Leaping Into Recovery Like

...hella awkward.

But it's okay.  I'm an awkward person; just look at me!  5'11" and my legs alone are 37".  Finding a store that actually sells jeans long enough for me is about as easy as me strolling into the Louvre, perusing the paintings, pointing to the "Mona Lisa," and saying, I'll take that one.  How much do I owe you?

I stumble over my words and when I'm the center of attention I get crazily self-conscious and try to shorten my sentences so I can stop talking more quickly, but in the process make my sentences even longer because I'm stumbling EVEN MORE over my words and then I need to apologize for the word stumblage, and then have to re-phrase (and likely apologize again) and stumble over my apology, which makes, oh I don't know, a simple few sentences that should have taken maybe 14 seconds to say be more like 14 minutes.  Agonizingly long.  Kind of like this paragraph.

Butit'sfineI'mfinewe'reallfine.  ;)

If I have to leap into recovery looking....well, looking like I do in this picture...then I'll do it.  I'd prefer to do it with a bit more grace, but grace hasn't ever been my strongest quality.  Or like, anything I remotely possess (ask my 3rd grade ballet teacher...).  All around me, I see my beautiful brothers and sisters in recovery killin' their sobriety with grace.  They're agile, and nimble, and if they were to be substituted in the picture of me posted here, they'd pry look...I don't know.  I was trying to come up with some really poignant adjective, but honestly... they'd pry just look normal.  And not, you know, like a gawky giraffe who got peer pressured into skydiving and has just leapt out of the plane.  So for all you beshes who are bummed that you're "just" normal, it could be worse.  Gawky Skydiving Giraffe worse.

You know what though?  I'd rather be taking the most uncoordinated, unrefined leap into recovery than to not take that leap at all.  Because after the leap comes the calm.  After the leap, you begin to gain self-respect, gratitude, and humility.  After taking the hardest leap of your life, you realize how freaking brave and just cool you are.  All human beings are pretty cool, (except like Hitler 'n stuff) but I'll tell you what - I know that us addicts are some of the strongest, bravest, bad-ass-est, (I just made that a word) resilient, and loving people out there.  Whether you're addicted to a substance you use a needle for, or whether you're addicted to cutting, or shame, or looking in the mirror and hating what you see...please know - KNOW - that there is a way out of this garbage.  There is a different, beautiful path available for you.  It isn't easy, and it does require that (normal or gawky giraffe-ish) leap of faith, but that leap is worth it.  You may not be ready to take that leap yet, and that's okay.  But please remember that you are worth that leap, and that I need you, your family needs you, THE WORLD NEEDS YOU - and that in your recovery - full of vulnerability and imperfection and scars - we will all see the fudging awesome warrior beneath that.  We recovering alcoholics and addicts are the strongest warriors out there - we are an army - a cussing, smoking, tattooed, pierced, wise-cracking, joke-cracking army -- and we will fight for you.  And for each other.  And for ourselves.  And to those that try to stop us, hurt us, or do so to another in recovery, they better be ready for some hell and like a beat down.  (Or, with me, since I really can't throw too hard a punch, I will BRING YOU DOWN with some vicious rhetoric.  ;)  With words, I will always win.)  You DEF want a recovering alcoholic on your side in a bar fight.  Trust me on this.

Point is, we are an army, and we are getting bigger and bigger at an exponential rate.  We all had to take that leap of faith.  We were all scared as hell.  We all stumbled along the way:

Oh boy.  The Gawky Giraffe stumbles.  Really, are we surprised?  And who the hell photographed this anyway?  (This was about a decade ago, when we all carried around these weird things called cameras, and cell phones simply made and received calls.  We also had to hunt for food and make fire with like string and friction and I did all of my writing on cave walls.  It was barbaric.)

So, stumble.  Okay?  JUST STUMBLE.  And know that it's absolutely okay.  Addict or not, you won't ever do this life perfectly.  You may project that on social media, or to your circle of friends, but you are not helping anyone - including yourself - by doing this.  The world NEEDS to see your imperfections so that they know that it's okay that they're imperfect, or making mistakes too.  The world NEEDS to see those of us in recovery, or fighting like hell to WANT to be in recovery, that we're doing this - we're fighting and we're stumbling and we're taking that leap of faith into recovery, and we're all doing it messily and imperfectly and sort of blundering along.  But we're laughing.  We're breathing easier.  And we have each other.  We aren't alone anymore.

I could have found a million images online of an awkward stranger taking a leap, or someone else tripping.  I thought about it.  Do I really want the whole world seeing me taking a leap of faith while my face really looks like I'm passing a kidney stone the size of a Suburban?  And then, even WORSE, the whole world seeing my ARSE?  I mean, no, not really.  But I gotta be real.  And those pictures are so, so painfully real.  My sobriety and my recovery is full of bumps and barriers, but it is REAL.  I overcome one obstacle, only to find another in my path, this one bigger and meaner.  I cry.  Like all the time.  But I also laugh.  Like all the time.  In my addiction, I neither laughed or cried, because when you're high (or black out drunk) you can't feel anything REAL.  And so I attack each obstacle, and through it all, I am laughing, or crying, or sometimes both at once.

I want REAL.  Even if real is messy and complicated and stumbly (made that word up too) and Gawky Giraffey.  Even if, even if.  Because life is also like this most precious gift.  It's beautiful and wondrous and breathtaking.  Leaping into recovery is scary.  Risky.  Taking that leap is terrifying. TERRIFYING. But that's kinda the point.  Leaping is terrifying, recovery is terrifying, living is terrifying.  But it is also alluring, astonishing, awe-inspiring.  (Alliteration: 3 points!)  Be brave, be terrified, but take that leap anyway.  And we'll all be here to cheer you on and greet you with pure elation (and probably some really bad profanity) on the other side.

To all of the alcoholics, addicts, or flawed human beings out there: shine on you crazy, nerdy weirdos.  Y'all are my people.

Let's go shine on.  The world needs us.