Just where I left it

 

smoke

Shit, it’s another night, another 1 AM, another experience to remind me I can’t move faster, try harder, or forget that what I know as myself is always right here waiting. Waiting for me to stop, to take a moment to see it. To actualize, or accept maybe what it is that I go through. It’s just that I don’t want to do this. I’m so tired and exhausted from having to know this. I see everyone else having a good time, so where’s mine?

I’ve tried all the options to hide from what it is that’s lurking. My feelings, my thoughts, myself. Sex was fun, but it didn’t last. Drugs were great, but I could only handle that for so long before even that got boring. Alcohol didn’t work a damn, never has, not even tonight. Pot was the only ally I had in my fight. The battle of my actual with what I want, hope for, and really need. To be free of the hold this human condition has on me.

Meanwhile, being sober is the best feeling. I know what it is, where it goes, and how to do it. The benefits are amazing. Better than any I’ve gotten from all the experimenting I’ve tried. Everything is clearer, brighter, more hopeful. Which is also the issue, my problems I face, myself that I cannot escape, is obvious, unhidden, and always wanting attention. I think it sees my sobriety as a chance to be free. While in my better moments, that might seem to be true. When it’s a night like this, like so many others, it instead feels hopeless and naive.  I just want to fulfill the impulse. Just take one puff and this would melt away. Ice cream on a hot day. Just remembering that, sends a sense of warm calm over me. But that psychosomatic notion won’t last. It’s the thoughts that arise to remind me of where I actually am. Where they actually are. They are right the fuck here. Where they’ve always been. They go nowhere. As predictable as the sun rising and setting. I know it comes, I know how it feels, how it hurts.

I also know a way out. That’s why I finally set my boundary. I sold it off, someone else can take it’s warmth. Maybe they don’t have the impulse control issues I have with it. Pot’s a fantastic helper. But I’ve come to terms with all my crutches and finally decided I’m done with them. I leave my herbs, my oils and my practices in place. These are no threat to my salvation. But I cannot allow myself the temptation of a plant that offers me the option of turning off. It works so perfectly, so predictably, so well. But I’m not better for it. I finally accept that I’m worth not turning off for, and all that I experience and think has a right to exist. I don’t need to continue the practice of forced forgetfulness.

So, here I am, always as ever, just where I left off.

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