Moss and Mushrooms

Sunday

Poems written on a Sunday. (wow!)
Context: "Last lines" is a collection of the last lines of my recent diary entries.
TW: hallucination mention, addiction/substances

Last line
Still having a lot of hallucinations.
Hopefully I will be better than seventeen.
Life is amazing.
Happy to be sober I just had to ride it out.
I miss it so much.
He changed me in a big way.
First day in forever.
Been depressed.
Also got starbucks and monster.
Her story doesn't line up.
It was mostly out of my mind today.
I will be okay.
Very happy today.
Need to get out more.
I really do hope I figure this out, more than anything.
Been happy and tense.

Two hundred and sixty two days
It is the thought that dominates your mind, it is the thought that every thought leads to in the end, it is the thing you have felt every possible way about.
You write love letters to it, more than you've ever written to anyone. You are so glad you found your way out of the fog, you will do anything to stay sober. You cannot survive another moment without it, you don't know how you made it this far. You are so glad it's over, you cannot imagine ever going back.
You don't care if it kills you, that's just a part of it, a reality you're willing to accept, for the feeling you get you are willing to make the ultimate sacrifice. You are so much happier without it, you feel like yourself for the first time in years, you are becoming the person you went to bed with every night wishing you could become.
Even in the midst of the endless and suffocating contractions your innermost self is finally able to take a sigh of relief, because finally, it is over, the day you never thought you would live to see is finally here.
You're not sick all the time. You know you can feel joy without it. You don't have to spend your days plotting. You believe that you can be a good person.
You recognize all that you lost, and everything that could slip through your fingers once again.
You lost yourself in the process, you lost yourself in complacent behavior, you lost yourself in letting this suffocate you. You lost the part of you that wanted to be good, you lost the part of you that knows it's wrong to steal and lie, you lost the part of yourself that cared if you were kind. You lost your health, you felt sick for months at a time, you spent most days shaking for one reason or another, you spent two weeks in hell when you stopped. You lost the part of you that wanted to live, you lost the part of you that cared if this would kill you, you lost the part of you that cared if you woke up tomorrow morning.
You know that in a moment of weakness this can all be gone, you know that this will ruin and kill you if you let it.
Every day you believe a little bit more that this won't be the thing that defines you, every day you believe that you can live a life not determined by your addiction.

Rambles with no destination
My medication is dampening the hallucinations. I sometimes have moments when everything I hear is real. I wonder if they will ever stop.
I am starting to think that this is finally the time I do it. I think I may get what I have been wanting for these past few years.
Sometimes I love being sober, sometimes I hate it. I think every day it gets a little easier. Everyday is one more day of distance between my last time.
I think AA might be the thing to help me finally make sense of the world around me.
I am happy. I am deeply uncomfortable. I am elated. I am uneasy.
My thoughts take up a lot of space in my life. Sometimes they go so fast I cannot seem to slow myself down.
I want to write everything down but I don't think I can, I don't think it is possible.
I think I will be satisfied writing to no one, but I hope one day people will read my books. I would love it if you read the things I wrote but I would also hate it.
He left and he said he'd be back. I hope he means that. I don't really know what I would do if he didn't.
I am starting to accept that life is full of endless contractions, I have a beautiful and awful family. I am in my happiest period and I am deeply unsettled. I'm the coolest and the most insufferable.
I am the best writer, my style is exactly what you want to read. I think if someone told me my writing was bad I would become a little bit hollow. The rambles are raw, the rambles are what they should be. The rambles are nonsense, the rambles are thoughtless with no destination.

In disagreement
Your mind is racing with ways to explain it but you cannot seem to find the words.
You are very happy. You don't think you have been in a happier period. You are deeply uncomfortable and you are vibrating under your skin.
Everything is on your to do list and everything is ticked off. You believe you will be everything you want to be.
Your mind is going so fast and you cannot contain yourself. You feel like you are acting abnormally, but you always have been strange.
You do almost everything you think to do. Maybe that is a good thing. Maybe you are making people unsettled. You don't know.
This is the best you've felt in so long. You have been through many moments of gray, so this, this makes sense to you.
You wish you could sleep without wrestling yourself into the ground. You are awake until the early hours of the morning, when it is too late you try to remain still until your eyes close.
You think you are writing well, but maybe this doesn't make sense. You think you are relating to the others in the room well, but maybe you are not.
You are wide awake, you cannot put yourself to rest, you are endlessly energetic, you are exhausted, you wish you could sleep, but you also love being up until near sunrise.
It all seems to be true.

Obsessions of the addict
You are being and feeling in the moment, and it doesn't matter what you are doing because you are there, and that's all you could ever want.
Something reminds you of it and your mind is overcome, you are once again reminded that you are an addict. Your mind is overwelmed with the memories.
In that second you are no longer in the room you are sitting in, you are not inhabiting your body, you are retreating into moments past.
You remember it all in painfully vivid detail, you remember the way it felt more than anything, you remember every physical sensation, you remember the pattern of your breath and the rate of your heart beat.
You think of how good it felt, you start to miss it in a way that cannot be expressed with words, every cell in your body misses what you once were.
You start to wonder how you've ever lived without it, this sacred thing.
For a moment you see the beauty in it, you see the late nights, you see the feeling good, you see the laughter and the calm.
Slowly the thoughts of what it was really like start to creep in. You remember the lying, you remember the misery, you remember the crushing weight of a tolerance.
You see all the bad things you did. You see all the people you hurt. You see the passionate shame.
You are torn, you don't know how to live with this. You push the thought of your mind, you remind yourself of why you chose to get sober, each time you push it away it returns quickly.
You don't know how to live without it, you don't know how you're going to survive sober, and but you do.