I started 2020 in relapse.
After over a month of failed attempts at sobriety, I threw in the towel.
Trauma is good at that—convincing you to give up and submit to hopelessness and despair.
Continue readingAuthor: thespacepilgrim
The Value of Death- Intellectual Suicidal Inquiry (CW)
When someone goes through the process of enrolling in counseling services, the question is always asked.
“Are you experiencing any suicidal thoughts?”
From my experience within the mental health system, and through my education in psychology, I know that this must be answered carefully. Typically, I just say no. Generally, they ask if you have a plan for suicide, or access to any weapons that may be used for self-harm. My answer to that is unequivocally “no”, but the thoughts… they still linger.
Continue readingThe Trees.
To see this huge Okanagon forest go from green to black was eerily serene. We got out of the car at one point to take it all in, and the silence was haunting. The forest becomes infinitely more quiet without any leaves to rustle in the breeze. The mist was thick like paint, engulfing the top of the remaining trunks, blurring the horizon between the treetops and the sky, beckoning them to come to their next life. They refused.
I snapped this photo and left it unedited, to remember how beautiful and strong they still are despite surviving such destruction. I thanked them for being candid with me. They reminded me that people are not so different from the landscapes that surround us. Gracefully proud, strong, and resilient, I think we can all strive to more like the trees.
The Alcoholic (Microfiction)
Mountaintops summoned me, but her empty promises only led to endless valleys.
“Please, Atticus,” she breathed into my chest. Her eyes shimmered with effervescent tears that flowed towards my lips. I yearned for her sparkling kisses and ethereal embrace.
Continue readingToday I Wrote
Today I wrote something beautiful. I was filled with inspiration, and the perfect words flowed from my fingertips, like honey on a sunny day. My heart did not pound with existential dread, wondering when I would be struck with a creative spark. I did not pace or fidget. I did not curl up into a blanket and question if my writing was worth anything at all. I did not feel my temples pulsate with angst or yearning. I did not feel the quiver of my breath while sighing in defeat, oh no.
Continue readingAnd Your Blood Will Turn Into Gold
“The true alchemists do not change lead into gold; they change the world into words.” – William H. Gass
My first book is a collection of poetry, illustrations, paintings, and blurbs relating to a journey through trauma, addiction, and recovery. The ideas in these poems are not exclusive to me, the author. The majority of these pieces are relatable to anyone who has struggled with heartache, grief, or substance abuse.
Continue readingJust One.
“Just one drink won’t hurt,” she told herself.
Last week, she celebrated a year sober.
Continue readingReflection (1)
This is what domestic violence looks like.
It’s subtle. It’s dark. It’s slithering and insidious. It’s a candle in the pitch black that’s about to go out.
Imminent. Haunting. Waiting.
You know it’s there, but crippled by fear, addiction, and/or loneliness, you lay down to enjoy what feels like your final moments.
Impostor Syndrome
I heard the term float around, but never felt it actually applied to me. “Impostor Syndrome.” It made sense, the idea of self-doubt, as it was something that was very familiar to me. I didn’t ever think about feeling like an impostor, though. That word seemed like it had intention, and implied some sort of purposeful deceit. Therefore, the thought of being an “impostor” was foreign to me, as excessive honesty, sometimes to my detriment, was my number one value.
Once I got promoted at my new job, the feelings of doubt began to set in. Thoughts like, I must be putting on a good front, nobody knows what a mess I am, soon they will realize that I’m not all that great, and even they only promoted me because of my looks.
Continue readingAn Old Friend
Our relationship was toxic.
She was never a good friend to me, yet I kept her around because I knew her so well.
She always kept me on my toes. I never knew when she would show up. It was always one of two options: tears in her eyes or angry with shaking fists.
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