thinking about recovery...

some days, it’s just really really hard being a person. no reason. just really hard to human, sometimes. even after a string of good, productive days. even on a beautiful day...a good reminder that Recovery is never a straight trajectory. It is as the crow flies, shot down. It is two false starts, a squiggle, another fake, and a ditch every umpteenth IKEA footstep (or so). It is a deep-dark-hole and then a pink flamingo and a sandwich. It is an uphill climb. a stair step. a curiosity. a baby step. and another. and next. and a couple “FUCK THIS!”’s. a broken chair leg. a long dark night, alone. a loss—but a bitter sweetness; another— but a gratitude. it is crying in the car; but getting out of it nonetheless. a fury and so much flightiness. it is fucking terrifying. it is a heartswell on a sunny day. It is breaking something because it might be too beautiful. It’s Jamiroquai in concert. It’s Patti Smith. & we’re Just Kids. It is a car wreck and a wrenching love. It saves you just to destroy you. It is not ever remembering anything and writing everything down and realizing you’ve written a something good. It’s the creative resistance to finishing something good. it is excitement and insecurity. Its a dumb idea. It’s a repeated pattern. Its making peace with your age, laughing at your vanity. It’s a broken cycle. It’s listening to Taylor Swift because awesome and then feeling all achey because you’re just sensitive, okay? It is living in cities you do not like living in, to learn that you feel this way. it’s that productive, not destructive heart flutter. Its always being broke inside and out. It’s a pack of strays to the rescue. It is forgiveness at six am in a desert motel. it’s counting blue cars. its visiting Brooklyn but never moving back. it’s a lion and a pit bull and a bell. It’s self care; but the stupid go-to-the-gym, eat breakfast, take-your-meds kind. Its forgetting to take your meds. It’s rolling a “back to GO”. It’s going, again. Its flashy dice with many sides. It’s your fucking horoscope. It’s having to talk on the phone. It’s a long nap. It’s throwing a fit. Then a triumph. Recovery is everything behind you, already. and it is everything that you will face and fail and fail and fuck up and learn and fail better, ahead. It is “No choice but up and stand”. “Say yes that the bones may stand pain till no choice but stand. Somehow up and stand. Or better worse remains.” [Beckett]. It’s true what they say— about it being a scribbled trajectory, another “FUCK THIS” then “YAY!”. Let me tell ya; Recovery is an earnest validation and a fucking bitch. It’s never a straight line going up and up. It’s never a straight line, anywhere. #keepgoing