There are bullet-points in life. Points of pleasure and of heartbreak. In hindsight I believe that I have learned my greatest lessons from the latter. Occasionally it happens that they are a combination of both. In the moment the experience doesn’t feel particularly great, but in the long run it will set you up for success.
This is the case with sobriety. It doesn’t feel good the first months, but over time you slowly become more yourself than ever before.
Then there are specs of time, when it appears as if everything suddenly makes sense. You come to understand why this was the only way forward. The puzzle-pieces start to fit together perfectly.
Frankly there are still times, when things aren’t awesome, and by now I am nearly four years into this game. I don’t think life will ever be a constant bliss.
When you give up addiction, you got nowhere to run to. This tends to create descent amounts of anxiety and fear. It’s almost like the tax of being sober and alive; at a certain point life will start demanding that you face yourself. Continue drinking and it will end up very, very terribly. Running with my deficiencies is a luxury I can no longer afford. It would ultimately be the end of me. Professionals agree.
My father taught me this well. Maybe that is in part why I came to my senses, hit rock bottom or made a complete mess out of things, so early on in life.
I don’t think I am special in that way. I just have a tendency to latch onto ideas and beliefs, the belief in this case being that I have a genetic illness called alcoholism. Dad has it too. It’s nobody’s fault per-say. We don’t get to choose the hand we are dealt, but we are responsible of how we act and how we play the cards. These aren’t new ideas, but lessons I have learned from people with more experience than I.
Pleasure is lovely. There are moments in life that we should hold close to your hearts. Cherish.
But in the end I’ve been raised by pain. I understand that suffering teaches me lessons I can use and accumulate practically in life.
What person willingly makes their vacation out to Poland, to experience a 74-year-old concentration camp, in order to explore an existential inner crisis. It’s strange. Most would choose to lay on a beach. I guess am I different that way.
4th of July 2017