Staying addicted was, for me, mostly about victimhood. It was fun, too, in a sick sort of way, but that wasn’t what it was about. Not really. It was about being a person who had been hurt, and…thriving in that place, I guess you could say? Not any true sort of thriving, mind you, because all that was really going on was stagnation and deterioration, but in my fantasy world I was thriving. I was throwing caution to the wind and really being myself. Never mind the fact that those who loved me most had to basically just watch in pain as I carried on that way, obviously unreachable.
I say “was,” but that’s not really fair, in a way, because addiction is something I am still learning to undo. There are still things (behaviors, thoughts, and related patterns of dysfunction) that I am addicted to, and I am still moving forward into a place where those things do not have power over me anymore. It is already true that they do not, but there are parts of my soul that need to heal before I can really feel right again.
My goal is to be fully functional. A complete human being, properly operational, and living the kind of life I was made for. Not using toxicity as an excuse for unhealthy reprieve, but moving forward in the best way possible, and just cutting through all of that bad juju like a hot knife through butter.
That just made me want to be six years old again, eating toast.