I write to help myself heal. I don’t write for numbers or attention. If people read my words, I’m grateful, but that isn’t the purpose. I write to become the best version of myself that I can be, for my wife, my sons, and for my own heart and mind.
Writing is cathartic for me. It helps me process things that were buried for decades under chemicals and addiction. I was on benzos for more than twenty years, and alcohol before that. During that time, I never processed what I needed to process. Everything stayed locked inside.
Getting off benzos brought its own set of challenges that I’m still recovering from almost ten months after my final dose. This path is difficult. And yet, being free from substances has opened a whole new life for me, even now, approaching sixty years old.
Except during the waves, the returns of withdrawal symptoms that come without warning, I can think clearly. I can express myself in ways that are no longer self-destructive. Writing soothes me in a way alcohol and benzos never could. Through writing, I am getting to know myself. I am learning to care for myself. I even like myself now. I am proud of who I am becoming.
I carried self-loathing from a very young age. I had my first drink in seventh grade. From there it was a slow decline into addiction, like almost everyone in the small group of us who used to sneak out of school and drink whatever could be smuggled out of our homes. Some of us ended up in prison. Some of us eventually found our way back. I am grateful to be one of the ones who did find my way out of addiction.
Now, life is good. I am grateful to still be here. I am grateful for my wife and my sons, whose love and patience carried me when I could not carry myself. Without them, I would not have made it.
So if I can help someone now, I will. Getting clean is the hardest thing I have ever done. Along the way I’ve met many others who have fought this same battle. We all have our stories. I have deep respect for every one of them. This is something that can only be fully understood by someone who has lived it, but I hope others never have to.
Everyone has battles hidden from our view. I’ve learned this. We should be kind to each other, always. We never know what someone is carrying in their heart.
Whispering Wyrd 