Sincerely October

Daze - dream

D words for dictionary poetry.

Daze
I can't seem to see through the fog. Yesterday was days ago and last week is out of reach.
Water never seeps into the dirt of my mind, nothing stays or sticks.
Don't ask me because I don't know, don't remind me because I don't remember.
It's been scraped away, it's all gone now.
It all trickles down and out.
I read my diary like a book by someone I've never met. It is more a collection of stories than entries about a life I've lived.
Everything feels unreal and fleeting, very little lasts aside from the lingering feeling of disconnection.
I want to be here with you, I want to write poems about my life and feeling the warmth of the sun's rays on my skin, but I must find my way back to earth first.

Decorate
I hang paint chips and tapestries on my wall.
I keep my art journals and poetry book on my nightstand.
I have a large stack of unread books in the corner of my bedroom.
My desk holds heart frames and cats made of clay.
I keep my teddy bears in my bed and in a box left behind from an unfinished project.
I hang my drawings and paintings above my bed.
In each area in my bedroom I keep a part of myself.

Define
My addiction is a part of my history and it still lingers in my life, but it doesn't have to be what I am.
I thought this would be all I ever was, I thought I was going to do drugs until they eventually killed me, but I am so much more than that.
I am so much more than an addict, I always was.
I can be better, I can pick up the pieces of my life and mend them back together, I can be whole again.
I have to talk myself down a lot, I cry tears of grief because I can't do what I've always done, I write a lot about the missing piece, but one day I won't have to write about it so much, one day the stories will be out of me and far behind me.
My life does not have to be defined by my addiction, there is so much I haven't seen yet there's so much I am yet to love, there's so much out there, and there so much more to life.

Deliberate
I am doing things differently.
I look back at my old life honestly, when reviewing the memories I remind myself that I stopped for a reason, and it wasn't because I was enjoying myself.
I tell someone when I wish I could do it again, I tell them about how the memories don't leave the mind.
I go to meetings and talk to other addicts and I listen to what they have to say.
I don't listen to the songs I used to, they remind me of my little dark age more vividly than almost anything. I listen to different albums and playlists, I create new memories because the old ones aren't worth relieving.
I used to think all I wanted was to be alone, but I know this is far from true, I know connection is what makes life worth dying for, I am slowly picking up the pieces and building my relationships back up.
I remind myself that the past isn't worth revisiting, my old life isn't worth glorifying, because it wasn't beautiful.

Depression
You go to bed, not because you're tired, but because you don't want to stay awake. You stare at the ceiling, you wonder if maybe you should do something important but you likely won't.
You're stuck in the inbetween, in between wanting to get better and wondering if you really will.
You live in a fog, you can't see what's ahead or behind you, it's all lost in a daze.
Nothing makes sense. You can't ration with yourself, you can't tell if your thoughts are worth trusting.
You feel an emptiness in your chest, it's hard to feel like you should.

Devotee
I don't know what I am without my obsessive nature.
When I love something I love it more than anything, I am deeply passionate. When I paint I fill walls with finished canvases, when I write I fill stacks of notebooks, when I love someone they are my whole world.
I've always been this way, tied to little but deeply tied to what I care about.
My obsessions are like weights that keep me on the ground they keep me from floating away.

Diagnosis
I have been diagnosed with many different explanations, I have been told a dozen different words to describe the way I am.
I have been told I am everything that could be wrong. Maybe I'm psychotic, maybe it's my moods, maybe it's my personality.
It felt like a burden to carry, I was crushed under the weight of these descriptions.
In a way they made sense, they told me why I was this way, but most of them don't fit entirely, there was always some exception.
I'm starting to think this isn't as important as it may seem. Why does it matter? What does it really hold?
I am more than a diagnosis, I am more than a label that never fits quite right.

Diary
My diaries always hold a place in my heart, whether they be a stack of spiral notebooks or a document that holds my most private thoughts.
I have been writing about my life for so long I can't imagine a day that goes by in which I don't.
My journals keep me tethered to the ground. Many days I have written about never ending pain that I know longer feel. I have been able to stop thinking everything is always going to be this way.
It captures my life in a way nothing else has been able to. Pouring myself onto the page captures today in such a raw form.
By writing I am able to see my reflection in the river, I am able to look at myself honestly.
I will never regret a well written journal, I have many days to look back on that would have gone forgotten if not held within the pages.
My journals have always been there for me and will always have a home in my heart.

Dismal
It's all so bleak. Is it not?
I rewrite the same unhappy stories because they don't stop replaying in my mind. I write about missing the drugs, I write about the hole in my chest that can't be filled, I write about the sense of emptiness that lingers. I would like to write about laughter and sun but those stories are harder to find.
I believe this is just a part of my life, sometimes the clouds hover in front of the sun and the weather is dreary. Sometimes things ache and you just have to wait until they get easier.
I don't want to stay this way. I don't want to be the man who isn't happy and never will be.
I don't think I will be defined by this. I try and that's what matters.
I know sitting in my bedroom staring at the ceiling for months won't fix me. I see my friends on the weekend, I listen to sunny music, I do things that once filled me.
So it is true that right now I am hurting, but I won't always be.

Dispassionate
It all seems pointless.
Where is this going really? What am I looking for? Will I find it?
Things often feel like something to do merely to occupy myself, something to fill the space. I'm just doing it because I don't know what else to do, I'm just doing it because I need something to fill the time.
Even the things that used to work don't seem to fill me quite like they used to.
I promise I enjoy your company, I just can't enjoy like I used to.
I promise I will write about more than different shades of gray.
Just give it a little while, I'll be home soon.

Distort
I find that reality gets distorted when I am alone, I need connection like I need air.
I have done many things that seemed to be rational that I later realized were a result of being in my head too much for far too long.
Lines get blurred, understanding becomes moldable and reason is hard to find.
I thought I wanted to be alone but I never did.
I long to be loved and to love, humans are fundamentally wired for connection, and I am no exception.
Loneliness is a type of pain that uniquely feeds into itself, I ached from being alone and in the process of trying to ease that ache I pushed myself further away from what I really needed.
I bonded with the things I did and the drugs I took before I bonded with those around me. I felt deeply tied to my writing and bound by the drugs, but it doesn't have to be like that.
I often have a vast sense of disconnect, but I know I want love, and I know I am surrounded by it.

Divine
I don't think I will ever know god, but I am starting to believe that there is something divine watching over me.
I believe that this something loves me deeply, I believe this something is everywhere all the time.
I don't know why god didn't protect me when I needed to be protected, but I don't have to know, it doesn't have to make sense.
When I pray I feel as if someone is listening and guiding me, when I ask God to keep me sober these self-defeating patterns leave my mind for a moment, I don't have to grit my teeth until it's over, I have someone's hand to hold.
I don't have to know how or why, I just know.

Dream
I know I have been deeply impacted by the drugs because I still dream of them most nights.
I dream of stumbling into AA meetings drunk, I dream of trying to talk myself out of it, I dream of being unable to.
I can distance myself from the way I used to be but I cannot deny the paths I have taken heavily.
I used to chase every emotion with a drug, every thought eventually circled back to the drugs, I trained myself to follow every sensation with something to change the way I felt, and now I am to unlearn this.
I dream in metaphors, I dream of being unable to find a glass that is big enough, I dream of pill bottles full of magnets, I dream of being unable to feel high enough.
I consider this all part of the purging process, I believe my mind is unlearning what I taught it.
As I sleep my mind tells the stories of what would happen if I were unable to talk myself out of it, I dream of ugly relapses and the regret that comes with them. But in the growth I often dream of being able to talk myself down. I dream of stopping before I get started.