Diary of an Addict Out of Touch

      

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        I wish I could write about the things I’ve experienced over this past trying time, but I don’t even know where to begin. I want so badly to be able to capture a glimpse of something with these lifeless words. But everything is fluid, confusing, and indescribable.

The highs and lows of my emotions have only continued to grow in their erratic contrasts- and while those experiences enhance the appreciation of the other, I’m completely exhausted in more than two senses. So much has happened within myself- and continues- that I’m left with only an unsubstantiated tornado of emotion, and there are simply no words to describe them that I can grasp.  I’ve never said “I don’t know,” so much in my life.

I simply have no clue anymore.

             I’m home now, after 33 days in the treatment facility. I actually had another 1-3 months left of treatment- that I very well may have needed- but due to other unmentionable circumstances, insurance suddenly cut all coverage. I’m questioning whether I regret putting that request out into the universe the day before, because now I feel like I have some sort of unfinished business or feeling of being in the wrong place. Leaving was as sudden and unexpected as checking in, and I’m still in a state of shock, like a fish dumped into unacclimated water too quickly. Being home has felt so freakishly surreal and somewhat wrong, as though I shouldn’t be here-

because it doesn’t feel like home.

Nowhere, no one does.

         It’s becoming increasingly clear to me that I’ve been so fucking lonely all along, while wrestling other demons that are too strong for me. But I don’t know how to have energy for anything else, and I had only scratched the surface in those 33 days. 

I have no idea what I’m doing.
I never did.

         In that safe place, I realized that was OK, and that other humans could actually deal with me at my worst- or perhaps even like me (wtf?)- and I fucking love those people. I finally felt like I could speak a bit more of the truth when I wasn’t met with shame and condemnation- the likely cause of my knee-jerk aversion to being vulnerable with anyone. I didn’t expect to even make friends in my violent state, much less be given a name, a place, and a voice that anyone would even remotely desire to listen to.
        But it did happen, and in those interactions I realized how much has been missing from the relationships characterizing my life. I still often wonder why people “care,” because right now I’m looking at everything through dead- colored glasses. But there has to be something more than the impression I’ve gained throughout life of how humans interact at their core. Maybe they don’t all have agendas.
Maybe.

I’m hoping for some more clear signs from the universe, because I have no idea where I’m going next. I feel like I’ve only gained a fuller understanding of how many contradicting issues I have in my head.
Everything just feels so empty and wrong

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