When you first get clean and sober after a bad run- no matter how many times you do it- there is, for me at least, this stretch of time that is perfect and beautiful. Right after the withdrawals dissipate, and right before reality comes crashing in, with all its boredom and mediocrity. I have been suspicious, for quite some time, that one could actually become addicted to that little space in time, the unadulterated bliss that comes right after another brush with disaster. I have dubbed it the “Phoenix Syndrome”, because it feels so good to rise up from the ashes.
But there comes a time when you just aren’t willing to destroy yourself one more time, even knowing how good it might feel to get back down in your addiction again, and how amazing it feels to get out. Because, here’s the thing- you can’t stop remembering, anymore, how hard it was to get out. How you thought you might never get out, last time. How you barely did. And maybe you just don’t have it in you to live a double life anymore, or have worse than no life at all- just an endless string of days in limbo, years flashing by in a minute. Maybe you just can’t bear the thought of laying waste, once more, to the relationships you have been trying to breathe life back into…maybe you can’t bear the thought of destroying the trust you are finally building, the trust that never should have been called into question in the first place.
This is kind of where I am- my feral side straining at the leash of my domesticated existence. It’s not that I want to get high, I don’t. I just want to feel alive, feel lively…and I have never learned, really, how to do this in a way that isn’t destructive. I am not willing to self destruct anymore, I just don’t have it in me. So I am seeking…something. Some new way, some GOOD way, to feel lively. I don’t want to go backwards, I want to be happy.
I suspect that perhaps, I need to change my idea of what happiness is. It doesn’t always have to be wild, and leave you breathless and half crazy. I have seen and experienced for myself, happiness as quiet and peace- the rain on the roof, a baby asleep in the crook of your arm. Happiness as a gray morning, fogging up the windows, and a day with nothing to do.
Perhaps I am just resistant to the changes in my life, and maybe it is because I am afraid. Afraid of the unknown…but it’s really ALL the unknown, isn’t it? There are no guarantees. Maybe it is just in my nature to seek, to always be seeking, though. Maybe that is what I need to do to feel alive, to be lively, huh? And maybe this is not such a terrible thing.