I have had the privilege and challenge of going through and sorting a lifetime worth of writings and papers from my parents, and from myself. After reading some of my mother’s personal writings, I was struck by the pain that she experienced remaining married to my father. He was not a person with the soft touch, when it came to communicating with those that he loved, especially during challenging/difficult periods of life. He was what those in the field of recovery refer to as a “dry drunk”.
Anyway, rather than focusing on my mother’s version of “pain”, I thought that I would include some of my own writings on “pain”, which originated while I was hidden in the Lovejoy Care Unit for Alcoholic Rehabilitation, in 1984. There were two different iterations for Pain that I penned while I was there, here they are:
PAIN
Though the dark cloud looms on the horizon, it is also hidden within myself.
It appears to hover in the distance, just beyond my reach, and it patiently waits my most vulnerable moment.
I then feel the initial mist from its clouds, suspecting that I am its intentional target.
A piercing wind picks up, hugging me with its frozen arms, and I vainly look for protection
As the torrential downpour begins, I feel my tenuous sense of peace and safety eroding beneath my feet.
As it strips back, layer, upon layer, upon layer, upon layer, of my consciousness, exposing a bedrock bereft of sanity.
Exposing long forgotten mental relics, threatening old, unhealed memories, and dangerous old habits,
Stinging, piercing, hurting me at my core, obscuring visions of glorious, yet impossibly distant futures,
Washing away all tenuously held possessions of sanity, and hope.
Uprooting the feeble foundation of a life desperately, but futilely, attempting to, yet again, reconstruct itself,
Carrying a powerless, helpless, desperate soul back into toxic chemical valleys, amid a dark, swirling depression,
Ravaging, drowning, then decaying.
Part II
Yes, growing without roots, with a will that won’t bend,
Weathering life’s storms, which never seem to end.
No longer waiting for the sun that was once promised to arise,
How could truth’s light possibly shine in dimmed eyes?
Having reached with futility for all the high goals of life,
With no spiritual growth, while consumed by inner strife.
Devoid of healing affection, and a stranger to real love,
Unrealistic hope was what my failed dreams were all made of.
Despair meets each day, summer has now changed into fall,
Looking at life, I am totally disgusted by it all.
Dying of loneliness, and holding life by only a thread,
With me rotting inside, hopefully, I soon will be dead.
Pain,
Why?
There is no mystery to me as to why some people choose suicide over recovery.
Since 1987, I have chosen life, and sobriety. Life isn’t always pretty, but I remain personally responsible for my attitudes and behaviors, and I retain freedom of choice in most of my affairs. As a practicing alcoholic and drug addict, and mentally ill human being, I lost all freedom of choice. I have much compassion for those who still struggle with mental illness and alcoholism/drug addiction. Our society has created the perfect conditions for its population to practice insanity and addictive behaviors, but it remains up to us as individuals to create our own perfect conditions for recovery. Self awareness, personal inventory, making amends to all that we have harmed, working a strong spiritual program, mindfulness, meditation, and hanging around like-minded people took me to my own “promised land”.
Nobody can do the work for us, it is a personal journey.
THE FOOLS
You know who we are, there is no need for our names
We may be outwardly different, but inside we are the same
We vacation on ego trips, and with the world play strange mind games
While striving for material success, and its dubious fame
We remain graceless souls trying to blend into life’s masses
Some affirming our uniqueness, though we remain stuck in the same class
With our delusions of grandeur, while appearing just like an ass
And steering clear of self-awareness, Oh our transparency of glass!
At times spewing words of wisdom, but with only another dogs’ bark
Seeking to make a good life, but on life’s script still leaving just a dirty mark
Believing we may have seen light, but, if so, why is our life always so dark?
Needing more purifying inner flames, while snuffing every divine spark
Though we think that we have blossomed, we do not possess Love’s flower,
We hope for a life carried by the river of sweetness, while we still wade through the sour
Never realizing that, over life, we hold very little power
We can only avoid the reality of our lives, while living in our ivory tower
We tend to bring up life’s rear, though we think that we should be first
And from life we want all of the best, somebody else deserves the worst!
We think that our life should be more blessed, why on earth do we feel cursed?
Our lives just become overblown bubbles, just waiting to be burst!
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