Around 6 months ago, I tuned into a radio station and by chance listened to a woman share the story of her mother-in-law's life. Her mother-in-law had grown up dreaming of becoming an Opera singer but her family told her to forget it because it didn't fit their plan for her life. So she folded up her dream and stopped singing, her children never knew what she had dreamed of becoming. In her final years she was diagnosed with dementia and was moved into residential care. It was there she forgot to hide the music inside of her and let a little music out, it was there she sang; out of the blue she would stand before her meal in a shared dinning room, or from her bed she would break into song stunning her audience with an aria. She would leave her bed or dinning room for a stage with lovers and killers, a full orchestra and a velvet curtain. Dementia forgot her families instruction to forget about singing, the music was too big, too loud, too much a part of her to keep quiet. Yes she sang a little in her final years but she lived her life without the joy of practicing her gift. She died with the music inside of her.
Its simple. When I lean on drugs and alcohol to numb it all, I do not grow. I do not practise my passions and I'm over it. I turn 45 soon. Everything I love to do is once again on hold. I imagine my dreams collecting dust and disappearing to nothing. Drinking like I do leaves me lazy, weak, depressed, numb, anxious, stuck. Alcohol lies to my mind and body with fast temporary serves of contentment, relief and my favourite, the softening of uncomfortable feelings. There is no growth, no real joy. There is nothing new because there is no focus. Projects are thought of, goals are set but there is no focus nor energy to carry them.
I miss feeling healthy and strong and I miss waking up feeling grateful just to be alive. The absolute notion when I first open my eyes that nothing will bring me joy the entire day is heavy and expected and won't change until I've banked significant recovery time. Right now 24 hours would be significant.
I know why I drink and partake. There is an anger inside of me that is so ugly, so full of hate, I quell it in temporary blasts with substance. And where is my faith, I practice in fits and starts which makes me wonder if I know myself at all. I'm coasting, holding it together but only just. I'm hot and cold; enjoy church one day and cringe at anything Christian the next. Do I have an undiagnosed personality disorder or is it only my attitude that changes, as different as day and night according to my posture toward my maker. Its like there are two of me, they war each other to take the other out and I am tired.
