11 August 2013

11 August 2013

Recovery

(n.) The hardest part of an addiction.

Relapse

(v.) To slip back into the addiction.

(n.) The point in time when recovery fails.

(syn.) See “present-tense.”

Addiction

(syn.) See “hell.”

The demons that we find within ourselves are always the hardest to face. They are the most deeply embedded and the hardest to get rid of. We can't exorcise them by ourselves, but they won't let us call out for help. So we end up trapped in the hell of our minds, being devoured from the inside out by the evil spirit that has inhabited our fragile bodies. Such is the nature of possession.

People tell me all the time that Rome wasn't built in a day. That I have to keep working, keep trying. Keep going. Eventually I'll have the support, the infrastructure, the beauty and stability and magic. Just like Rome. But there's a slight problem with that analogy.

But eventually, Rome fell.

I've been in relapse for a while now. Mentally, I'm all the way back where I started. Physically it couldn't be farther than the truth. I don't know how much I weigh; probably somewhere between 145 and 150 pounds. I have so many overuse injuries I can't move without pain. But I can't find the will to restrict, either. So I end up just hating myself, wishing for a skinnier me to come and transform my body overnight. I hate myself because that can't happen.

Rome wasn't built in a day.

It was chiseled out of stone, out of earth, formed in the way it was wanted. Designed by the will of the beings who controlled it.

I will form myself, chisel myself down from stone until I'm the proper shape and size. Until there's nothing left. I will turn myself into a masterpiece.

I will be Rome.

And eventually, I will fall.