…A Path I did not Take
My (therapy) Writing class homework for this week, simply lists a dozen or more writing prompts.
Sometimes the more prompts, the less productive my brain feels. So, I’m kinda struggling to get into this. A prompt that particularly struck me, is actually the one that troubles me the most. Oh yes, Prophet Doom and gloom!
I feel that life has been off-course for many years, sometimes I wonder if it ever was on-course. Maybe it was always destined for self-destructive rough terrain.
I’ve had my fair share of heartache. Memories that still make my own hair stand on end. Things I will never forget; horrors etched on my mind for eternity. Maybe one day, a number of ghosts will emerge from the closet. For now, my writing class is all about focussing on My Story of Recovery.
One thing I have always been certain of, albeit ashamed, is that I am Captain of my own ship. If life has been difficult, it was usually a product of my own doing. The drugs, alcohol, and the dishonesty that accompany substance misuse. The friendships disappointed and relationships tested to the limits – a limit that I often orchestrated to the end.
My emotional instability is still partial to those ultimate self-destruct moments – when you lose everything, including dignity and self-respect, it is difficult to have trust in yourself again. I still anticipate a lack of self-discipline, and harbour gut wrenching fear of disappointment when I fail.
It has always been in the name of ‘self-destruct’. Do I really hate myself that much?
At the turn of our new millennium, December 1999, I distinctly remember making that vital decision to break away from the life and lifestyle that had been pretending for too long.
I thought, the best way of to get rid of the past, is to strip bare of family, friends, relationships, ex-relationships and cut off absolutely everything from the past. The intention was a fresh start.
Rather than start a new beginning, I started to withdraw and found solitude in peaceful isolation….blissful isolation. For the first time, I felt secure; no need to put on a face of pretence. It was safe and a welcomed break from my crumbling social paranoia.
The “lost years” have not all been about stagnation. There have been times of healing and transformation and periods of deep spiritual growth. I am clean of drugs, alcohol and cigarettes AND co-dependent relationships. Oh! And I am at a ‘healthy distance’ with my family. My current problem is procrastination.
Somehow, my zest for embarking on a new journey/a new me is being supressed by a fear of moving forward – terrified of moving outside my bubble. I may well have removed myself from ‘a path I did not take’ but I feel cast adrift with little enthusiasm for a compass. My apathy for life is pitiful and I spend most of my days pretending I’m doing okay, but I know it is not what I want.
Attending this therapeutic writing class is a huge step forward. Maybe this is paving the path I should take.