Express your sense

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As a person in recovery, writing often helps me make sense of my self and the world around. At times I’ve no idea how I feel or what I am? One minute I’ve convinced myself I’m a remorseful psychopath wandering around comfortably numb. A moment later I’ve transformed into a hopeless romantic with love in his heart.

I can read a page of words and feel as if I’ve reached a point of understanding, then after re-reading my head feels like a box of scrabble pieces scattered all over the floor, reluctantly coming together for an awkward dinner date.

I often feel confused, guilty and frustrated and wish that I could edit emotions like I can words.


Last night I dreamt I was in the middle of the Yankee stadium. Guilt, frustration and shame came flying at me in the form of killer baseballs. They were impossible to hit. A stranger in the crowd shouted out,

‘Let them flow through you, like water.’

But I couldn’t and felt the pain of each one, like a thousand orphan children crying for their fathers.


Detox diary 2

 10th December 2015

Fear of detox lingers around like stale, second hand smoke. The change of environment on top of opiate withdrawal has confused my equilibrium ,making it quirky, like a goose that flies north for the winter.


I suspect what will come flying at me. A million regrets too strong to halt, my passage of time stuck in purgatory, lost in a game that I no longer wish to play. But as the Japanese writer

Haruki Murakami once said,


‘Pain is inevitable, suffering is optional.’


I shall chant this mantra as my body sweats and screams. Preparing myself for when the life blood returns and I once more experiencing the intensity of myself.

I’m here to claim back my soul, give myself choices, take back my potential. I will slowly stomp through the storm with my head held high. Concentrate on the holy mission of recovery jihad and fight a good fight.