realizing XP is all that matters to me

i habitually misunderstand what recovery means to me and what it will look like. i'm not claiming this to be unnatural. i live longer, shifting and expanding my view on life which impacts how i regard everything involved in it. it's a beautiful thing. i begin to take on life as a treasure hunt of sorts, rummaging around hoping to locate the next puzzle piece. but i do not live for these pieces. i'd rather them appear, though digging is a fun past-time of mine. however, i cannot dig without the shovels i gain from XP (hehe). similar to minecraft where each shovel only lasts so long and can only do so much until i must venture back out.

i sat in front of my journal letting my hand and wrist do more thinking than i. i saw previous insecurities evaporate before my eyes with an official declaration. the things that made life so hard to live no longer mattered or made sense. they no longer resembled heavy weights too heavy for me to comfortably carry but not enough to send me down. a burden had been lifted but not because of a pill i took, not because of someone i talked to, but because i was alive.

i think hard on a lot of things. i note the errors of my past thinking. i knew them to be harmful but rationalizing brought on many challenges. i tried to justify staying for years, often unsuccessful, until an idea came through. it brought light through my tunnel. wanting to leave implied a belief that i'd be around for far too long, but that is not something i could ever know.

i knew this belief had a limited lifespan, but it was enough to get me to the next stage.

...

isn't it crazy? a lot of the problems that made me no longer want to live could be solved by living. oh, the irony of life. i love to see it sometimes.