The drugs don't work
This is what my recovery actually sounds like.
There’s probably no way to really measure a human soul.
So far, the best instrument I’ve found is music.
You can learn a lot about a person by what hurts their heart, what makes them sing in r car, and what song is on repeat when no one’s around.
I have 1,829 songs in two Spotify playlists — How Will I Live Without a Body? and Farewell Transmission.
They're both curated collections to be played at my funeral.
I made them when I was an addict and obsessed over them whenever I was high.
I was high for a very long time.
I know, planning your funeral playlist is a strange habit for the living. It might even be a cry for help.
In early recovery, music was downright dangerous.
Listening to it — once, one of my favorite feelings in the world — only invited the wrong kind of memories. When I was high, it would ring out in my rented rooms for days on end.
And because smoking crack made everything so vivid, music etched itself deep inside. When I went clean, it was impossible to listen to those songs without longing to be in a certain state of mind.
If music feeds the soul, then as an addict it was often the only thing I remembered to feed. Drugs ate on everything else.
But little by little, I began to reclaim music — eventually, even the songs I knew so intimately while high.
In fact, there’s one playing right now. And you know what? The song doesn’t remain the same. It gets better.
For a long time, I thought the drugs had given those songs their power.
I was wrong.
Since getting clean, about 18 months ago, I’ve added just five funeral songs — usually when I’m sad or uncertain or just straight-up feeling sorry for myself. And, let’s face it, that can be a kind of comfort.
But in recovery, I've also minted seven new playlists:
Mom exercise (she often works out with me)
Afghan Whigs (because Afghan fucking Whigs)
Feeeeelings (we all have them. or most of us.)
Trails (for hiking)
Meditation
Patio (for starry nights)
Writing (for right now)
The funeral playlists add up to 1,553 hours of non-stop music. It’s nice to be prepared. But are you going to stick around that long to bid me farewell? I’ll have long shuffled off this ex-crack smoker’s coil — and probably won’t be haunting anyone in particular.
Those playlists are still there.
But the soundtracks for living are catching up.
Every day, it grows.
A song for the gym. A song for the trail. A song for the night sky. A song for sitting with myself in a room — and actually having a nice time.
My soundtrack used to be for the end.
Now it's for the journey.
This is the sea.