I sit here tonight in utter shame...
I have never felt more useless and unworthy in quite some time.
Despite my difficult day my true heart came out and I helped more people then I should of. And now I sit here bloody arms and a lit cigarette in the ashtray and wonder why I keep putting one foot in front of the other. Secretly hoping the world and all that exists would disappear. I say this with such fear for the candle of hope within is still lit, and I quietly sit here with God and pray he knows my heart better then my words and thoughts.
My candle is lit not from my own hand however.
I have people, other human beings in my life that deem me and the others inside worthy of a flame. Despite my attempts and some days success of blowing it out, they are there lighting it over and over. Offering me another chance at hope. A gift I sadly cannot take with gratitude most days.
My heart is heavy and my lungs smoke filled, an unhealthy attempt to feel better. No longer forcing the white powder up my nose and soaking my liver with poison, and fogging my brain with unrealistic truths of brilliance, I find myself sad. Overwhelmed with, I even hate the word...feelings. No powder, poison, fog, or brilliance to numb the pain, fear, sadness, felt inside my deepest cells. My whole body wholes this pain. To feels this torture, a prisoner of history.
I am greeted with claps, embraces, smiles, and well to do for the strength, and courage to with hold these death sentences from my body. Grateful for the love each holds out to me, it however offers no hit to raise the self worth but rather is a reminder of the self hatred glances I give my soul with each reflection in the mirror.
This is my insight into where my brain goes with the above paragraph and how my damage thinking has tried to figure this out. As food has a short visit into my system before meeting the toilet, the blade takes bloody trips across my skin, as smoke fills my lungs with cancer causing agents, and actions spew from my body, I am to stand proud? Proud in recovery!?
Truly recovered I am not. My disease (addiction) is quite active and on a rampage of destroying my being. In a few short days I will be given an honor of receiving a one year clean and sober medallion. I feel less than deserving because as I sit here with God's arms wrapped around me, I am a fraud, a fake. I have but only tackled one symptom of my life threatening illness.
Many losses have happened over the last little while, and although I am desperately trying not to offend God, I am questioning why? A question that offers no real good or meaning to anyone. Cause in my experience knowing why has never taken away the truth of the matter.
As I end this silent scream, as the blade is put back in the box, the cigarette butts over fill the ashtray, and I send one more pray towards God, I am filled with tears because the next step is unknown, the faith is shaken, and the truth that shall set me free is locked away for another night.
I have never felt more useless and unworthy in quite some time.
Despite my difficult day my true heart came out and I helped more people then I should of. And now I sit here bloody arms and a lit cigarette in the ashtray and wonder why I keep putting one foot in front of the other. Secretly hoping the world and all that exists would disappear. I say this with such fear for the candle of hope within is still lit, and I quietly sit here with God and pray he knows my heart better then my words and thoughts.
My candle is lit not from my own hand however.
I have people, other human beings in my life that deem me and the others inside worthy of a flame. Despite my attempts and some days success of blowing it out, they are there lighting it over and over. Offering me another chance at hope. A gift I sadly cannot take with gratitude most days.
My heart is heavy and my lungs smoke filled, an unhealthy attempt to feel better. No longer forcing the white powder up my nose and soaking my liver with poison, and fogging my brain with unrealistic truths of brilliance, I find myself sad. Overwhelmed with, I even hate the word...feelings. No powder, poison, fog, or brilliance to numb the pain, fear, sadness, felt inside my deepest cells. My whole body wholes this pain. To feels this torture, a prisoner of history.
I am greeted with claps, embraces, smiles, and well to do for the strength, and courage to with hold these death sentences from my body. Grateful for the love each holds out to me, it however offers no hit to raise the self worth but rather is a reminder of the self hatred glances I give my soul with each reflection in the mirror.
This is my insight into where my brain goes with the above paragraph and how my damage thinking has tried to figure this out. As food has a short visit into my system before meeting the toilet, the blade takes bloody trips across my skin, as smoke fills my lungs with cancer causing agents, and actions spew from my body, I am to stand proud? Proud in recovery!?
Truly recovered I am not. My disease (addiction) is quite active and on a rampage of destroying my being. In a few short days I will be given an honor of receiving a one year clean and sober medallion. I feel less than deserving because as I sit here with God's arms wrapped around me, I am a fraud, a fake. I have but only tackled one symptom of my life threatening illness.
Many losses have happened over the last little while, and although I am desperately trying not to offend God, I am questioning why? A question that offers no real good or meaning to anyone. Cause in my experience knowing why has never taken away the truth of the matter.
As I end this silent scream, as the blade is put back in the box, the cigarette butts over fill the ashtray, and I send one more pray towards God, I am filled with tears because the next step is unknown, the faith is shaken, and the truth that shall set me free is locked away for another night.
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