Approaching completion of my seventh year in sobriety. I've been thinking about sharing my story here on this platform. But I haven't decided for sure whether I feel comfortable doing so. I should remember too, that no matter what I end up recording or not recording, it will not be seen much. It matters only as much as what it does to me. It is my story. It will be (mostly) anonymous. Nothing is really a secret or a surprise. Nothing worth hiding. It is just of a private and personal nature, that I will be posting to a public platform. It will just be another notch in the story of this story. I have publicly told my story many times, but it has never been captured. I am curious what it sounds like. How I will tell it. If I will have any success with forgetting myself well enough to tell it. Knowing that I am being recorded may effect the telling. Not sure. We will see.
I feel sometimes wholly detached and disconnected with certain aspects of my psychological planescape. As though I am telling someone else's story. I simply am the one who knows this particular story very well. Feeling as though I am only telling it by practice of rehearsal, not from having lived it. Remembering the memory of memories, the memory of feeling, but now having trouble actually tapping in.
Telling the whole story in one sitting maybe helps to bring it all together. To make it real again. It isn't about reliving trauma or reexperiencing pain, but about not forgetting our own history. Of what it was like, what happened, and reflecting on what it is like now. And then on taking inventory of current situations and making changes where we might want. Or simply being appreciative of everything by the by, since in general for myself, I have problems at all. The dead no longer have problems. And the problems I have now are better problems than the ones I used to have. I can work on these problems if I can figure up the ability to try. Which is another battle in itself a lot of the time. I have a better quality of life. I will never know the quantity of my time left, but I can affirmatively declare with no hesitation that the quality of my time has remarkedly improved.
My daily worries and stresses. Anxieties and woes seem to pale against past foes. I am free to fear as much as I wish or as I dare, but it really comes back to what I can afford, what I want to afford, what I want to let have residence and occupation at work within the confines of my mental asylum. My sanctuary. What do I give a home in my heart? Investing in a life worth having, a life worth living, a life worth sharing. It isn't the best of lives, but it is My life. I am greatly incentivized to try to live the best one I know how. I cannot fail, if I allow for myself to be okay with whatever ends up happening, or ends up not happening. Living in a typical world. Obstacle and adversity, yes, but adventure too.
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