Self pity, Personal misery.

I love looking back though the kaleidoscope of my past. Many memories were documented which would have long been forgotten by present feelings of bliss. When I read my thoughts and relive some of the feelings of my past it is humbling. It reminds me of how far I have come. It also fills me with compassion for all the people still traveling down this dark and frightening trail of their journey. 

 My son heard me reading this poem out loud; so I explained to him that in life we all go through dark times. We feel confused. We feel crazy. We feel alone. My hope is that for him and whoever else that comes by this will know that we don't have to stay there in this pattern of thinking. As long as we keep moving and fighting, things eventually get better.

I don't think this way currently. Though it still isn't easy by any means. I don't feel as alone anymore. Most of all I no longer feel I have to hide my past. That really ended when I started this blog. Granted I always told people about it, I didn't really go into this much detail. I hope you enjoy it.

"I think I’ve been abandoned locked away a prisoner of my own thinking. Trapped in a trip, pleading screaming I can’t do this on my own! I’m stuck in the middle. I’m in a pickle. I’m feeling sick and I want to puke; there’s nothing I can do. I’m exhausted of self-pity my own personal misery; this life, this recovery. The sick are sickening. 

Fuck it, I’m tired of asking for help. Put the pity on the shelf. I've got to do this for my self. Hide my history, package it with misery and toss it into eternity, it’s final destiny. Personal progress preserves me preoccupying my racing thoughts of negativity, funneling it positively constructively. Morals and ethics cannot surpass plain kindness and selflessness. Real virtue avoids extremes it’s true; it seems even in my dreams you are true. 

There’s no one I can talk to. No one to understand. Reasonably my story even told passionately sounds like drug induced insanity. In reality my life has been a funnel of dust storming through a desert. The wilderness. Who can help me? I’m but dust in the wind. The universe is collapsing around me; my dreams are haunting me while I'm surrounded by skeletons of persuasion testing preconceived thoughts I once thought of right and wrong."

What have I learned from this reflection? This seems like it was a pivotable moment for some of my recovery. A time where I decided to really take control. It's strange the balance we need. The balance of asking for help and at the same time putting our own work in. Maybe this is a point where we can really be most effective? 

This old poem also reminds me of how difficult recovery was in the beginning. I can see why we feel so alone during this transition. That loneliness I believe is a cause of many relapses. Bottom line is we can't stop trying. We can't give up. No matter what.

Lesson Learned: Put your pity on the shelf, if you need help ask, do what you can yourself.

The BA2L is real,
Be addicted to Life.


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