A needle and another year

I keep waiting for the sun to come out. The sunlight in me to come out. Recovering from the abuse of my childhood came with clearly defined markers, year by year. Month by month, even. I could feel hope about this as I clearly was making progress. This?

Will this be like recovery from my drugs? Where it takes years of frantic obsession, checking and rechecking, white-knuckling, experiencing only brief moments of serenity, to finally get better?

Because I remember it was like that. It took two years before the terror and agonizingly long work finally paid off. Two years. It felt endless. And in the end, it was like I just woke up one day and it was gone. The obsession to use, the need to apply ungodly amounts of platitudes just to get through the day, the hopelessness, it had just...out of nowhere, it just lifted.

One day I woke up and was free from the needle and free to my live my life. Simple as that.

Since this does not seem to be like the first, I can only assume it's going to be like the second. Where one day, I'll just wake up and be...happy with being me.

And if I'm honest, getting to that day just seems like it's getting harder and harder somedays. I'll make it. There's nothing else to do BUT make it.

But if this is a needle, goddamn, it's going to be another long, long year to get there.

This entry was originally posted at http://quirkytizzy.dreamwidth.org/1074772.html