Two strangers met today. Myself and sobriety. A meeting that brought agitation, irritability and loneliness. The routine of the day unit has gone, yet here I remain, trying to maintain a routine outside it. Showering early. Planning my day. Structure. But between the ordered entries in my diary lay prolonged waves of absolute, immeasurable pain. Pain indescribable. So obscure and scouring that my body crawled with discomfort. Unsafe within my own skin.

I did reach out. I placed a message into the safety of a recovery group chat, and my friend rang immediately and told me to meet her for a cuppa. And I did. For that short time, I felt better. Less alone. My thoughts turned towards her and the things she needed to say. And that is where I shine. I can help others. Go to great lengths. I can make another human feel worthy. But I cannot do that for myself. I don’t know how. And whatever relief I find never seems enough, because there is always more. More hurt. More pain. More skin crawling aggravation as I struggle to deal with it sober.

Today felt as though a large tipper truck had emptied a full load of brick and mortar onto me, then added more for good measure. Crushed. Defeated. Desolate in my thoughts. And now, awakened within me, is the trauma of years, slowly seeping into my everything. How do I cope? How will I cope?

I have a plan for the week ahead. A diary of meetings, workshops, therapy, physiotherapy at the gym and an optician’s appointment. And I hold onto the hope that these things will keep me safe. Safe from myself. Safe from self destruction.

Recovery is not a whim, or something I can pick and choose. It is vital. As vital as a beating heart. Recovery is tiring. All consuming. And today, nothing short of painful.