Recovery comes at a price.
If only I stood before you the conquering hero full of triumph and glory and my story was a message was what poets wrote about and captivated one’s ear. The truth is far more morose and would graffle against one’s on morality.The addiction a had riddled one’s comprehension of self to this vary moment. The ritualistic conjuring of this truly vexed spirit even now in recovery sought only to consume. The denial of one’s own fault would leave no escape.The cry for help was so tainted with self defeating fear that I could not hear myself and the surly mire consumed me. Yet still faith in could be I stretched forth and though the struggle is real, a true awakening of self would pierce the vail of insanity and the walls came down and the truth had truly set me free and I could see. Not even the guilt and fear could stand in the light.A true reckoning and the yoke was lifted and what remain was a new understanding of sobriety formed. The one time great price that had escaped through the out stretched fingers became within one’s grasp but the reality is that one had fallen so far that he would have to muster all new formed understanding and hold it as if it were the vary light to freedom.No more would I hide in the narrows of my shadows. I would walk with those who traveled the arduous journey before me and walk with those that had been there all the time. I was so blinded by self to see those around me and for the first time I did. Help comes to those who ask and are willing to be shown the way.To this I must reach out and hold fast for I do fear the loss of belonging I felt upon this very day.