Always Trust Your Cape
- wrenrwaters
- 2 days ago
- 2 min read
No matter how torn, tattered, worn out, old, untested or un-used it may be.
It's been a long time.
That's what being married to an alcoholic does to you.
It sinks you.
It drives you down to the depths of your own personal darkness where you are willing to lay down and die.
Ready to let the darkness engulf you and bury all you ever expected, wanted, hoped and believed in for your life.
Getting up in the morning is excruciating.
You start the day pissed off before you've barely opened your eyes.
You don't even try anymore.
To eat better or go to the gym.
To reclaim your life or yell less at your kids.
You give up thinking that another book or TED talk, another POD cast or motivational guru
can rouse you out of your complacency.
Worse of all.
You.
Don't.
Care.
You eat crap and stop pretending you're going to exercise and run up credit cards and skip sleep and binge watch television all night and do anything and everything else that is self-indulgent, hedonistic and self-destructive but feels so damn good.
It's relief from the ten or 20 or 30 or more years of a soul sucking existence.
But then...
The tiniest of embers flickers ever so slightly deep within your being.
What is the 70 or 80 or 90 year old you going to say?
Why'd you quit on us?
It feels so heavy to lift yourself up.
The amount of mental rumination it takes to simply go for a walk around your block is ridiculous.
But there is that ember.
Flickering ever so slightly.
And there is you of 20 or 30 years from now asking,
"Why?
You feel old.
It feels too late.
You berate yourself for waiting "so long."
You run through the litany of "why didn't I's" and "if only's" and the ever cruel "I should have's" but surprisingly, they don't deter you.
Not now.
Not this time.
Because you know this is your last time.
The last chance for that ember.
You thought you were ready to quit
But you're not.
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