The Quiet

oblivion

I used to drink, pop pills, smoke anything to escape myself.
To mute the noise.
To dissolve out of my reality.
Self-erasure as a lifestyle.
I didn’t want to feel. I wanted to float.
Quite honestly - I wanted to die.

Lately, though, when life tosses me one of its daily catastrophes:
romantic delusion, a dead battery, overthinking a text for three hours, or accidentally opening his Instagram story - I still get that familiar flash:
God, I could really use a drink.
A toke.
A hit of oblivion.

But today something strange happened.

I lay back, closed my eyes, and realized:
I don’t want a drink.
I don’t want to die.
I just want to rest.
A real reset.

Not in substances. Not in escape.
But in that stillness where God lives.

Not the man-in-the-sky version ~ but the God of consciousness.
The pulse. The everything and the nothing. The quiet hum beneath the chaos.

The place I spent my whole life running from?
Turns out it’s the same place I’ve been trying to find.

When I finally stopped trying to fix or flee, I slipped into something softer than oblivion. That glowing space inside the breath ~ the one I used to brush against in yoga before my mind hijacked the moment with grocery lists and existential dread.

The light is real.
The oh-my-God-I’m-home kind.
It’s always been here.
You just have to stop long enough to notice.

For the first time in a long time, I’m not chasing numbness.
I’m chasing presence.

Maybe this is what recovery actually is ~
not fighting the craving, but transmuting it.
Not don’t drink, but drink the light.
Not don’t use, but use the breath.

Maybe it’s okay that I’m still an addict.
I’ve just switched substances.

Now I’m hooked on the silence between breaths, better boundaries, clean sheets, inner peace…

The awakening is happening.
It’s about time.

✨
Bougie

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