Recovery is not linear.
I don’t want to assume what you’re recovering from, but we’re all recovering from something. In my case it’s a lifelong eating disorder that shifts and flits around the stage of my life — from background extra to marquee star — without ever leaving it.
In your case maybe it’s a glass that keeps getting filled, or cigarettes you said you’d quit smoking, or fights you start. Life’s wounds leave little scars and we trip.
Even if you’re not stuck in a cycle or a habit, we all have old hurts that ridge our path. We all do things to help that end up harming, and we all wonder why. So you dig deep and try to get “better.” You figure it out. You walk forward with your head high, and you trip again.
Or at least, I do. And have. And will! And it’s fucking frustrating to keep making the same mistakes, and to keep returning to some maladaptive coping mechanism when I should have it together.
Recovery is not linear.
Even though I know that, I ask myself over and over why I can’t get it right.
What’s wrong with me?
I had an epiphany the other night, and I’ll share it with you on the off chance you’re hurting or cycling, or struggling, or just breathing. You know what’s wrong with me?
Nothing. Nothing is wrong with me.
I am just a human being.
I am a complex animal ruled by simple, chemical desires. I am a legless creature navigating a labyrinth. “Noble in reason,” “infinite in faculty,” “in apprehension how like a god,” but also subject to very basic needs of all animals: air, water, food, the good chemicals.
Oh, those good chemicals. A need so fundamental we made it a meme.
Through a dizzyingly complicated life I try to amass these simple building blocks of sanity.
And so do you.
But we do it in the most chaotic, dysfunctional, bizarre world. We stumble around filling the glass, eating too much or not allowing food at all; we consume and we smoke and we scream and we do it all to balance brains which, though they can contain the universe, are overwhelmed by the day-to-day. Brains that were not meant to exist in times like this.
In times that very often feel like the end.
We are just human beings, and we do our best. (Even if that best is often very bad.) It stands to reason that we struggle in times so dark, and fall back into things we hoped we had left behind. We take comfort where we can, even if it’s in pain.
Recovery isn’t linear, but it is possible. Just like happiness. And love.
And survival. It is possible, for all of us.
There is nothing wrong with us. We are human beings.
Solidarity in imperfection.
You use the language wonderfully imho Robin. This one struck a cord. I hope you and yours are happy, safe and well. Twitter no longer so here I say Hello. Be well.
You're such a good writer. You give me chills.