As a Peer Recovery Support Specialist, not only do you get a fancy name but you are expected to share your own recovery story as appropriate with others who might be in similar situations. The peer's story is not meant as a badge of honor or any kind of credential, but rather used in a way that is useful in the moment.
At any rate, I just had an exchange with a woman who learned recently that she has Hepatitis C, liver failure, and has been told she has perhaps two years to live. Ok, first off, been there done that (not being boastful), but that is not why I am writing this.
She wanted to know if the sever weakness was about the same as she described it for others at that stage. So, I chimed in with the following just to sort of color the thread below the post since it was similar to others.
I post it here so it is available to anyone who may still be considering reeling themselves in a bit knowing their are on the brink of hurting their body by using in excess.
There are very real consequences. As I sit here typing I just had to adjust my chair, since, though it has been three months and two weeks since my liver transplant, my abdominal muscles are still healing and cramp if I sit the same way very long.
So this is what I had to say about the weakness I felt in 2011 through 2016.
"I remember going for walks and feeling like I was walking in quicksand, uphill, against a headwind, and the gravity was turned up to 11. Then, for a moment, just a fleeting moment I would feel fine. I would get like seven steps knowing it would last but a moment, but oh what a moment. Just like before the fall, upright, clarity, and strong. Then the gravity returns, the lights dim, and the birds no longer sing. Once I accepted this was the way it was going to be, it became much easier and I just sank into it. In fact, had I not opted to really look into alternative forms of all kinds of things I don't know how I would have managed. I could not be that Steve in the socially conditioned world that I had previously inhabited. Things were different now, some amount of control was gone, and I needed to adapt to survive. The good news was, I had been in situations like this before, perhaps not this dire, but i knew would win."
Sitting in the sun on a beautiful spring Georgia afternoon thinking of Danu, the first mother in Celtic mythology, or tradition rather, and how grateful I am to be in such a place and have this time. Sometimes, I fail to enjoy these non-descript moments and then I close my eyes. Since journeying is a big part of my life, I can slip quickly and therefore a simple moment in the sun can sometimes yield new or reminder messages.
I immediately am aware of spirals spinning down to a point far below and it fills my awareness. As I remember to forget expecting something to happen and take the parking break off my mind the scene begins to change. It seems to be a coast line. It is remarkably like Ireland does, but, as the cliffs behind suggest, it is not Ireland, or indeed Earth at all.
I am pulled upwards and am aware of the shrinking beach below as the wall passes.
None of that seems to matter, however, as the scene vanishes and changes to a sun setting on what appears as a wheat field, only much larger plants, and some big elephant looking creatures walking around swinging their trunks around to thrash the wheat. The thrashing would cause the wheat to release some pollen like substance that was clouding in the breeze and winds.
Meanwhile, two large humans like guys, I could only see their shoulders and heads from the back as they were in the wheat, were bagging the pollen.
Then I heard like an old west narrator voice say: “And those animals would whack the stuff each season and the people would get enough to feed them for the year. Nobody really knows why the animals just voluntarily this did, but they think it might have something to do with the people keeping the streams flowing when they get to clogged up and can’t flow to the animals below.”
“As far as why the people even cleared streams in the areas that they did not hunt or live they did it because it was their thing to do.”
Then I opened my eyes. Yup, all that took place in about two minutes. Needless to say, it is a good “time out” or “reset button”.
So, back to Danu. Resetting the Earth, in the Western Hemisphere that is, spring time. All the things in nature work together in chaotic perfection and can not be denied. The vine picks its own path, and so should we, and our path must be clear. So reset often, clear your cache, go clean a stream.
Not long ago I woke up to a photo of the Northern Lights forming what a Phoenix rising. The first thing that came to my mind, was rising to do the daily grind. Ugh. Just like the guys in Valhalla. Wait, what is the difference? Right here, right now. I am in Valhalla.
Not the Valhalla that comes to mind where Odin sits in his nightly hall where the souls of the battle slain are raised each day to join in mortal combat only to rise and feast each evening and laugh and brag of the day’s battles. All in preparation for Ragnarök, or the final battle in which all the God’s would perish.
That is thumbnail treatment of the story to say the least, and I am not clear on the end yet, but the first half makes sense.
The warrior class at the time was the standard as is the “middle class” or higher in modern times. Both involve getting up each day and going through the same repetition. You learn to love it because it leads you to the place you have been shown to go.
To make it in the middle/upper class, most people are conditioned to follow the strict 40 per week, eight-hour day grind. Like it or not. You know there was at least one Viking in that mead hall saying as he rolled out of bed, “Dude, love the feast, but I really don’t want to get cut in half again today.”
You are free, but you are free to be, free to be this, whatever “this” is; a warrior or an accountant. Granted, this is painting with a very broad brush, but in my own awareness, that is a Valhalla I do not want to visit.
I prefer freedom from all things. That is not to so I do not to care for anything, but rather I care only for those things I choose to, and if I focus on doing that as best as I can, then I have done me best. The question of how to provide is not about how one provides for him or herself, but where is it that everyone cares for each other?
That is the place to care about, and that is a place where things make sense. The way things used to make sense before Ragnarök, before we got cut in half.