I used to tell clients entering recovery what this process was like…how it often gets harder, not easier after you put down your substances and start living how they, you, I should have been living all along…without the lies and destructive behaviors that erode the foundation of trust in relationships with others and without the drugs to keep you numb.
Trust is central to a healthy, happy relationship. It opens the window for true, genuine intimacy and creates a bond that becomes hard to break. I, long ago, slammed that window shut and it shattered into a million pieces. Pieces I’m not sure how to put back together. Pieces I’m not sure fit back together now that they’ve been chipped or if some are missing. This breaks my heart. I will never be able to erase the hurt, the damage, and that fucking hurts like hell to realize. But there is no one to point fingers at but myself. And there is no one to look to but myself to turn it around and start living a better way, regardless what may come or be lost. I will never be able to apologize enough and I know recovering is the way to make amends. But still, I am so, so deeply sorry…I can’t even tell you…it sounds meaningless… I never wanted to hurt anyone, but addiction makes you terrorize the ones you love most. It’s a fucking nightmare and it’s not fair to the innocent people who get sucked into its destruction. I fucking hate it.
I understand the steps, the process, on an intellectual and educational level. It is entirely different to be experiencing it first-hand. The wreckage I am responsible for feels crippling. I pray, beg, plead that even if I end up losing everything else in the process, I find myself. I don’t want to be lost anymore.