Whispering Wyrd

Some people seem to find their path early in life. I didn’t.

But I’ve found it now.

“Better late than never” isn’t just a saying, it’s definitely a truth. I’ve known people who never found their purpose. I’ve known others who never got the chance because addiction, prison, or death took that chance from them. I understand deeply that I am fortunate simply to still be here.

I’m approaching my sixtieth year of life. And for the first time, I don’t feel lost. I don’t feel like I’m wandering around without direction. That feeling, after decades of confusion and survival mode, is hard to describe to someone who has never felt it.

There was a time I didn’t think I’d make it to thirty. My wife still teases me about that. “Look at you now,” she says. “You’re already twice as old as you thought you’d ever be!” And she’s right.

Recently, a lifelong friend and I were reminiscing when he stopped and said, “Where did the time go, Buck? Seems like only a year ago we were young. Now we’re sixty!” Time does fly. People we knew are already gone. Others are actively dying. Time waits for no one. But what we do with the time we have, this moment right here and now, that is still ours. Our choice.

Somewhere along the way, without me even really realizing it, a mission formed.

When I was getting clean, I was helped more than I can ever properly express. Not by lectures. Not by statistics. By stories. People told the truth about what they had lived through and how they survived. Their honesty gave me something priceless… hope.

Hope is like oxygen in recovery. So now I tell my story.

When I shared my clean date, the length of time I was on the drug, and the taper process on a recovery group’s website, the response shocked me. Over sixteen thousand people read that post. Sixteen thousand people searching for relief. Searching for reassurance. Searching for someone who made it through.

Only 53 commented.

And that’s something a lot of people who’ve never been addicted to a controlled substance don’t understand.

When someone is struggling with addiction, especially involving a prescribed controlled substance, speaking or commenting publicly can feel terrifying. It can feel exposing. Vulnerable. Risky. Silence doesn’t mean no one is listening. It often means someone is reading quietly at two in the morning, holding onto hope. I know that because I was once that person!

So if my blog doesn’t explode with comments, that’s okay. I know people are reading. I receive the private messages. The private “thank you” messages. The “I needed this today” messages.

That is why I write.

I didn’t survive what I survived just to coast through the rest of my life. I didn’t walk through fire just to sit comfortably on the sidelines. Others once extended their hands to me when I was burning in that fire.

Now I extend mine.

If I can help even one person feel less alone, less afraid, less ashamed, then every word I share of my own story is worth it.

I may have found my purpose late, but I have found it.

And I intend to use the time I have well.

Amituofo
~Buck