In the rooms, I am a ray of sunshine that only one sees in early sobriety. My super power of existing sober in the world, without mental or physical pain is amazing and powerful. Unfortunately, I am the only person who understands that I am this new super hero. The majority of people don’t know and don’t care how I am feeling. The people that do know me don’t really care much either. They have their own lives, and are more than likely are approaching my transformation into my super hero form with extreme caution. I have been here before. Most times, I am the bad guy in this story, the evil villain. I also have the superpower to hate myself and take hostages all along the way down the deep dark vortex of depression and addiction.
The reality is that I have no super powers. I am just a sick person. I refuse to talk about how I feel and cling so hard to the idea that I am something special. I will go to extreme lengths to project and protect the lie that I am exactly as important as my ego believes I am, whether that be good or bad. I will hold everything in, letting all my anger and anxiety fester in the pit of my soul until I no longer care about myself or anyone else. I will break trust, lie, steal and isolate myself away from the rest of the world. I will bring myself to the point of existence where killing myself seems like a viable alternative to dealing with my waking life. My psyche can become so fragile that the only reprieve I can have from life is drugging and drinking myself into a comatose state where I can dream of a life different than the one I have in my conscious life. At 31, I only have the faintest idea of who I even am.