The Stories We Tell Ourselves

Photo by Tingey Injury Law Firm on Unsplash

Sometime in late fall/early winter of 2011, I was concerned that my life was going to end by suicide.

Well, “concerned” is a strong word for it. Concern requires a certain degree of caring. Of being attached to life. And I didn’t have that.

I was more… curious? “Is this how it’s going to end?” I’d wonder.

I was ten or eleven months into sobriety and I wasn’t convinced that a life without alcohol was worth sticking around for.

That’s what addiction is like, if you’re curious. It’s not about “Oh, yeah, I don’t care about consequences, I’m just gonna have a bit more of this substance that’s ruining my life.”

Most addicts aren’t sure they’ll be able to survive Earth without their substance of choice. Because being a human on Earth doesn’t feel so good to them. It feels kind of torturous, actually.

And I was in that place.

Sobriety had been going reasonably well, but then financial constraints meant that I had to leave Florida, where my sober friends and recovery support were, and move back to Pennsylvania.

And, although I had a lot of fun with Wolfgang during those few months, life was hard.

Like… really hard.

Maybe I’ll just end things myself kind of hard.

Except I had already vowed not to do that. Not to anyone else. But to myself. In a journal during my first depressive episode.

I wrote a four-page list of all the things I’d do before I killed myself. Because, frankly, if you’re about to off yourself, I think you might as well consider signing some of your own permission slips first.

So this particular human knew she had options. I could move to India instead of killing myself. I could try heroin instead of killing myself. I could… pretty much anything. I was 22, physically healthy and resourceful. The world was my oyster.

But, in a true lack of creativity, I decided to go with the easiest option.

I was going to start drinking again.

I set my company’s holiday party as the date.

And I started to look forward to it. I missed alcohol. I missed having fun. And I was going to have some fun at that party.

Except…

Then I got a letter in the mail.

The court date for my DUI had been set. I needed to be in Pittsburgh on the day of my company’s Christmas party.

So my plan fell through. I didn’t relapse.

And now here I am, a decade and change out from active addiction. Alive and thriving.

I’ve even turned into someone who writes about delighting in the human experience. Earth doesn’t feel like a torturous prison sentence anymore. It feels like the most glorious place I could possibly be.

Do you know what helped?

When that court date was sent, when the summons came that foiled my plans, I read into it.

I believed that the Universe intervened on my behalf. That it had a reason for wanting me to stay sober.

I didn’t write it off as a coincidence or otherwise diminish the magic of the moment.

Instead, I amplified it. I leaned in hard, making up a story that got me through a challenging time.

You know that we’re allowed to do that, right? Make up stories about things working out in our favor? Then believe the stories? For no other reason than it makes our human experience easier?

Easy is allowed.

Xo,

K

Morning Musings is a delight-first writing practice where I wake up, put my fingers on the keyboard and “learn in public” (credit: Liz Gilbert). The delightful humans who read these musings tend to see them as an invitation to slow down, have a virtual cup of coffee together, and contemplate the human experience. If you’d like to join our tribe…