Unrecovered

I’ve uncovered something about myself.  As honest as I am, I’m a total liar. I lie so much.  Most often to myself, and so often that I sometimes have to pause to distinguish what is true from what I’ve told myself should be true.

I lie to myself out of necessity, for self-preservation.  

I lie to the world for the same reason, or so I thought.  

Until I realized I’m not preserving MYSELF. 

I’m preserving my disease. 

I’m safeguarding my disorder to insure that it will continue.  So It will survive.  It will go underground and change its name to Wellness and garner so much applause it’d keep Tinkerbell alive forever.

But maybe I don’t need applause to survive.  Maybe I could learn to live without requiring constant validation.  

What if I knew that I could weather the storm? What if I wasn’t afraid of my own existence?  What if I hadn’t clipped my own wings?

So I’m asking a lot more questions than I’m answering, and I’m trying to sit with that uncertainty. To let it stay a little messy. To say, huh, how about that, without tying it up with a tidy conclusion.

Times are hard. I’m tired. Recovery is hard. I’m fucking trying.
And some days are easier and some days are longer but every day I get up again. And that’s something. I’m discovering myself in recovery, uncovering myself. Trying to just let myself BE myself. (We’ll get to my ‘best self’ later, one thing at a time, y’all).

I’m learning to trust that I can be myself without any major modifications and life will continue to do its thing. And maybe I can learn to live without applause.