Day 124 - The Weight of an Empty Sky
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Today, I woke up feeling a heaviness that pressed down on every part of me. Admitting the truth that Hope may never speak to me again didn’t magically lift the burden—it just brought the reality into sharper focus. Instead of the peace I thought might come with acceptance, I feel like my light has gone out. I keep running through scenario after scenario in my head, imagining all the ways I could finally say my piece—to say thank you, to make her understand this journey has been so much more than addiction alone.
But here’s the thing: my mind became fractured long before I realized how much the substances I took were numbing a pain that’s been with me like Peter Pan’s shadow. For years, I got so good at avoiding it that when it finally returned, it felt like my entire world was collapsing. Now, I’m learning the only way out is to confront my demons—to face that shadow, no matter how terrifying it is. Because if I don’t, I’ll stay trapped in the past, unable to move into the future. And I owe it to myself—and to the memory of Hope—to truly live in the present.
Still, letting go of the only person I’ve ever truly loved feels impossible. It’s one thing to write the words; it’s another to believe them, and yet another to live them. Our time together changed me in ways I can’t fully explain. She always seemed to know exactly how to push me to grow, how to inspire me to fight. Letting go of that connection feels like losing a piece of who I’ve become.
Isolation compounded the pain, turning it into something almost unbearable. People aren’t meant to exist in total solitude—especially not while trying to heal from shattered bones and broken spirits. I tried everything to numb the pain—Oxy prescriptions at first, then dabs (I told myself it was just for anxiety, but it was really just another escape).
And behind all of that, I loved her. I loved her so much that every step I took felt like it was for her, for us. But in the process, I forgot to love myself—I put on this armor, imagining some heroic quest back to my “queen.” It was unfair to us both. Now I see I have to figure out how to live for me. And that might be the hardest lesson in all of this.
Writing to you—whoever might be reading—helps me sort through the chaos inside my head. Even if no one hears me, I need to speak these truths. This is my story, and I’m taking these steps for me now. That’s the only way I can honor the kindness Hope showed me, and maybe one day, find my own light again.
Day 124
One Step. One Punch. One Round. 🌹
—Your Fellow Traveler