Addiction. I found comfort in addiction. I could hide in addiction. I could live away from my head, pretend my body didn’t exist, live in a fantasy world of non-life, of non-reality that I had created for myself. This led me to a place where I could become comfortably-numb (yes, Pink Floyd reference).
Since I was 13, I found comfort and escape in nicotine, then alcohol, drugs, more drugs. Then prescription painkillers (that one snuck up on me), years of battling with denial, and my need for more and more. To feel less and less.
I slid comfortably from one addiction to another, and back again, tricking myself that I had overcome one addiction, moving to stronger and stronger drugs, numbing myself more and more.
It’s been coming for a long time, and it now feels that somehow, from somewhere, over this last month or so, through this massive period of catharsis and change, I have found some courage. I have found a voice in that darkness. I have found the strength to start to face those things that I hid from. I stopped taking my painkillers, stopped drinking, stopped denial. The physical and mental withdrawals are hard, though helped by qigong, connection, a change in lifestyle, a change in mind, body and spirit, through support.
Now, I stand and face what I was numbing myself from. The pain, abuse, bullying, fear, being alone, the darkness. That is fucking scary.
I also face my ego. I have to face myself. That is fucking hard.
Today, it hit me, that I am starting to face all of this, by myself, after a lifetime of numbing.
Today, is the first day in weeks where I have wanted to numb, wanted a drink, wanted a smoke, wanted painkillers.
Today I have not succumb. But I fucking hurt hard.