Blackout-Day 14, Treatment-Day 28
I long for cold. I long for winter. Everyone loves the beautiful mild November days that we are experiencing here in Massachusetts. Not me. They are a reminder of a warmth that I do not feel. They remind me of energy and activity depleted. No, I am yearning for hibernation. And change, I want change.
The world feels cruel and unforgiving sometimes. My soul has taken a beating and my body wears the wounds like buttons on a tattered jacket, closing and then opening me up to a bitter atmosphere. My body has suffered: first the knotted muscles in my neck and back with some relief to follow, sleeplessness, fear, and sadness in the face of hatred, and yesterday morning the exhaustion emerging, turning into a sore throat by evening with razor blades in my throat every time I swallowed.
I am now sick as a dog. I feel disappointed in myself. The sickness and pain makes the self-love seem impossible. It is difficult to write, to exercise, to make it to therapy, to get enough sleep, or to get to a meeting. Too often we measure ourselves by achievements that we can check off of a list. Perhaps I had some notion that the time he was away would lead to life shattering metamorphosis and enlightenment. A magic wand would be waved, and lightness would fill my life. I would share this story of transformation with my readers.
I take a survey of my life, and that is not the reality. Everything looks kind of the same, but duller. The emotional roller coaster of addiction and the US presidential election coupled with the stress of work and everyday responsibilities have me drained. No there hasn’t been a magical revolution of self since blackout. I am going to accept this with resistance. I am going to try to honor the process, the ups and the downs, the daily struggles, the small accomplishments. I am going to honor my humanity. A humanity that is fragile and a humanity that is resilient. I can accept disappointment and resist resignation.
Addiction has resulted in isolation but I’m working on fighting this. The election has resulted in devastation. I am working on fighting this too. I saw my parents last weekend. I have plans with a new friend Sunday (hopefully I will be well enough to go). I met an old childhood friend for sushi last weekend. I told her openly about my life and marriage suffering from addiction. She lost her brother to a fentanyl laced heroin overdose. Sometimes the world is so wicked. I am reminded to be grateful that my husband is in treatment. That he has a chance at recovery.
The world can be wicked and my husband is in rehab. I suffer from feelings of stasis, pain, fear, and sadness. But then there’s this: I may not be a model of enlightenment and mental health, but I am okay. My husband has been gone for 28 days so far, and I am still here. I am here standing, surviving, living, breathing, and working. My apartment is clean and my pets are fed. There is food in my refrigerator and some money in my bank account. As for the state of the country, well that is another story. But here I am resisting resignation. I am fighting. I am writing in my blog. My soul has taken a beating but it is not broken.