Sincerely October

Iris season (part four)

A miscellaneous chapter. These next few chapters seem very relapse-y but they are not about drugs.

Undefined by addiction
In the beginning the thought of being sober for the rest of my life was something I would rather not spend my time pondering, it seemed insurmountable.
I couldn't imagine never drinking again, I couldn't imagine never doing another line, but somewhere within the months that have passed I started liking the feeling of being sober.
It wasn't just the fact that I didn't have to hide and feel sick, but something about being sober was appealing to me, something that made me feel like I was on the right path.
As time passes I become not only accustomed to being sober, but I start to enjoy the thought of staying this way.
The thought of living my life untainted by drugs, no longer giving myself away, that thought is comforting, that thought is feeling the warmth from the sun of my skin.
How beautiful would it be to know that addiction led me into dark places but never defined me.

Orange juice
I never know how to go about it normally.
How do they do it? How do they walk in line with such ease? How do you do it so perfectly? Why am I never able to?
I'm forever up and down, forever too much or too little, it's been this way for so long, every time I try to become better I stray further away from what I should be.
My throat hurts.
But it's better than the alternative, right? It's better than being the opposite but equally as bad.
I'd like to be in the middle, I'd like to treat myself better than this, but could I ever do that?
The thought of being like this for the rest of my life makes me want to sleep for sixteen years. I cannot keep this up, but what else is there?
It's almost embarrassing to admit, somehow more embarrassing than most things I could.
I stare in awe at people who know how to do this, because I never have.
I hate it and I love it at the same time. I hate knowing that this is not what I want and doing it anyway. I hate being on my knees in the thick of it. Yet something about knowing that I'm going to get to where I want to be, something about how clean I feel when I'm done, it's something I find hard to let go of.

Again
I find myself thinking of it endlessly. I feel like I almost wanted to find myself here again.
I don't like keeping secrets, but I find myself doing it again and again.
I knew better, I always did, but in a way I don't think I could go about it normally.
I can't act surprised because I've always been this way, I don't know how not to be.
Maybe I can listen to what they say, maybe I know that they are right, but how do I practice what they preach? I am unsure.
I am deeply and angrily envious of the people who know how to do it, because I never have.
I find myself on my knees again. My throat hurts. Is this what you wanted?
I'm too ashamed to admit it, I can't even consider it, not yet, but I feel myself falling again.
I find myself thinking of it again and again, I retell the stories in my head over and over again.
In the thick of it I despise it. I fill the empty house with the sounds, it disgusts me, but it's worth it in the end. I feel so clean afterwards. I almost always feel dirty. I don't think I could pass it up.
How did I get here again?