Notice: we have a large wooden welcome sign to the left of this corner, the crooked and bent street sign of Relapse Boulevard is nearby and I’ve set up my tent and have a ready going campfire brewing. We have a lengthy walk to the Target through the forest and over a small stream, but we can get our food there and bring it back to the camp grounds.
Watch out for the fire ants, they like to bite and in the far distance we can sometimes see dogs passing by.
We hide in our lies that things are predominantly all right while scratching ourselves behind the scenes because we’re finding ourselves to be quite cozy in the Relapse Boulevard campsite.
It’s not the best of places to be at, but we’re aware that our #RecoveryHome is looming in the distance, and the lighthouse beams pass by us now and again.
We’re not sure how long we’ll be staying here for, I’ve got my brain on a leash (its collar has spikes and glitter) after all, and I’m not sure how long it will stand to be on the leash for…. Or how long we’ll be staying here for, either.
It’s not exactly good that I’ve set up camp here. But it’s a way of avoiding reality… and I’m finding myself wanting to just curl up in a ball and push away my responsibilities.
I hope you’re not too disappointed in me. The air at the campsite hangs with bitter melancholy.
I have to venture out for a walk on Wednesday when I see my therapist again… but until then, I don’t have any intention on stopping my self-harm. Maybe I should, and part of me does, but I’m liking doing it and I’m … comfortable at this campsite. For now.
I think I’ll just hang out here for a while. I think I’ll draw a picture of what the campsite looks like too. It’s gloomy even when the sun shines, and the fog is thick. Thick, yet beautiful, maybe in all the wrong ways.
So, welcome to the campsite–don’t join me if you’re not already here on your own volition. Please, don’t. And if you are, you’re within company.
I pray that we’ll return to safety and our #RecoveryHome soon. ❤ ❤ ❤