Blue Monday

I promised myself when I started this blog that I would always be transparent, vulnerable, and honest about my feelings. So it’s impossible for me to be relentlessly uplifting in every post, though of course I’d like to be. But the reality is that no one walking this earth lives a life without pain or sadness or bad days. And today I had a bad day. So I’m writing this, partly for myself and partly as a message in a bottle, tossed out for anyone else who might need to hear the words that God has given me tonight.

I often say that God uses strange things to reach me. Lately, He’s reached me through the alt rock band Blue October. The lead singer of Blue October is Justin Furstenfeld, a man who got clean and sober eight years ago, one month after I did. Justin started leading online recovery meetings when the pandemic started, and those meetings have been a lifeline for me since I’m high risk and can’t attend my regular meetings. During each online meeting, Justin sings some of his band’s songs, and the lyrics have been an important teaching tool for me. The song titles alone speak volumes to me:

“Fight For Love.” My favorite line from this song is, “We carry hearts that have both been broken. Don’t you think we better fight for love?” I try to remember, with everyone I encounter, that people carry heartbreak with them. Some bury their heartbreak; some face it and move on. And some, like me, wear their hearts on their sleeves—I feel like people must see my heart as it’s breaking because I can see theirs. But even in the midst of heartbreak, I fight for love—because people fought for me when I couldn’t fight for myself. And because there’s nothing more important than the kind of love worth fighting for.

“I Want It.” This has been my anthem for the last few months, with back surgeries and bronchitis and two COVID-19 scares. There have been many times when I’ve wanted to give up—to say it’s just too hard and I can’t keep going. But then I remember this song. The chorus is just an intense repeat of the words “I want it.” So every time I hear it, I remind myself of what I want: I want a full life lived in recovery, not a pointless existence drifting from one substance to another in a hopeless quest for oblivion. I want to make peace with the ghosts of my past. I want to use my pain to tell others that it’s possible to be in pain and still thrive. I want the people I love to know I love them even when I make mistakes and say the wrong things. And I want to make it right when I do make mistakes. I want to be able to answer these three questions at the end of every day in a way that makes me proud:
Did I hurt anyone today?
Was I kind to everyone today?
Is there anything I need to apologize for?
And if I’m not proud of those answers—if I hurt someone or was unkind—I want to have the humility to apologize right away, be grateful for the grace of forgiveness, and move on.

“Not Broken Anymore.” I work a program of recovery every day, and I’m leaps and bounds from the broken shell of a person I used to be. And yet . . . there are days when I still hear the whispers: “Remember—you’re broken. You shouldn’t be writing and sharing your story—you’re broken. All you’ll ever be is who you used to be—irreparably broken.” But then I look up and remember that God uses broken people. I look into Monty’s eyes and see myself the way he does. And the lyrics of that song wash over me in a wave of serenity:
“I can’t stop thinking
How you just keep making
Sense of all that was broken before
And I won’t keep faking
‘Cause I’m done with taking
‘Cause with you I’m not broken anymore.” 

“This Is What I Live For.” Every time I hear this song, I ask myself what I’m living for—for myself? To endure another day? And I remind myself that I didn’t come this far and do all the work of recovery just to endure and live for myself. I did that work to understand myself so that I could help others understand what it’s like to live with the pain of mental illness and addiction. And that’s what I live for—for the moments when I can reach someone the way others reached me when I was at my most desperate and vulnerable. I live for the times when I look at my parents and am overwhelmed with gratitude for the ways they’ve fought for love—for me. I live for the moments when my brother tells me that he’s proud of me for how far I’ve come. I live for the times when I fall to my knees, look up, and feel the presence of the God who made me, loves me, and has a purpose for me. And I live for the chance to reach one of you—just one—and tell you to keep on. To fight for love no matter how broken you feel. To decide what you want and go after it, even when doubt and fear threaten to overwhelm you. And to remind you that no matter how blue you may feel, you’re never alone.