(87) the endless "road to recovery"
(image courtesy of unknown artist)
it came to me tonight, a small parallel to the absurdity of ED recovery.
embarking on a seemingly endless highway, in a car whose petrol tank has a gaping hole bored in the bottom. such that you must constantly pour in endless, seemingly exorbitant amounts of fuel, just to keep going on the road. whilst drivers around you pass by, chugging along on full, medium and near-empty tanks without a second thought.
your fuel gauge is constantly monitored, measured and, if not at an appropriate level, control of the wheel is taken from you until the fuel is rectified.
you don't know where the road ends, whether it's better than the place you've left, how long it takes to get there, or even how you know you've arrived. constantly taking, shovelling in fuel to an ever-leaking tank feels gluttonous, selfish, wasteful.
"if my equipment, my tank, my spirit is fundamentally broken... it would be so much less of a waste if i just pulled over again, found a quiet spot to park, and turn this guzzling engine off."
your thoughts are consumed by the constant cycle of having to siphon litre after litre of fuel that you don't feel you deserve. the fuel that dictates your waking and sleeping life; terrorising, tempting, tantalising. the fuel that you love(d) so immensely, such that abstinence became the only safe way to preserve it. the thing you want and idolate over, so much so that it feels sacrilegous to take so much from a finite well.
"does a car require more than just endless fuel to keep driving?"
"do i... even want to drive?
you can only hope that you can find the answers
somewhere, someplace, somehow
on the sprawling road that stretches before you.
~ juni.
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