Day 415
Most of the anger in my life has been pushed down, out of sight. I've heard many men in meetings repenting of their bursts of anger at people around them (especially loved ones), and I usually do not relate to that. As I've unpacked some of these issues, I am stunned at how much anger I have held close to myself as a long-time functioning addict.
I was angry at every hurt and failure, and I turned it on myself and kept it there, except for a handful of outbursts in the fog of crises. When I began acting out, turning that anger into violent thoughts against myself came pretty easy. It even seemed logical that self-destructing was both problem-solving and pain-relieving. Sometimes I am flooded with flashbacks of thoughts-back-then, and I am surprised I survived those dark days when ceasing to exist did not seem like a bad idea.
I was in the midst of these days when I initially listened to the musical "Hamilton" and found myself sobbing when I first inhaled the line,
"... I imagine death so much it seems more like a memory..."
It was the first time I realized where I was and how far I'd slipped into a violent place surrounded by a peaceful complacency.
–JR
I imagine death so much it feels more like a memory
When's it gonna get me?
In my sleep? Seven feet ahead of me?
If I see it comin', do I run or do I let it be?
Is it like a beat without a melody?
–Alexander Hamilton (Original Broadway Cast), ”Yorktown (The World Turned Upside Down)"
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