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 the 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.