Lie To Me

The only person I can lie to with any success, for any length of time, is myself. And the results are always disastrous.

It has been said that I can paint beautiful pictures in the minds of those who read my words. My first pictures painted were in my own mind. Breathtaking landscapes where I belonged, where I was cherished, and where those I loved, loved me in return.

Those were the pictures of the present time. As I grew older it was harder and harder to keep those images so vivid or even believable.

That is when I started ‘napping’. When my world got too bleak I would lay down and close my eyes and envision my future. A future where I belonged, where I was cherished, and where those I loved, loved me in return.

That is how I wished my life away.

Some day that was going to happen - I just knew it. If I worked hard enough, prayed hard enough, was good enough and didn’t cause so many problems for people my dreams of belonging here on this earth would come true.

That is how I spent the first 37 years of my life in my head.

Some may say that it is a sad state of affairs. They are wrong. It was those beautiful pictures that kept me alive for 37 years. Because when reality came crashing in I could not handle it. My brain popped and my heart broke into one million pieces and I could not catch my breath. I didn’t want to catch my breath. I wanted to die.

So for the next three years I devolved into a drug addiction that I wanted to take me out. I could not die by my own hands so I gave death every opportunity to take me. But the Angel of Death never did swoop in for a kiss.

In the end I have lied to myself about my childhood, my love life in the myriad of forms that it takes, my abilities and shortcomings, and other sundried vulnerable aspects of myself.

There is a step work program that I take part in and I have come to what I feel may be the crux of that first step, that I am powerless.

Of course my life was unmanageable. I'm not sure anyone sleeping in an alley, eating out of dumpsters, and injecting inorganic material into their bloodstream will adamantly claim they are in control.

Now that I am in recovery I am in the business of dealing with dismantling the lies. Like The Truman Show I have reached the horizon and climbed the stairs. I am ready to tear down these beautiful lies. So let’s rip this scab off my heart and let it air out shall we?

I am powerless.

There are all sorts of disclaimers that I can use to box in and categorize that which I am powerless over to lessen the sting and remind myself that I am still a big deal.

But the reality is that outside of myself, my thoughts, my actions, my words spoken or written, I am completely powerless.

I can control my own body, however with enough coercion I would be powerless over that too. You wont fight a gun to your face or a knife to your neck.

In this world that I am waking up to I can only be captain of the SS Self. I can work hard and do ‘right’ things. I can make better decisions and hope for better outcomes. But I am not in control of my destiny. I can barely control my emotions, although as each day piles up in my clean time tracker it is getting easier and easier to do so.

I must sit here today and reconcile that I am powerless over not just my addiction, but everything except my thoughts and actions.

No one wants to feel powerless. Especially if you come with a history of trauma. But the reality is that just because I am a grown up now that pays my bills and has some say in my surroundings does not mean that I am the master of my destiny.

After living other people’s lies for 25 years and then drowning out that reality with a three year long addiction, I don’t want that beautiful lie anymore. I do not want to hit rewind and make believe that I am some wizard with power and control outside of myself. I would rather hear an ugly truth than believe a beautiful lie.

My name is Erica and I am powerless.