Hitting Another Brick Wall

In the last few weeks, I have found myself in an interesting and glorious situation that has enhanced and also threatened my serenity. I had reunited with a lost love and the days and nights were filled with hopes and dreams, with a mix of recriminations and apologies for past deeds done that I wish I never have done. This is an interesting time in my sobriety where I faced the beginning again of the most rewarding and fulfilling relationship of my life and the possibility of losing that again. There are times when I think that I miss the excitement of irresponsibility and the extreme life highs that can come as a result of being a raging alcoholic. The spontaneous and unstable free fall that comes with caring about few consequences and living with reckless abandon. The drama. The sheer intensity in which an addict lives. This is not one of those times. This is a time where I am trying to embrace what recovery has taught me. And it has been hard. Where I once used to respond with anger, I have held my restraint of pen and tongue, because I know I am not right in this situation and the other person needs to own their anger at me. It isn’t easy having someone angry at you. But I am powerless over that anger, and as much as I want to fix it, I can’t. It’s been, in the last three weeks, joyous, blissful and frustrating to say the least.

 I have been remarkably tempted to try to re-script events and feelings that have been dormant for years. And for what? To try and rectify what I couldn’t fix in the first place. Other people’s actions. My inability to exist in that life. It doesn’t work for me anymore. Re-writing the past is not an option. Living in the present and being fully present in life is the most rewarding and healthy option for someone who almost lost life so many times. I can’t rewrite what has happened in the past. I still regret it. I have not come to a point in the promises where I will not regret the past nor wish to shut to door on  it. If I had a magic want there are certain things I would do which could make a lot of hurt and anguish I caused disappear. But I don’t and I can’t. Everyone writes their own story. I can write mine. She can write hers. While my heart is filled with hope that our stories can converge, I have to accept that I am powerless over the situation. I can’t make people feel any different. I can’t force forgiveness. I can’t change another’s thought process or decision making process. I wish I could. But there again, where would be freedom in that. Enforcing your will on others never goes well. As I write this, I am in a state of controlled panic. I have to be cool because I have a work day to get through, but this is one of those days where I wish I could stay home and just hide under the covers. But I can’t. I have to walk through like, even if I feel like all my skin has been ripped off of me and I am raw emotionally and physically. Having the fates in other peoples hands does not sit well with me. Yet I have no choice.