Relapse. When I think of the word relapse it makes me take pause. When I say it out loud it leaves a bitter feeling in my heart. The way my heart feels like it’s being pulled from my chest when the burden of reality sets in. I think how hard I worked to stop. I think of all the tiny little slips that I have had over the years. But a true relapse has never been something I’ve encountered until the last year.
Now I have fresh scars, which brings forth new shame. It reopens old wounds, insecurities, doubt, shame and brings forward a dark reality. To think I’ve become so broken just makes me feel so mad. It’s like it’s stealing the oxygen from the room and from my lungs. I hate.
The sadness weighs so heavy on my soul I can feel the pain of carrying it in my shoulders. So hard to stand up tall. I keep wondering amazement that I’ve made it this far. I’ve got a bail out bag and tell myself when I’m ready I will “know”. I will feel it.
But really it’d be much nicer if I could fight to stay grounded, even though I’d much rather be floating.