I fight off isolation every day. I also fight to keep it close. Addiction is a disease of isolation. Decrease the isolation you feel and decrease the chances of a relapse. Cling to isolation, and the intensity of the cravings feel unbearable. I cannot escape my own mind, no matter how hard I try. The secret to escape is connection. Connection, to me, is incredibly elusive. It’s like someone is blowing bubbles out into the wind and I try so desperately to grab one, make it mine, take it home. And no matter how gentle I am, they keep popping and I wind up with nothing.
Isolation, the mountain, would not be half as scary if it had a different name. It is an understated mountain that, although wild and remote, is a calm and peaceful hike to a wonderful view. Yet the name itself makes the mountain seem desolate and terrifying in my own mind. Isolation and connection are equally as terrifying. In order to connect with others in a way that doesn’t feel pointless and stupid, I would first need to be able to pry all the bricks down that are making up the wall in my mind in order to get to the feelings behind them. But whoever laid those bricks down used a mortar that is way to freaking strong and takes way too much time and effort to break down. People say I need to try harder to get behind that wall. It’s like the river you need to cross if you take the Rocky Branch Trail route up Isolation. If it’s been raining, or if there’s been a lot of snow melt, that damn river is going to stop your efforts every single time. If you do happen to get across that river, you need to make damn sure that the river isn’t going to rise higher before you retrace your steps after reaching the summit. That raging river is like my wall of bricks. It feels unsurpassable and out of control. I’m standing on one side of the river, looking at the trail continuing on the other side, knowing that the summit is so close. But I can’t get to it because my fucking fear of feelings is fighting so hard to keep me safe from things that happened a long time ago. Fear. Fear of looking at things for what they are, sucking up the pain, acknowledging that the pain sucks, and then moving on, realizing that all that pain from the past is not going to kill me. And then watching as the river dissipates and the bricks crumble down. And the summit of Isolation becomes a summit of courage, of power and of connection.