Tuesday, August 21, 2012

REcovery

Sometimes, we dig down.  I like to think of it as digging upwards.



There's a pain in my shoulder.  I wonder if the pain of that is equal, greater than, or less than that of the pain in my mind caused by my past relationships.

So much is written over such a topic.  Love.  Relationships.  Romance.  The heart.

What is it, though?  Is it truly something that is a figment created by our own minds?  Is the true love really found within; do we need others to cultivate it, to help us nurture it?

Of course, it differs, person to person.  Of course.



Recover, recovery...  From these drugs.  The dependence, the addiction.  Are we really ever free?  Addicted to food and shelter, to water, to life itself.

It this not just another symptom of living, of life?

What makes certain things better or worse than others?



There's a picture painted.  Many pictures, in actuality.  The fools we are, we forget that most pictures are just a split second of time.  Without context, without the actual moments, we know nothing of what the picture is about, what went on the second before and after, or the emotions tangled within the bodies in the photograph.

I see a smile, but I really see a soul that has not evolved.  Part of me wishes to aid that soul again, and part of me wishes to be rid of it, for its toxic grab poisons my own spirit.

We must let go.

We must be free.



When she left (did she really leave?), did she take a part of sense with her?  Were things going to turmoil, only to be "made better" by the mask of sickness?  Should she not have been taken, would life have been going to the trash?  Have we been made stronger, or have we been made to rebuild ourselves differently to make up for what has been lost?



The books on my floor are not the same as they would have been with her presence.  I feel like they might not even exist.  Every moment, every happening, is altered, but meant purposefully.



And my heart?  It is really my mind.  Chemicals, I suppose, nerve endings, muscles and things that I do not understand working together to formulate thought and what I feel is emotion and feeling.  Subjective.  Objective.  Fighting.  Obsolete.



Feel.  Be.



Chad once wrote on my drawing wall about living with passion, but being careful.

P.E.G.

Ed wouldn't be happy, but he'd understand.  Or have empathy.  Or guidance.

peg.

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