Late summer. Early fall.

Tumultuous every time, without fail, for the last five years.

Beauty and pain. Gratitude and regret. I sway with the changing moods, and the memories. So many memories.

I move between exhaustion, self-loathing, with some recklessness on the side. And some despicable pity parties. That disgusting “why me?” That feeling of weakness and humiliation caused by feeling sorry about life circumstances. Despicable. All of it.

At the same time, part of me wishes that I could let my guard down, and stop trying to be tough, give up being a lone warrior for a while. It might be nice, I think, to let all of my emotions spill out into the world. It might be nice to stop trying to persevere through everything with a brave face. That brave face that is supposed to stop people from worrying about what I’m going through. The face that I use to keep people out of my business.

The five year anniversary of my overdose came and went a few days ago. I remember the date, each and every year. I remember the circumstances leading up, and the hollow, blank space in time that followed. Sometimes I wish things had turned out differently. And then I think about what I’ve been able to witness in the time since. At the moment it doesn’t seem to me that I have done much that is worthwhile during these five years. A lot of mundane surviving, filled with aspirations that come and go, like a meteor across the sky. An instant of inspiration and hope, followed by darkness.

What has brought me joy has been the others around me. Watching little ones grow up, and try new things. Seeing my peers accomplish great things. I often find myself living vicariously through others during periods when my life isn’t carrying a whole lot of meaning.

And then come those times where I feel alive, I feel present. A pickup football game, a round of disc golf, or just watching a couple of kids doing regular kid things.

It is enough. Sufficient to keep my heart in the fight.

The wayward journey continues.