Thursday, October 18, 2012


I’ve been wracking my brain for a couple days now, wanting to blog, but drawing a total block on a topic. Then, as I was cruising social media, I saw some friends who were no longer friends of mine, but were still friends of my friends. Confused? No matter; it isn’t important to the story. This got me to thinking about how the people in our lives change over time. True, deep, long-lasting relationships are few and far between (at least, in my experience). People come into our lives, they go out. Sometimes someone will be in our lives a long time as just a mere association, then will rise in prominence. A casual acquaintance becomes a best friend; a friend becomes a lover.

Thinking about these things lead me to reminisce on opportunities I’ve had here and there to join in certain social circles, to go deeper into a fold, and the times and reasons why I chose not to. I know I’m being a bit vague, but this is a blog not a book. At those times, the reason I didn’t immerse myself more deeply into their group is because I felt different from them. What I’ve been through in life, the things I’ve seen and what my experiences have taught, give me a certain perspective. And sometimes that perspective interferes with my ability to have deeper relationships.

I’m not referring to the common theme of how those of us who suffer from the Disease have been through such trauma in our lives that we have intimacy issues. What I’m talking about here is how it’s hard for me to just ‘hang out’ with a bunch of people who don’t understand some of the deeper, darker, realities of life. I have a hard time relating to folks who haven’t been through or at the very least peered out into the black. I dated a woman once who very quickly came to understand that I was someone who ‘swam in the deep end’ as she called it. I think I made some comment about how the shallow end couldn’t hold my attention after having been in the deep for so long.

There is an important aspect to Recovery, that of rejoining the larger society. Some of us never leave—further proof of the importance of anonymity. Some of us struggle for years. But for those who are successful in walking the spiritual path, we ultimately find a way to rejoin. The ‘moment’ where we do can be different for each of us. For some, it’s getting a dream job (or a decent paying one). For others, it’s a new car. It can be getting married. It can be almost anything.

I’ve had moments along those lines in my life, but I still retain this feeling of separateness. No matter how I might pass as a normie, I still feel that separation. Not that I think I’m better or worse than those who haven’t seen what I’ve seen, just that what I’ve been through in life has changed me. Recovery from the Disease has changed me further. It’s not a change I would ask to be undone, and I can’t imagine ever wanting to go back to sleep, living my days awake as I do now. But still, there is the fact of who I am, and where I’ve been.

No matter how well I might re-integrate into society, the experiences of my life stay with me. That’s not good or bad, it just is.

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