Post-N.A.
I felt my world was too hard to carry on my shoulders, so a collapse was inevitable in a way no picture book would do it justice. Disintegrating painfully, I rushed to seek help because above it all, I was still proud of being born and alive to think and feel it all, despite my self-sabotaging tendencies.
A few days at the local hospital gave me a perspective on what ails my mind. Professionals in the medical field have two views of how the bag of water and minerals that is me works: Chemicals and spills quite like those Exxon and BP dumped in our world. In my world. The other, an evident lack of a holistic approach to wellness and movement - exercise, to be clear - that would circulate my chemicals more uniformly. Both apply to me thoroughly perhaps even into the spiritual layer.
Today I feel a tremendous disappointment in my sponsor and in the current programs for addiction, as the underlying cause of most addictions is an intellectual and spiritual famine. Neither Psychiatry nor N.A. will do for me what constant exercises in Mindfulness engaged now and hereafter can do. Will do.
When I truly needed practical help during three emergencies, no hands reached out. Ornately concealed under the rhetoric of lazy cowards was the group of recovery junkies, those for whom interacting with another addict is a lure drenched in caramel and chemical dust. I was not human to people who otherwise could have offered their help and not just a platform to be haughtier than thou. I’m appalled at what passes for friendship in some groups.
Some stability has now come into my world, the world I dumped all my toxic spills into when I was a part of the toxic chain of modern life. I plan to keep it clean going forward. That is all for now.
Text: © Lucius Bod
Image: © Narcotics Anonymous
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