As I published this on an anonymous FaceBook account, I thought to myself, "Am I really doing a recovery storytelling platform any good, if I can't even bear to speak about the day I was born?" And truth be it all that I never thought--born or not--that I'd be alive at 28, fearing 30, or planning a future with the most loving, caring, supportive, and beautiful wife in the World! But, here I am. And as you hear the irony of my life spin out of control through triggers, happiness, self-worth, anger, despair, an embodiment of mind, body, soul pains, the fact is that I am a humbled man for you to sit here with me and take a bit of my life in hopes that it will somehow help yours, or someone you love life, too...
Thank you for being here, on my birthday, and all days. Here's what I wrote... (un-edited, un-filtered. Raw and maybe too truthful.)
"Maybe I'll use a FaceBook that has no friends added to it and is anonymous as a personal diary that is not related to my blogs in any such way so I don't feel compelled to be substance for you, which in turn helps the Substance For You storytelling (i guess...) Sounds like a real cop-out to me. But, we all have bad moments. I guess this is one of mine on a day that should be revered as a victory. Just somehow, I can't let it go...
Entry 1: Dear Diary,
Today is my birthday and whether I admit it or not, I don't even notice that the fact that I say I don't notice it's my birthday or anything of that sort is a false fact. In truest forms of fact, i feel so excited that the sense of ignoring my birthday arriving prior to the actual day is so overwhelming to contemplate my triggers when the actual day arrives.
As tick, tick, tock, the clock has rung: 4:00 AM I lay in bed staring at the ceiling contemplating my fascination for short stories by Poe; leading me to an insomnious battle between the wits of sanity, depression, regression, or just pure oppression covered in layers of utter bullshit.
But oh great, here I am! My stomach turns, feeling sicker by the moment, I've always had a terrible stomach for the artistry of BS...
I now debate and contemplate which leg I'd like to wake up to numbness in tomorrow? Although, I feel my lumbar spine slow crushes itself due to herniation, I attempt to satisfy any ill fate my later years may succumb to by claiming I'm turned onto yoga. While the truth is told, I'm sure it just helps my mind cope more than my body does. Unbeknownst, the fad is turned towards connecting mind, body, and spirit and I'm somehow right in the grips of an overwhelming argument between all three.
Ahem, conscience. We may have something!
Although, yes, I am 2 years closer to thirty; having the experience of a 50 year old and arthritis of a 65-year-old is prevalent; I can't escape the fact that at least I am alive in some blobbish form or another! And 50 pounds down to boot... oh did I mention my blood pressure dropped 15 points on top and 10 on bottom too? Now 114/80 and an O2 level of 98, I've finally lived up to my family standard (and reasonable quota) of hypochondria for myself and legacy (kids; let's hope!).
I guess I better not let this deter me!
Life is ultimately a blissful experience to have such luxuries as air in my lungs and blood in my veins. Ironically enough neither seemed like they were present 7.5 years of recovery ago; truthfully so with smoke and toxins. I've made it to 28 and am honing my most valuable parts of life. Which, just for today, I will enjoy my birthday with my gorgeous wife, two little fur-babies, and parents and brother who finally admire, adore, and finally desire to celebrate these moments with me... for the most part!
So it may seems like a complaint. But, nope. Not one in the world. We all need somewhere to vent. At least this is a safe alternative! And boy oh boy, do I feel better. Thanks for being there the community. You're one heck of a great friend. I love ya'll!
Here's to a happy 28th Brian. You deserve it buddy.