Isolation (the feeling, not the mountain)

I’m angry again. Enraged. Bitter. Isolated. Forgotten. Lost.

Rehab ended two and a half weeks ago. It should have fixed me. I should be cured of the constant cravings, the constant need for everything to feel better. I should be satisfied with life. I should be able to reach some level of happiness and contentment without the assistance of substances. 

But I’m not fixed. And I feel like a failure. What’s worse, is that I’m scared everyone else thinks I’m a failure. No one understands that I still feel broken. I don’t feel courage. I feel like everyone else has moved on from the crisis I went through, and I am alone in the struggle that still hasn’t subsided. 

The comparison to hiking is obvious. We’ve started out on a hike. Me, my friends, my family, my coworkers, my healthcare providers. We all have backpacks filled with supplies. But mine feels so much heavier. My backpack is filled with cravings, pain, grief, loss and a longing for something to make the load feel just a little bit lighter. All of this is, obviously, invisible to everyone else. Bit by bit, they increase their lead, until they have hiked their way out of my view and slowly leave me behind to struggle alone.

I feel like I’m not trying hard enough. I should be okay. I should be proud. I should be content. But I’m not. I’m weaving my way through a life that at times feels murky and dark and suffocating. I may have graduated from rehab school, but I still feel broken. It feels like everyone is leaving me behind because they expect me to be fixed by now. And it’s lonely here, struggling up the trail by myself while I try to juggle everything on my back.