Step One: Despair and Isolation

Despair and isolation is the sum of most of my life. I can’t remember a time when I felt connected to this nonsensical world around me. The ‘people’ in it continuously leave me in a staggering daze, endlessly pondering how humanity has come this far with such astounding stupidity weighing on the scale of triumph.

Growing up, I was an extremely angry loner. I was mean to all my short-lived friends and I was royally pissed at the world. I saw absolutely no hope in the future, and I didn’t give a flying rat’s ass what anybody thought of me.

The Stairway to Serenity (Poem) #WritePhoto

The pathway of destruction is wide
And many are in route

The end looks like the beginning
And the beginning…
A cloud of soot

But the stairway to serenity is more than meets the eye

It spirals up instead of down
And lifts you far up off the ground

The first step is wide as wide can be
A simple task to catch a grip

I Will Fight (Journal Entry)

It’s so weird to be alive. I wake up, eat, shower, get dressed, check up on the happenings of this strange world, run errands, eat, sleep, dream and wake up. The days meld together. Weeks turn into months. As I drift into the future the past seems more like a dream.

I try to make sense of it all, try to live each day unto itself. I try to dig a little deeper, try to better myself. I try to strengthen my spirit and lend a helping hand. Be a friend to my neighbor, and be grateful for what I have.

The Hardest Step (Poem)

The disease of isolation
Self-pity and self-harm
Anger and resentment
Selfish lies and selfish wants

It’s baffling
So obscure
Cunning and hard

It’s your own personal Satan pounding at your door

It’s the first place you run to when you want to hide
And the last place that gets you where you want to go

It gives you everything you want
But nothing that you need

Step Nine: Apologies to my fellow Twitterers (Twleve Steps)

Oh me oh my… Sigh… This may be a little early in my recovery, but I decided to do my first 9th step in response to my distasteful behavior on Twitter. I was recently put on a timeout by the Twitter police for calling someone a moron, thus prompting me to spend twelve whole hours thinking about my savagery and how it affects others. 

Step One: Dicking around with my thumb up my butt (Twelve Steps)

The thumb is a symbol of great power. It represents a vital step in the evolution of man. The anus symbolizes repression, feelings of shame and self-esteem issues. And dicks? Well, I’ll let the reader decide the meaning of that vernacular.

Anyhoo, I’ve been doing a lot of dicking around with my thumb up my but lately. Indulging in pity parties, self-loathing, whining, complaining about everyone and everything, harping on what this one or that one did to me. Basically throwing my hard earned tools of recovery into the fire. 

Step One: Liquid Courage (Twelve Steps)

“The courage to change the things we can,” is one of the many messages we hear at every Twelve Step meeting. And with every meeting, the message grows, transforms, evolves into a battle cry that echoes through the darkest nights. But when we stop going to meetings, we lose our momentum, we forget the tools that kept us sober, and the war drum slowly fades into the distance until all we hear are the devil’s lies.

Step One: Getting out of my own way (Twelve Steps)

Is there a wrong way to heal? When I say it like that it doesn’t feel so bad. People keep telling me not to isolate, talk to someone, go to a meeting. But the less I think about the pain the less I want to punch someone’s head.

Everything gives me bad memories. I find myself avoiding such triggers everywhere I go. I never want to go back to that place. Of helplessness, of isolation so consuming that I don’t even have my own thoughts to keep company.

The Miracle (Journal Entry)

If I had a million dollars I could finally set me free. I would have the independence I never thought I’d see. I would wake up every day without a worry on my mind as I accomplished all those little things I often toss aside.

Step One: Cleaning House (Twelve Steps)

When I exited rehab I had a new sense of order in my life. I was on schedule. I woke up every day at seven o’clock, showered, dressed, made my bed, cleaned my room, made a to-do list, read some daily reflection and wrote in my journal. Most importantly, I attended meetings and maintained a fellowship with recovering addicts.