"Addiction is the hallmark of every infatuation-based love story. It all begins when the object of your adoration bestows upon you a heady, hallucinogenic dose of something you never dared to admit you wanted-an emotional speed ball, perhaps, of thunderous love and roiling excitement. Soon you start craving that intense attention, with a hungry obsession of any junkie. When the drug is withheld you promptly turn sick, crazy, and depleted (not to mention resentful of the dealer who encouraged this addiction in the first place but now refuses to pony up the good stuff anymore-- despite the fact that you know he has it hidden somewhere, goddamn it, because he used to give it to you for free). Next stage finds you skinny and shaking in a corner, certain only that you would sell your soul or rob your neighbors just to have 'that thing' even one more time. Meanwhile, the object of your adoration has now become repulsed by you. He looks at you like you're someone he's never met before, much less someone he once loved with high passion. The irony is,you can hardly blame him. I mean, check yourself out. You're a pathetic mess,unrecognizable even to your own eyes. So that's it. You have now reached infatuation's final destination-- the complete and merciless devaluation of self." -Liz Gilbert
I know this. This feeling. Ventured through it and around it and so damn near to it that it burned off more layers than intended. The recovery I so needed has, for all seemingly possible purposes, been avoided. Certain the next bend would reveal the promised revelations...to hardly no avail.
And now I've come across the most beautiful peak one could hope to see in a lifetime....and where am I? There soaking it all in...? Some days, yes. Other days, I am barraged by thoughts of wandering back to view some of the already documented sights. Nay, they all cast me out. And I ran out. The terrain far too wicked for the progressively weakened spirit I claim as my own. Or perhaps it was recognition of future injury from knowledge of self-titled history books. And mistake me not, it is these many memories and knock-downs that aid me in appreciating all that lays before me. Were it not for the fear....the fear....the fear of everything that could mean something, may I only let it.
Let go. Let go. Jump in.
My legs feel broken. I can still walk but it strains and pains and sometimes takes days and challenges all the many ways that I try to save what I hope I can save. This soul. My very ability. To be.
In love with loving me. Engaging in solitude as I need be. While realizing I have all I shall and could ever hope to need. Already. Soon the beauty shall begin to flow free.
Soon, soon, soon. It will be.
