In the first time in over a year since the beginning of my recovery, I've finally slammed into a wall. Dusting myself off and nursing my bruises I've only just managed to start the arduous and tedious walk around the wall. Why not just climb over? And what would that even entail?
During my twenty-four years on this earth, I've learned a lot of so-called facts that have turned out to be bullshit. Partially or totally so. My brain has been told time and again that the outside world is thus and immutable. Life is not what our thoughts make it? Now such a notion strikes me as ridiculous.
If the bright spark of settling into the exciting idea that things can be better for myself shone brightly and abundantly for the first year, I would consider this a dark and barren transition phase. Step after begrudging step I walk as ashes fall from the sky. Though not a complete halt, it feels like I'm in retreat from my feelings and desires as the world around me speeds toward changes I'm unable to control. My loved ones' times are fading and far from thrashing against it, I must accept, mourn and move on. I want to see abundance but all I am left with is the sting of scarcity. I want to reach out and cherish all the people in my life, but I still feel they are on the other side of the wall, waiting for me to catch up. They will not wait forever and will eventually move forward on their own path. Without any judgment or reservation, I will too.
Despite it all, the small victory becomes apparent: in knowing one step can follow another, the future is there for our taking. Companions will leave; new lovers and friends will emerge. Then we all depart, towards our final, unavoidable destination. If I can tolerate and learn from the grey and sorrowful, this time of desolation and emptiness, it will lead me to somewhere greater. Every man must carry his scars, his ashes. It is what gives him strength in these times of need.
So now I walk with ashes in hand, toward the other side.