#healing process

by far easiest to heal pain wise so far including my lobes

as long as you don’t snag them too much you’re set but they do itch like hell

swelling a little (to be expected) but so far not burning or bleeding so that’s great!

Today, I’ve been sober for about a month and a half from alcohol. And has it been difficult? Yes! I’m becoming alive again.

After listening to a new song that crossed my path, it explains what I’m feeling perfectly. The song “Unstoppable” by Ad Infinitum is about the hardships we undergo and overcoming them — like the caterpillar that endures the painful chrysalis phase of evolution and survives to become the butterfly. It’s the transformation that comes from healing and the reliance that accompanies a new state of being. Well, at least that’s how I interpret it.

Songs have come to me as a sort of message. I guess this is my more spiritual takeaway: certain media aligns with how I’m feeling and what’s currently happening in my life. However, most of the time, the songs that come my way weren’t solely for me — they were messages meant for someone else to understand.

A long time ago, a song called “For Those Who Wait” by Fireflight wasn’t a message for me, but for my best friend. I felt compelled to send her that song, and she listened to it. When she texted back, she said it reminded her of back home — of having to set fire to the ground before preparing it again for planting. It was a way of purifying the soil on the farm side of the country she was from. Her takeaway was that to purify her heart for new love, she would have to metaphorically set her heart on fire.

So, with the song “Unstoppable,” I feel like it was finally directed more toward me this time, even though plenty could get something from it. That’s why I’m sharing it here — within the topic of my sobriety journey — because it feels like the lyrics articulate what I’m going through mentally and emotionally. The song itself is harmonized between ethereal beauty and the chaotic power of a metal backdrop. The lead singer’s voice is ethereal, and she adds the growl when it’s needed. With that contrast, it’s striking to listen to.

Now, why is my alcohol-free pursuit making me relate to the song?

Part of the lyrics from “Unstoppable” by Ad Infinitum that resonated most with me:

“So I came back to life, One more time, I fought through the torments alone, Back from the abyss, My power awakened, The flames of Hell will have to wait.”

I said in the beginning paragraph of this blog that I’m becoming alive again. And not dramatizing it. Here’s why. I use alcohol to numb ‌emotional experiences. I reached for the bottle to help myself breathe, which is how I put it. There are a lot of things I can’t deal with in life head-on.

To function in my life and to tune down all the emotions piling up in me as anger and frustration, which is a combination of disappointment, sadness, fears, and abandonment. I’ve been abandoned emotionally and mentally all my life. To this day, I’ve been left to deal with enduring alone, just like the lyrics “I fought the torments alone.” I always view my darkest trials in life emotionally as the dark abyss or the deep hole, filling up with rainwater and muddy walls that are unclimbable. That was one of my worst nightmares: being left in the hole alone, and no one wanted to reach in and help me out. I turned it into a free-verse poem. 

“Pit of Despair”  Darkness is as cruel as the roaring storm's depth, down-pouring from above. The mud swallows my feet. It’s a challenge to act on anything. No one’s there, with the rain obscuring any hope. My screams never reach the top. The loneliness devours me mercilessly, and the faith diminishes to the deafening thunder. The lightning streaks the sky, and my spirit dies with the desire to make every waking attempt to scale the watery walls. Nothing is. No one’s there to help me. Where’s my mother? Where’s my family? Where’s the palm to reach in and save me? No one, but the awaiting death below. The storm’s sudden ease leads to the eye where the sun peeks through. The rain ceases. A light of kindness, drying the void. The beacon shines down. “Now!!” I ascend and grasp anything to mount the surface before me, slipping backward in a loss. Jump and fail. Leap higher. Fail. Once again… Ascend!  I catch the edge.  Keep moving! With all I have, with my last sliver of faith, I haul myself higher, until, head first, I observe the storm raging in the distance once again. The rainfalls are coming for me. However… The sun hovers above, breaking through the despair.  A hand clasps my wrist and tugs me to keep going. “Don’t give up,” the voice says. “Just a little further.” My legs are out of the pit, and I am all complete in the clear expanse. The rains retreat. Sunlight beams in through the clouds. Yet there's no one there for me to meet.  Who supported me in my last moment? Either way… Now I’m free. The pit of despair is no longer my prison.

My poems are remnants of my emotional and mental trials. And there’s always more awaiting. That’s the honesty of it. The trials don’t end. They come in different forms. I’m just not lucky to live this life free from hardship. 

With sobriety, all those suppressed emotions are coming up as agitation. I get overwhelmed and bite my tongue, so I don't lash out at anyone or say something that puts me at risk. Instead, I allow myself to write what I'm thinking. What I’m feeling. I let it all out. 

I’ve said many times in other blogs that I use my writing to transform my traumas and experiences. It’s how I can grieve. Interestingly enough, the character I wrote, Jezebel, from my novel, “The Mark of the Skull,” represents my issues with alcoholism. Using booze to numb the raging emotions within the body and soul.  I didn’t think I related a lot to her character because her traumas shape her to become cold and distant, and indifferent about life and death. Jezebel uses violence to vent her fears, which twist into bitterness and anger. 

The line “One more time” aligns with the idea that this is my last attempt at achieving sobriety. I’m forty years old with barely any bite left to achieve it. Because I did try other times. 

Last year I made it to 104 days and chose to jump off the wagon instead of falling.

In my early twenties, I used substances and alcohol very dangerously because of my mental and emotional state, and it took a bit to get me stable. I allowed my addictions to transfer in my late 20s to early 30s, pushing my body to the limit with exercise and obsession with food control. Orthorexia is the word for what I did. It’s why I have severe body dysmorphia.  I also became a workaholic and obsessed with productivity and making money, as well as other things. 

My alcoholism got worse about 3 and a half years ago, but really the steady decline happened in 2021. Too much happened, and it just kept pouring nonstop.

I wrote the quote, “When there are no more distractions to hide behind, I end up face-to-face with my demons.” This line came out of me after my dog passed away, suffering from cancer. 

Therefore, last year, after realizing I’m risking too much with alcohol because I have autoimmune conditions, I attempted to care about myself more and try.

After 104 days last year, I chose to end it because I enjoyed alcohol so much, and I liked the feeling of being intoxicated. I was a functioning alcoholic, by the way. Even if I started drinking again, no one would notice any difference in my behavior, other than me being more joyful and at ease. But this is my last time. “One more time.” I want this to work out. Although I’m fully prepared if I don’t, which would be my choice. That means it doesn’t matter the outcome. And I would ‌fully accept and enjoy alcohol with no regrets. 

Just so I say it, I did learn that I used alcohol to deal with my environment. It was my way of surviving and tolerating. Tolerating more than anything else. I’ve written many times that people just don’t understand their own capacity to harm. That they can be the antagonist of someone's life. I have many, and I’ve accepted that. But not in the way people think. I don’t allow anyone to take advantage of or exploit me in any fashion.

Now, I see the value of myself and put a hefty price tag on my presence. If someone thinks I’m not worth the value, it means that they don’t have the means to pay. Simple as that.

Are you ready?

It goes like this.

I’m safe.

I’m cherished.

I’m respected.

I’m whole.

I’m present.

I’m calm.

I’m at ease.

Nothing hurts.

I don’t cry.

A kiss, unhurried.

A hand anchors me.

A body curled against mine.

Our breath finding the same rhythm.

I feel okay.

Better than okay.

I didn’t know it was possible.

It still might not be.

I swim whenever I can.

At seven in the morning, I share it with the fishermen, their boats carving quiet paths across the glass. By ten, the children arrive, wading only as far as courage will let them, their laughter high and bright as they fill their swimsuits with sand. By early afternoon, the loud boats pulling tubes of squealing teens make waves that ripple towards me. By 4, the flamingo floats drift out, women with seltzers in hand trading stories about their husbands while the sun settles warm against their shoulders and their wide brimmed hats shield their faces.

But now, they’ve all gone in.

It is dusk now. The sun is giving itself back to the sky. Everyone is gathering around tables. Someone is lighting the grill. Someone sneaks a bite of dessert before dinner. Someone else pulls out a deck of Uno. Music drifts through an open window. A bottle of wine is uncorked. Across the shoreline, windows glow. Tiny constellations of family life. I can’t hear them, but I know they’re laughing.

There is sadness in that.

Solitude always has an edge.

But mostly, there is this.

The hush that arrives with nightfall. The first bats slipping from the trees. The water turning from blue to silver.

At this hour, I belong to the lake as much as it belongs to me.

It takes my tears.

I take its strength.

For a little while, neither of us asks the other to be anything more than what we already are.

Hubo noches en las que las lágrimas parecían no terminar. Días en los que deseé dormir para que todo se apagara. Preguntas que repetía al viento como si los árboles pudieran responderlas. "¿Por qué nunca me eligen a mí?" Pensé que había algo roto en mi corazón. Hoy entiendo que no estaba rota. Solo tenía miedo de perder aquello que quería. Oré una y otra vez para que encontraras al Dios que sostiene montañas y sana corazones. Pedí que Sus brazos te alcanzaran donde los míos ya no podían llegar. Y hoy, por fin, te dejo ir. No porque dejaras de importarme. Sino porque seguir aferrándome a ti estaba apagando la luz que Dios puso en mí. Prometí sanar. No por quienes se fueron. Sino porque anhelo volver a ver el mundo en colores, tomar mi guitarra y cantar otra vez al Creador que nunca dejó de llamarme hija. Hubo heridas. Hubo injusticias. Hubo un corazón que quizo con todas sus fuerzas. Y eso nunca será motivo de vergüenza. No estoy loca. Solo quise muy enserio. Ahora el sendero se divide. Que el viento sea favorable para tus pasos y que encuentres aquello que tanto buscabas. Yo caminaré hacia el Este, donde siempre nace la luz. Tomada de la mano de Dios, sostenida por mi familia y por quienes decidieron quedarse. Algún día volveré a escribir. Y cuando lo haga, ya no será sobre la batalla que casi me venció, sino sobre la gracia que me levantó. Porque fui creada para amar, cuidar y dar. Y ningún adiós puede quitarme aquello que Dios sembró en mí. Hasta luego, caminante. Que el Rey cuide tu camino. El mío apenas comienza.