Sincerely October

I wouldn't have it any other way

A happy chapter.

There's nothing to run from
It's nearly impossible to convey the sense of relief I feel at this moment.
I don't have any drugs hidden in my bag, I don't need to go somewhere private and do something I really would rather not be doing, there's nothing to hide anymore.
I could cry because things were barely breathable and now I am standing in an open meadow, I can breathe now.
There's nothing to hide, I'm here now and that's everything I need.
I thought I would always be like that, I thought this would kill me, I didn't care, and now I'm finally home.
I always wanted to feel at home even if I never admitted it, now I have a home in my heart, I have a sense of peace no drug could ever bring me.

The sun
It's days like today in which my chest feels like a burning fire, on days like today I cry not because I am sad but because this is what I've always wanted, this is what I wanted and I never thought I would possess but now I hold it so close to my heart.
Even when I couldn't give him what he was giving me, even when I was gone, even when I was in my own little world, he stayed.
He was still deeply kind, he listened without wondering if what I was saying was worth listening to.
He is growing in all directions, so dedicated to finding and embodying his happiness.
He holds himself with such confidence, he is deeply authentic and honest.
He is one of the kindest people I've ever met. He is selfless, he will make you feel loved even when nobody else does.
He paints lovely paintings. He writes beautiful poems. He is everything that is good.
He is a ray of light to everyone he's ever met, to me he is like the sun, because although he is far he warms and brings light to everything that surrounds me.

Writing advice
Write honestly, write about the songs your heart sings, tell the stories that won't stop replaying in your mind.
Tell me about what you never want to forget, tell me about your darkest hour, tell me about your passions, tell me the truth in its rawest form.
Don't ponder how someone would judge you for using such dramatic metaphors, don't wonder if it's too much, if it's honest it will never be too much for the person who knows what it's like.
Write often, tell stories about your day and night. What's on your mind? Nothing is too small.
Know that no idea is not worth capturing. Every thought, phrase, and theme help you create your story.
Write whenever you feel like it, when passion strikes don't let it leave you before the pen hits the paper. Write even when you don't want to, you may be surprised. Lastly, know that you are unlikely to regret writing. You won't regret trying to capture a beautiful moment.

The rain finally stops
For so long the only thing that kept me alive was the hope that tomorrow wouldn't be like today, if that.
I didn't want to live like this but part of me thought maybe I could make my way through this fog, maybe the rain would stop pouring.
It lingered for many months. I wanted to be better but the child who didn't know what was happening to him lived inside of me.
There were so many questions I couldn't answer when he raped me. What are you doing to me? Why don't you listen to me? Why don't you love me?
Now I am older, I have the words for it, I know what the dictionary definitions of my experiences are.
For a while I still asked so many questions. Why did you choose me? How can you live with yourself? How can I live with myself? Why don't you love me?
I would later realize no answer would satisfy, there is no why, there never will be.
I remember I used to wake up screaming because I thought it was happening again. I cried and ran because I know I can't live through this again.
I talked about it a lot, I talked about it to everyone who would listen. I needed to tell you about the stories replaying in my mind.
I wrote notebooks full of moments of true terror. I told the same stories over and over again. I dreamt of it every night.
Suddenly one day I knew it was over. One day it stopped being like it once was.
No more waking up gasping for air, no more begging the person in front of me not to touch me, it was over now.
It still happened, it always will be something that happened, but I know I have what I was once searching for.

The hand that holds you, the hand that chokes you
In my addiction I failed to see that I was living in delusion, I couldn't see that I was ruining my life for something made up almost entirely of false promises.
I thought that this is what I really wanted, this is what made me happy, more than anything, but I was very wrong, and it took me months to see that.
Drugs may hold you, but they don't do so without choking you. It may feel unbelievably beautiful, it may feel like an answer, but they will leave you more empty then you thought you were ever capable of being, it will leave you with far more unanswered questions than you began with.
It's in the nature of the illness, you protect yourself from the truth because if you saw the truth you would have to admit to yourself that this was pointless at best, you would have to admit you were shortening and ruining your life because of a fleeting sensation.
I thought I was seeing the truth, I looked at the painting of my life. I knew that I am an addict, but I didn't see how bad it was until I was pulled out of the house fire. I didn't see the smoke until I looked from a distance.
I am an addict but I will never go through withdrawal, I said, as I was going through withdrawal. I am an addict but I will never steal, but what about all the times I left stores with things I didn't pay for and left medicine cabinets with things that weren't mine. I am an addict but I can control myself, as if they were a statement that has ever been true, control was lost long ago.
I was lying to everyone about everything, but I wasn't just lying to whoever was in front of me, but I was lying to myself as well.