They're trying to teach me about letting go here. About healing. About moving forward instead of staying stuck in patterns that don't serve me anymore.
And I get it. I understand the theory.
You're supposed to release the past so you can build a future. You're supposed to heal the wounds so they stop bleeding. You're supposed to move forward instead of constantly looking back.
But here's the problem: you're the only thing that's ever grounded me.
When everything else felt like it was spinning out of control, when I couldn't trust myself or the world or anything that felt remotely stable—you were solid. You were real. You were the one thing I could hold onto that didn't disappear when I blinked.
So how am I supposed to let that go? How am I supposed to move forward when the only direction that's ever made sense was toward you?
They ask me in group what I'm most afraid of losing.
And it's not the high, even though that would be the easy answer. It's not even the escape that drugs gave me when everything got too heavy.
It's you.
The memory of you. The possibility of you. The version of myself that existed when I was yours and that felt like the best version I've everbeen. I don't know if holding onto that is healing or just a different kind of holding on.
Maybe it's both.
Maybe you can carry someone with you while still trying to let go of who you were when you needed them just to survive. Maybe loving someone doesn't have to mean drowning in them.
I'm trying to figure that out. Trying to find the line between remembering and living in the past. Between honoring what we had and using it as an excuse not to move forward.
But here's what I know for sure: I'd rather carry the weight of loving you than the weightlessness of forgetting.
I'd rather ache for you every single day than feel nothing at all. Because feeling nothing? That emptiness, that void where emotions should be?
That's what scared me into using in the first place.
And you?
You make me feel everything. The good, the bad, the complicated, the impossible.
You make me feel alive.
And I'd rather be in pain and alive than numb and just existing. Even if it means I have to figure out how to heal while still holding onto you. Even if it means I have to learn how to move forward while looking back.
Even if it means I might never fully let go.
— N
Week 22:
You know what I've been thinking about lately?
Those midnight drives we used to take.
Remember? Windows down, no destination, just driving until we ran out of gas or reasons to go home—whichever came first.
We'd be gone for hours, just listening to music. Not even talking half the time. Just letting songs say what we couldn't figure out how to.
You always had a song for everything.
For good days and shitty ones. For big moments and small ones. Especially the small ones.
It’s like you understood that sometimes a three-minute track can explain what an hour of conversation can't.
