Let's stay together
And take things slow.
This is my 11th blog entry… in 10 days.
No one is congratulating me for my dedication and industry. Mostly, they’re waiting for the other shoe to drop. And I can hardly blame them. They’ve seen this show so many times before.
That’s the lot of recovering addicts. Just because we start fresh doesn’t obligate friends and loved ones to give us a fresh start. After all, how many times have they seen me embrace a new project with wild-eyed enthusiasm — and then drift off to something else? The same goes for friendships and even relationships. I fire up the turbines — ‘you’re wonderful! I love you! — and then I ghost.
Well, in the interests of my personal reconstruction, I’m hoping to change that. I’m not going to ghost this blog. I’m not going to ghost you. I’ll understand however, if you don’t take my word for it.
There are a few good reasons why I’m sticking with this.
For one thing, if the dust settles on a blog like this — if you should hear from me no more — it’s easy to come to a most dire conclusion: Recovery was off to a great start, but the author just couldn’t keep it up. The story of his life. RIP De Quincy.
And what kind of message would a dead recovery blog send to others hoping to change the course of their lives?
That’s why it’s so important that I nail the ending. This is the biggest relationship of my life. So, here’s another promise. If I ever do fall short — if I lapse — I’ll tell you about it. Because lapsing is one thing. But lying about it seems a more monumental fuck up — a throwback to the man I used to be. I’m not paving the way for a relapse, but as a reader and friend commented on a previous post, I’m ‘leaving myself grace for it.’
And in doing so, I can, as they so enthusiastically remind you at Alcoholics Anonymous meetings, ‘keep coming back.’
That said, I don’t want this to become an exercise in bloodied typing fingers. How many straight days can he keep writing for? Can’t stop. Won’t stop!
No. I’m going to pace myself for the long haul. I’ll post every couple of days — basically when it feels like I’m going to explode from pent up ideas.
Besides, no one likes to stare at a white screen. When I have thoughts — and the recovery experience brings so many — my fingers trample the keyboard like a drunken elephant. Honestly, it’s so loud my mother can hear it downstairs. Now that I mention it, it’s late and the hoofbeats are probably keeping her up.