The Momentarian Blog

This is probably journal stuff but.... I have been really rocked by the death of our recovery friend. I'm a little stunned at the fact I can't stop turning it around and over in my head. I have first hand experience with having years clean and then slipping away into the darkness of relapse. The insidious thing about an addict in relapse is the disease robs all the memory of recovery ever working, of having friends of, having purpose.  It's as if it never existed at all, just leaving a World Trade Center size hole in your spirit and your only vaguely aware that something, some something used to fill that spot but with what you are unsure. You discover a new darkness, a new despair a new fresh depth of nothingness every moment your eyes are open. You can not see the hands reaching to help you, you cannot comprehend the concept of hope. I don't know if it was luck, divination or mere chance that the last time I ended up in this condition, spiritually dead and shut down, I heard the voice a man that was paid to take care of me in the mental hospital. He managed to wake up the dead part of me and I remembered who I was. The NA showed me the path to sanity and peace. I guess our friend never had that opportunity, no one was paid to wake him up and none of us could.  I will remember him and his recovery when it was alive and well and deliciously off beat. He is yet another heartbreaking cautionary tale about separating from the herd for whatever reasons I may think are valid. The further I get from you, the closer I am to forgetting who I am. When that happens it's only a matter of moments before the dark descends and I forget you were even here and that I ever saw light, and that anything ever mattered.