I'm starting this not knowing quite what I intend to say nor with any set goal or direction. It's about throwing bones maybe, and seeing how it reads when it's all stopped rolling.
It has something to do with the phrase, "restore us to sanity," but the intent isn't to poke about in adolescent philosophy. It's part of the 12 Steps line, "and only a power greater than ourselves can restore us to sanity." We can leave the higher power bit out of it. It's inconsequential to what's nibbling at me. No argument there. Just trust me.
So it's winding down slowly to seven years without a drink or a drug stronger than ibuprofen. It's not a condition I would or could have imagined even eight years ago yet here it is, two months away from seven years clean and sober. Have I been restored to sanity? Yah, maybe. The jury is out on that. It would probably depend on who you ask. People have called me angry. Others have described me as a dry drunk. It's entirely possible that their higher power, in his infinite wisdom since he makes no mistakes and everything happens for a reason, made me exactly as they see me. It's possible that he creates assholes and angry men as part of his system of checks and balances. Who knows?
I know I feel okay. Better, in fact, than at any point in my life. There's something to be said for this self acceptance trip. I won't say I'm quite there but it's closer than ever. I'm okay. The issue remains that some days it would be nice to numb out and dip into the "old-fashioned" insanity. The desire not to feel every little damn thing seems perfectly sane to me. The craving for a quiet mind doesn't seem entirely unreasonable.
But yes, at what cost? That doesn't escape me. I'm still paying old debts, both spiritually and monetarily. There are still days and weeks of being frozen in place. It's not a switch with me. It's more of a wide gate and once it swings open then that's pretty much it.
It's just interesting to discover that sobriety and sanity aren't necessarily the same thing. The Crocodiles told me that at five years I would get my brains back. That wasn't a lie but they could have warned me that it might not come back in one piece. It just didnt. I might have asked for someone else's had I known.
How was anything supposed to restore me to sanity when I was never sane to begin with? And why bother when everything else is fucking nuts? That's all i want to know.
Expectations again. Have fewer expectations and you'll have fewer disappontments.
This will be another placeholder. There is a mouse in my head, nibbling holes in the fabric of what i had thought would be this sanity thing.
I don't want to drink but I won't lie and say this always feels good.