorrow...
With all the changes going on in my life and in my emotions, I've found my identity is undergoing a potent transformation as well. I'm not really sure who I am these days. I get flashes sometimes, from my deepest self, perfumed wisps of a heart's desire that rise up over the stench and clamor of my brain and body. I catch a breath of serenity in the wind.
So much seems to happen every day now. I do truly have to take it one day at a time. (As if there were any alternative...)
Parts of me feel so grateful and at peace. Other parts of me jealously guard my own grief and discontent. So many voices, so many thoughts, so many feelings--and all me.
I'm glad to make it back to my blog. To pick back up my old routine.
I'll catch you again soon.
For now, though:
Honesty, serenity, and hope, folks--24 hours at a time...
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