One day older

This morning, I woke up one year older. On my previous birthday, I was probably getting high in a bedroom. On this birthday, I am waking up in a basement on a futon. No, this is not what I pictured for myself a year ago. A year ago, I don’t think I even planned to be alive today. I am trying to think of a way to make this a positive post; about being alive, about going through treatment, about being in recovery. This morning, I am tired.

This morning, as I lie here on this futon, I realize the stark contrasts and the journey of my life. No, this is not where I envisioned myself a year ago. But here’s the thing – I am still here. This in itself is a victory, a testament to resilience, a silent acknowledgment that every day is a battle fought and won.

Despite the unconventional setting, today marks a milestone. A year ago, I might have been lost in a haze, but today, I am clearer and more present. It’s in these quiet moments of reflection that I find strength. Recovery is not just a process; it’s a rebirth of sorts, a chance to rediscover who I am beyond the shadows of my past.

Being in a basement on a futon might not be glamorous, but it symbolizes something profound – a step forward, a move towards stability and health. Every moment in treatment, every day in recovery, is a step away from where I was and a step towards where I can be.

So, this morning, as I embrace being one year older, I choose to see this not as a setback but as a stepping stone. I am alive, and that is no small feat. It’s a journey of a thousand miles, and I’ve taken the first few steps. Today, I might be tired, but I am also hopeful. Hopeful for the healing that each new day brings, for the lessons learned, and for the future that I am slowly, but surely, building.