Bruised Fruit 17

When this column comes out, I will have 186 days of sobriety. I was off on some previous calculations, which Siri kindly corrected. Today, Monday marks 182 days since I overdosed and nearly died. It's been years since I've gone this long without numbing myself, and let me tell you, they're right when they say putting the drugs down is the easy part.

Now it's time for the real work to begin—the repairing of relationships, the self-forgiveness, the acknowledgment and acceptance of everything I've done. I must remind myself at times that I was and am a good person - I helped many people - helped raise a tiny human being into a beautiful, confident, and successful woman. My point is it wasn't all bad. I wish others would recognize that, but if you remember what I wrote last week, it's not up to me to have others agree. That's on them.

Everything is going so much better in my life. I've moved far past the survival mode I was in during the days and weeks following my overdose. However, I've come to realize that survival mode has different stages. For instance, it's a Monday morning, and I have just been crying for about 20 minutes. Out of nowhere, everything that's happened over the last few years hit me like a ton of bricks. Sometimes, I feel overwhelmed—and I hide it well. You could say I still keep that part of myself concealed in the shadows. It's okay for a grown man to cry. It's healthy. It's relieving and therapeutic.  It means I'm feeling emotions again—which was non-existent for far too long.

Living alone after not living alone for over a decade hurts. My life has completely changed—some changes for the worse, some for the better. I'm still adapting to living alone. I'm a 50-year-old man who has next to nothing. That's what drugs will do to you if you don't stop as soon as you possibly can.

Airing my feelings to whoever reads this is a form of therapy I desperately need. I need to empty my heart to fill it with love again. Everything is temporary. My life won't be like this forever—I know this from experience.

Working at Hunter is kicking my ass. Between that, working for my landlord, and writing, I'm stretched thin. But I love to write, and I love having a roof over my head. Over the past few months, I've grown a lot as a man. I can feel it. I see it in how I look at myself, and at things with a mindset of, "I get to do this," instead of, "I have to do this." I'm grateful for my community rallying around me, even without knowing all the details of my past, and for being receptive to me sharing my personal journey. I genuinely believe it has helped me, and I know it has helped others—or, at the very least, piqued their curiosity. I am so different now. It's mind-boggling. But addiction is a sneaky beast, and I have to be careful. Temptation makes me nervous sometimes, but that's part of the territory.

We all need someone to lean on. I know I have that with my family, but sometimes it doesn't feel like enough. That might sound selfish, but it's how I feel. I know plenty of people don't even have family, so I realize I'm ahead of the game. But yeah, I'm lonely. I went from hanging out with drug addicts masquerading as friends to an empty house and random calls from those same addicts trying to tempt me. Misery loves company, I suppose.

So, I'm in a different stage of survival mode - more of an emotional survival mode. I cook and clean, care for my body and mind, get good sleep, and even stay hydrated. I've moved on to the hard part, which is recovering emotionally and hoping against all hope that those I hurt deeply are continuing to heal. 

Six months have passed in the blink of an eye. My life is far from perfect and likely never will be. I need to do my best, stay honest with others and myself, and continue this new phase of my life. Thank you to those who read these columns. I hope they reach people who need them.