For the past 30 days, I’ve experienced some very bizarre coincidences. I reunited with some old friends, lost one, and fell in and out of…something. Christmas came and went, practically unnoticed, and New Year’s was brought in with a whimper rather than a bang. Emotionally, I experienced the full spectrum, from hopeful to heartache and back again. I found myself searching deep within my soul for an unknown thirst to quench the pain that was nearly tangible.
Of course, this is dangerous territory for me, to be standing on hallowed, shaky ground. And so, I found myself falling in so many ways. Falling towards love (though not necessarily in), falling into old patterns, falling off a wagon or two, allowing self-pity to bubble to the surface. When you’re sinking into a quagmire of your own shit, it’s difficult to reach up for help, afraid that someone will smell it on you – the pungent smell of desperation and fear. It becomes a challenge just to keep breathing it in.
The blessing is that even in the pit of stench, we can always find our bottom, the spot we reach when we can travel no more. And at the bottom, I regained my footing. It’s a great place from which to vault. I opened my eyes, realized my ass was on fire, and decided it was time to put it out. I took the next right step. I severed some unhealthy ties, promising to return when I was in a better place. A person who is very dear to me said simply, “Call me when you’re back.” That sentence summed up my 30-day wayward journey. I had left my path. So, New Year’s resolutions? Fuck ’em. I’m looking for restitution – a way to return to what I know to be good and true…and me.