Today. My husband has been in rehab for 10 days.

I lay in wait in nebulous isolation. The isolation a paradoxical state. Outside the world is on fire, inside my husband is healing, outside I am here grieving MY past, THE present, and THE WORLD’S future. Inside I am celebrating my husband’s recovery, outside I am distracted by the world’s woes. Deep inside I witness the duplicitous faces of isolation. It is suffering and comfort. It is solitude and connection. It is strength and surrender. It is pride and humility. It is fear and resiliency. It is shame and honor. It is joy and despair.

Day 2 of blackout phase rehab (I am fascinated by physics)

I want to isolate. Instead I try to meditate. But I am still alone. I feel my dog licking one spot on my elbow over and over again. Okay so I am not alone. I have my dog and my two cats. But still, they are not human beings.

I want to isolate. I know I need connection. I know I need a support system. It can’t just be me, my animals, my books, and my devices. I want to isolate because sometimes talking is tiring. I want to isolate because not to means change. And change is hard. Especially when you are tired and fearful.

I want to isolate because then I can keep doing the same old shit. Putting on my mask at work, pretending my home life has not been an abyss of chaos.

I want to isolate because then I don’t have to reconnect with old friends. Seeing friends means pretending my home life isn’t a mountain of pain. And I don’t want to lie. I am already withholding so much at work.  It takes a toll, the withholding. It builds like a storm,  filling you up with hollow, thieving, and parasitic energy.

So I want to isolate so I don’t have to withhold. The isolation hurts and it feels comforting. I full on cried at home on my bed this weekend, just sobbing. According my very miniscule, minimal, not time consuming, not at all exhaustive research on letting go, I am allowed to cry.  There was my dog, by my side, not licking my elbow but licking the tears from my face instead. She can’t hold me, she’s only an 8 pound chihuahua. So there was no one to hold me.

I want to isolate because that is what I have been doing. And change is so damn hard. Even when the change pulls you out of the gutter, it is still hard. It is freaking inertia. There are two scenarios, both of which are probably true. Scenario 1 is based on this definition of inertia: tendency of an object to resist changes in its velocity. Change is like trying to stop an object (me) in motion that is traveling with light-speed velocity. Not easy to do. I have been traveling this way with this speed for so damn long. Or scenario 2 is based on this definition of inertia: tendency of an object to resist acceleration. The object (me) has been stagnant without motion for so long that I just can’t seem to initiate that first step toward change.

Inertia. I am trying though. I looked at the Boston MeetUp groups for new bloggers (ha! I am laughing out loud), writers, and other things I am interested in.  I know when and where the closest Al-anon groups are; they are bookmarked on my phone. Baby steps,  I tell myself. I am seeing my human therapist one time per week. Progress,  I tell myself. I talked to my best friend in California (she knows everything). Step in the right direction,  I say to myself.

But still, I want to isolate.  I stumble in isolation because I rapidly travel through the void without being able to stop.  Inertia, scenario 1. I am fogged with fatigue because I can’t seem to muster up enough energy to rouse. Inertia, scenario 2. I am working hard to maintain resiliency. Trying to keep my end of the bargain with myself and practice self-love.

But still, still, still, I want to isolate. I am going to forgive myself for this. But my-self does not appreciate the isolation. I am now engaging in a monologue-dialogue with myself. I need reciprocity. I crave community. I have fallen victim to inertia.

Today. My husband has been in rehab for 10 days.

It feels like the world is burning.  My paradoxical state and the laws of physics:  I crave community but I want to isolate. I suffer from inertia but I am ready for change. He is inside healing and I am outside fighting. I am grieving, but I am grateful.

Please readers, give gentle loving kindness to each other. We all need it. 


21 thoughts on “Inertia

  1. Having traveled the road I have and having lost everything over and over and over again, and had I not learned how to adapt to a rapidly changing reality, that reality would have consumed me. You can do this. Don’t cheat yourself of the isolation you need to heal and be ready to step back out when the time is right. You’ll know when it’s the right time.

    Liked by 2 people

  2. Hello, friend. You’re clearly courageous, look at what you’re up against. Now, here’s the thing about going to meetings: ya don’t gotta like it, ya just gotta do it.
    Try out a few local meetings and you’ll get a feel for them. There is a woman out there who needs a friend like you. 😉

    Liked by 1 person

    1. I know I have to go, not sure why taking the step is so hard. Maybe because I have spent so much time focusing on my husband…it’s scary to have to face myself. And others. I’m still processing the reality. Thanks for supporting.

      Liked by 1 person

    1. Thank you so much, I am finding more and more ways to re enter my community, as a way to support myself and others. In recovery and as a way to join in creating positive change. I find it is a process that requires many small steps as I try to juggle everyday life and work. There is so much to be done in these difficult times.

      Liked by 1 person

  3. Thank you for liking one of my posts. I am a recovering alcoholic myself. I had my last drink 01-12-1991. It took about 5 years clean before I could start saying that I was sober. If I can ever be of help please feel free to ask. To keep it we have to give it away. Peace, Marshall

    Liked by 1 person

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