Writing not smoking

I started this blog to replace smoking with writing, but lately night falls and I just mope.
Depressed, wrapped up in my own fog, trying not to be so hard on myself.

Before sobriety, most of this year was spent adapting to a place that never felt like home.
Work was harder to find than I imagined, and Brasil got so expensive.
I don’t care for the Americanised hustle that runs through this city. Capitalism and racism were bad enough where I grew up – here, everyone seems out for themselves. My savings stretched for a while, but now I’m broke and pregnant, which adds a different kind of weight.

The man I thought was my soulmate feels like a stranger.
My relationship with my parents is strained.
My closest people are scattered across hemispheres.
I’ve made beautiful friends here – that’s my gift – but I’m tired. Burnt out. Craving the familiar breeze of home.

Knocked up and sober, what a ride.
In two weeks I’ll fly home to my parents. For now I’m staying with my grandma, counting down the days.

I’m writing instead of smoking, but I’m not thriving. Sobriety isn’t a relief; it’s a new responsibility.
Addicts are used to working triple time – pretending we’re fine, hiding what we use, burying what hurts.

I’ve been making it to MA meetings twice a week. I share, I listen, I love my fellowship. But when it comes to working the steps with my sponsor, I hit resistance.
I tell myself it’s because I don’t have the physical workbook yet. Or because I’m nauseous, tired, overwhelmed.
The truth is, I’m still avoiding the real labour – facing whatever lives underneath the need to numb.

This is what I texted my sponsor today:

“I shared my frustration with the steps. I realised it’s because I don’t want to admit I’m powerless over weed. I still have that hang-up. Right now I feel powerless to everything – my baby, my ex, my parents, my own bullshit, my past and my future. I feel on the edge of giving up before I’ve really begun, because part of me can’t imagine being free from weed. It’s been part of my identity, part of the world around me. To be free of it feels like becoming someone I don’t yet know nor trust. Even though I couldn’t trust myself in addiction, I want to trust myself in recovery. I want to stop running from my feelings.”

Today I don’t give up.
I accept that I’m powerless over my addiction.
It shouldn’t be so hard to exist – but it is, and that’s me right now.

Tomorrow, I’ll start Step One.