Keys, Blood, Life and Hope

Day 378

Here is a bit of bored-on-the-bus creative writing. An unedited splurge of – whatever it is.

I wouldn’t get too excited if I were you. No really, don’t.

* * *

I used to think it was life that continually slammed my misery-doors shut, throwing over the bolts and snapping off light-giving keys in locks. Never me, of course. It was never me.

A pity-party of one. I would constantly push at the ungiving doors; granite guards keeping me away from everyone else. They were unyielding and constant, silently holding me in shadows, tears, and poisoned thoughts.

Kicking and screaming until alcohol flooded my bad blood. Then all would be fine – I would calm and numb and cry. Just for a while. Until my body screamed out for more poison, my mind shrieking at the darkness. My knuckles painted the door in red strokes. The constant self-savagery – my dying cycle. A poisoned rabbit hole. Constantly lost and refusing to be found. My death’s daily basis.

Only alive by luck. Luck and more luck. The only lottery I had won was the struggling heart flushing life back into me as I willingly pushed it out. My heart, my nemesis. It fought a life less convenient. At least it fought. I didn’t.

If I’d only known during those years, if I’d only checked my pockets. I would have found the key, shiny and unused. My key! I would have discovered that I was my own the key-maker, capable of unlocking any door that barred my way.

If only I’d have listened to others, and my deeper self. My screams had kept me locked from the arms of the world. I had cried out so loud and for so long. So many years. I couldn’t recognise my own voice or my own barely-pulsing heart. The only thing left was hope.

The hope to live finally won over the hope to fade away. My key flourishes in my chest. Doors are always now open to let the light flood in.

Many others scream into a darkness where nothing gets in. I now give out roadmaps so they can discover their own keys. I can’t unlock for them – but they can. But once I convince them that ‘they’ are the key to their own life – they can begin once again.

No more screaming. No more blood. No more anger – just life! Simply life.

Like I said, nothing to get excited about.

Take care all xx

Shadows Bursting into Colour

Day 377

This sketch really knocked me for six when I saw it today (unfortunately the artist wasn’t named to give credit on here). I haven’t been able to take my eyes off it. It threw some big emotions around my head and heart.

The image is how I imagine the how my son saw me not so many years ago. His dad slowly but surely fading away in front of his eyes. Watching helplessly and unable to do anything, no matter how hard he tried. And he really tried.

I like to think of myself now as fully-sketched and visible. As time goes on there may be a bit of colour appearing. We fade away during the fog and filth of alcoholism, we don’t care. We allow ourselves to disappear. Unfortunately, some of us never come back. Thankfully I did.

In a perfect world, every addict would eventually come back. In a perfect world, there would be no such thing as addiction. But unfortunately, the world is far from perfect.

My son can now see his dad. For many years he only saw the fast-fading shadow. My hope is to be the brightest painting I can possibly paint for us both.

Take care all xx

If anyone knows the artist’s name, please let me know

Where the Oddness Alien Sleeps

Day 376

1 year and 11 days sober! In the history of me, this length of time has never happened before. All this doing well stuff is odd and alien. It’s almost too surreal to take in. But to remain well, I must accept it to continue with a new life. It’s simply another weird day in my office of addiction and recovery.

Historically, I’m accustomed to doing everything the wrong way. Embarrassing myself and acting pathetic was the norm. Listening to the daily accounts from people I knew, of the fool I had made of myself, I had simply resigned and accepted all the negatives as my normality. As an addict, the positives didn’t seem an option.

I couldn’t (wouldn’t?) fix any of it. I had accepted my lot. That was simply the way it was. I’d shrug it off as just another day. Physical and mental pain was easily blotted out by emptying a bottle down my throat. I perceived true normality as so alien and surreal that it appeared completely unattainable.

I was comfortably numb in the hell I had created for myself.

Unfortunately, hell has tentacles. They spread out and wrapped themselves around the people I loved, hurting them in the process. I was dragging them down into the darkness with me instead of holding their hands as they tried desperately to pull me up into the light. Like many other addicts, I had to learn the hard way. My personal devastation was well-deserved – or so I thought.

But here I am doing well. My hopes and dreams are slowly but surely becoming reality. It hasn’t been easy and often felt impossible at times. I’ve had to work incredibly hard, 24/7 to achieve the things I have so far. I’m doing well. But it feels odd.

I still retain the cynical darkness of an addict. Paranoia and apprehension always lurk somewhere.

“Why is all this happening to me?” I used to say in the bad old self-pitying days. I’m still saying it now, but thankfully for good reasons. I’ll always peep around the corner and expect something bad when I’ve done something positive. I slightly shudder at praise from friends and mentors, looking around to check it’s me they are talking to. Always on my guard. Learned behaviour, I guess.

I even paused this blog and made it private at one point because it all seemed to be going so well. People were saying fantastic and encouraging things about it. Go figure!

It’s hard to give myself a break, a pat on the back or (on the rare occasions I look) smile at myself in the mirror.

It’s all very odd.

But good.

But odd.

So, these days I learn acceptance and seem to be doing well. In the very early days, sobriety was a strange, ridiculous, and frightening idea. But now I embrace it and deal with it. Getting sober is hard but I get on with it. Doing well is still odd and alien but I’m doing it. It’s far from normal – but what even is normal?

Believe me, I ain’t no saint. I’m sure I’ll do something ridiculous, embarrassing, stupid, and worrying. Maybe terrible things may happen to me. But at least it won’t be because I’m drunk. It will be because I’m human like everyone else. And that’s a thing I can now accept. Everything else will just take time.

Baby steps.

Stay safe and amazing everyone xx