Saturday, October 12, 2013

The space of recovery


Recovery is a strange process...
It's somewhere in the middle, floating between what you used to be...and the new self that is forming.
It's crossing a river, and looking back...wondering who that person used to be...as you set out on a new path ahead of you. It's the act of "crossing over", literally...

In some ways you are mourning the loss of the old self - like a grieving process - that self who was innocent, who was in control of her life, who had plans and goals - before all of this happened. Before I faced my own mortality, and never saw it coming.

And the new self...a girl who lives in the present moment, who appreciates the little things like a raindrop or a sunset...appreciating the miniscule everyday things, like having water run over my head and the ability to have a shower. Things have never tasted sweeter, but at the same time - life has never been so frightening and impermanent.

Every time I go to bed, I wonder if it's my last moment. What if I wake up again with that headache? What if I pass away, ever so quietly in my sleep? Life is that unpredictable...yes, it is...I am no longer entitled to my own life. The gratefulness of each breath I take weighs heavily on me, with transitory joy. Just to breathe, to stand, to hug my loved ones, to talk, to express myself...is a privilege. 

On one end, it's asking why - why me? And on the other end, it's a crippling gratefulness that leaves me on my knees, crying tears of joy for another chance...thanking God, believing in God...

Going through what I did...recognizing my own strength is like meeting a part of my self I didn't even know was there...I didn't know I was that strong. I didn't know that I had the capability of using this unknown reservoir of mental strength to get me through the pain. Like the part of the moon that remains hidden in the darkness, a side that is only called on when you are pushed to a point of no return. Strength becomes prominent when it's your only choice, when having it or not having it is the difference between surviving and not...so you call on it, ever so desperately, like a wolf calls to the moon. And it arrives, like some guardian angel coming down and possessing your body with some otherworldly power. A kind of personal power that is almost beyond human.

Not much can shake me after going through that. Not much can unnerve this quiet strength that has grown inside me, like a small bud sprouting out of the ground...ever so peacefully...without notice to the busy world that swirls all around me.

Yes, recovery is a strange place...it's a space of rebuilding, a space of transition, a space of creation with the skeleton of the old self. It is a passage to another space...and the journey makes all the difference. Passing through - you're not the same person as when you entered...

This is my life, I say....as the mere soul of me, gets remapped and put together...in some wild, organic way. No plans, no stress...just me, standing on the Earth...just recovery...and wondering what kind of person I'll transition to, after all the pieces of me get pulled back together.


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