trocious
Bluelighter
- Joined
- Mar 23, 2010
- Messages
- 80
I know this is probably blog material, but I felt like I needed to post it somewhere that people could just read and maybe relate to it. Basically this is where I'm at or been at for a while, stuck in a cycle of using amps then wanting to get clean but being unable to. Let me know what you think or what emotions/feelings/thoughts this invokes! Thanks guys.
There I sat cold, clammy, and reserved in the heart of Grand Central Station; a shell of a man dressed in a quality suit and tie. A feeble attempt to project an image of power, authority, and togetherness that I knew was false. Although I was surrounded by hundreds, if not thousands, of commuters and train-goers, I was alone. No way to reach out, no hope for meaningful interaction. I knew it was possible, I knew that if I just tried hard enough I could connect to someone, anyone. But I couldn't. Without that false inflation of my ego, and the soaring confidence that accompanied it, I was just another lost soul waiting for the next train to nowhere. Where was I going? Not even I knew.
I had just finished the last of my stash, the fuel that fired my rise to the top. Now that it was gone, I realized the top was an illusion created by my lust for something more. Something that normal, sober life never seemed to offer. No, sobriety never really suited me; it was just too messy to sort out the artifacts of my past while dealing with the problems in my present.
Why do I feel this way? Why does everyone in my life doubt my ability, yet laud my achievements and elevate my potential to an unreachable pedestal? This double standard is tearing me apart. One day I'm nothing but a useless junkie, forever doomed to a life of needles, drug deals, and sketchy people. The next, I'm a good man, destined for greatness. Why can't I simply be that man, day in and day out? There seems to be no straightforward answer. No, of course not; that answer lies buried beneath a cemetery of forgotten memories, a voluntarily constructed graveyard housing the darkest demons this life has to offer. Unfortunately, despite my best efforts, those demons seem to surface on cold winter nights, when my addiction has had time to feed on my warped, drug-addled brain.
Ragged. Torn. I know what it's like to be doomed to a solitary cell, painted a dull grey by years of self-inflicted abuse and torture. Once vibrant, shiny, and illustrious, the colors of my mind no longer dance their sacred dance. No, the colors of my mind are now locked away somewhere deep beneath the pain, shame, guilt, and hurt. These days my neurons stumble, tripping over their own dendrites, reduced to a pathetic, trembling, dysfunctional mess. The days when they fired happily in a uniform rhythm, content to oscillate to the natural frequencies of life's joy, are a fading memory.
Were those days even real? Is it even possible to regain my sense of direction, purpose, and meaning that seemed to effortlessly steer me through so many torrential storms and rough seas? That lingering, clawing, nagging doubt tells me no. However convincing that voice may be, I prefer to side with the small glimmer of hope that tells me everything will be alright. I want to hold onto that kind, gentle, and soothing yet invigorating spark of light that allows me to keep striving for a better life.
I need to hold onto that light...desperately. For when I let go, the darkness that was waiting patiently to engulf me all along, amused by my struggle, finally comes rushing over me. As the demon takes over, imposing its unique, particular -distinct- brand of suffering, something noxious becomes palpable; the miasma of sick satisfaction surrounds me, making my already dim light even harder to hold onto. Losing sight of the one thing that gave me comfort and hope serves only to amplify my already overwhelming, visceral, existential dread. As I'm being smothered, suffocated, and enveloped by countless icy tendrils, all mocking my helplessness, my last futile attempts to grasp for life are callously extinguished.
Don't applaud me for my professional achievements, my academic accolades, or the material possessions I've accumulated. Instead, acknowledge the sincere, genuine efforts I've earnestly made towards self-acceptance, personal understanding, and spiritual harmony. Smile at the progress I've made in developing my character, my morals, my values. Attaining material things and progressing professionally may take dedication and commitment, but it takes a different type of mettle- a different type of desire altogether-for one to find inner peace. Indeed, the person who sets out to obtain these treasures will require a rare set of traits: an unwavering devotion to adapt and a willingness to press on despite overwhelming odds; an aura of patience and serenity capable of withstanding hurricane force emotional winds; a knack for practicing humility while striving for personal growth; lastly, an optimistic, hopeful mindset that allows for hardships to be weathered in stride. The key to all of these is the maintenance of balance in life; even the most optimistic among us would benefit from taking an objective and realistic look at their life from time to time.
When individuals stop looking outside themselves for satisfaction, fulfillment, and validation, and instead turn their awareness and efforts inward, a profound change occurs. The constant, fruitless search for meaning, love, and acceptance becomes a process by which we become able to do exactly that. We begin to love, accept, and respect ourselves, all the while finding meaning and purpose in our lives.
There I sat cold, clammy, and reserved in the heart of Grand Central Station; a shell of a man dressed in a quality suit and tie. A feeble attempt to project an image of power, authority, and togetherness that I knew was false. Although I was surrounded by hundreds, if not thousands, of commuters and train-goers, I was alone. No way to reach out, no hope for meaningful interaction. I knew it was possible, I knew that if I just tried hard enough I could connect to someone, anyone. But I couldn't. Without that false inflation of my ego, and the soaring confidence that accompanied it, I was just another lost soul waiting for the next train to nowhere. Where was I going? Not even I knew.
I had just finished the last of my stash, the fuel that fired my rise to the top. Now that it was gone, I realized the top was an illusion created by my lust for something more. Something that normal, sober life never seemed to offer. No, sobriety never really suited me; it was just too messy to sort out the artifacts of my past while dealing with the problems in my present.
Why do I feel this way? Why does everyone in my life doubt my ability, yet laud my achievements and elevate my potential to an unreachable pedestal? This double standard is tearing me apart. One day I'm nothing but a useless junkie, forever doomed to a life of needles, drug deals, and sketchy people. The next, I'm a good man, destined for greatness. Why can't I simply be that man, day in and day out? There seems to be no straightforward answer. No, of course not; that answer lies buried beneath a cemetery of forgotten memories, a voluntarily constructed graveyard housing the darkest demons this life has to offer. Unfortunately, despite my best efforts, those demons seem to surface on cold winter nights, when my addiction has had time to feed on my warped, drug-addled brain.
Ragged. Torn. I know what it's like to be doomed to a solitary cell, painted a dull grey by years of self-inflicted abuse and torture. Once vibrant, shiny, and illustrious, the colors of my mind no longer dance their sacred dance. No, the colors of my mind are now locked away somewhere deep beneath the pain, shame, guilt, and hurt. These days my neurons stumble, tripping over their own dendrites, reduced to a pathetic, trembling, dysfunctional mess. The days when they fired happily in a uniform rhythm, content to oscillate to the natural frequencies of life's joy, are a fading memory.
Were those days even real? Is it even possible to regain my sense of direction, purpose, and meaning that seemed to effortlessly steer me through so many torrential storms and rough seas? That lingering, clawing, nagging doubt tells me no. However convincing that voice may be, I prefer to side with the small glimmer of hope that tells me everything will be alright. I want to hold onto that kind, gentle, and soothing yet invigorating spark of light that allows me to keep striving for a better life.
I need to hold onto that light...desperately. For when I let go, the darkness that was waiting patiently to engulf me all along, amused by my struggle, finally comes rushing over me. As the demon takes over, imposing its unique, particular -distinct- brand of suffering, something noxious becomes palpable; the miasma of sick satisfaction surrounds me, making my already dim light even harder to hold onto. Losing sight of the one thing that gave me comfort and hope serves only to amplify my already overwhelming, visceral, existential dread. As I'm being smothered, suffocated, and enveloped by countless icy tendrils, all mocking my helplessness, my last futile attempts to grasp for life are callously extinguished.
Don't applaud me for my professional achievements, my academic accolades, or the material possessions I've accumulated. Instead, acknowledge the sincere, genuine efforts I've earnestly made towards self-acceptance, personal understanding, and spiritual harmony. Smile at the progress I've made in developing my character, my morals, my values. Attaining material things and progressing professionally may take dedication and commitment, but it takes a different type of mettle- a different type of desire altogether-for one to find inner peace. Indeed, the person who sets out to obtain these treasures will require a rare set of traits: an unwavering devotion to adapt and a willingness to press on despite overwhelming odds; an aura of patience and serenity capable of withstanding hurricane force emotional winds; a knack for practicing humility while striving for personal growth; lastly, an optimistic, hopeful mindset that allows for hardships to be weathered in stride. The key to all of these is the maintenance of balance in life; even the most optimistic among us would benefit from taking an objective and realistic look at their life from time to time.
When individuals stop looking outside themselves for satisfaction, fulfillment, and validation, and instead turn their awareness and efforts inward, a profound change occurs. The constant, fruitless search for meaning, love, and acceptance becomes a process by which we become able to do exactly that. We begin to love, accept, and respect ourselves, all the while finding meaning and purpose in our lives.
