the simultaneous occurrence of events that appear significantly related but have no discernible causal connection.
“Synchronicity . . . consists of two factors: a) An unconscious image comes into consciousness either directly (i.e., literally) or indirectly (symbolized or suggested) in the form of a dream, idea, or premonition. b) An objective situation coincides with this content. The one is as puzzling as the other.” [“Synchronicity: An Acausal Connecting Principle,” ibid., par. 858. – Carl G. Jung]
With that said, today’s synchronistic events highlighting Addiction have brought up some mixed emotions from my past. 14 years sober and I should be proud of myself…at least that’s what I’m being told today. But I’m not “proud” of anything. I don’t feel like I did anything special or profound to be proud of. It was my choice to start using in the first place, just as it was my choice to decide that life was much more beautiful without heroin.
Instead of feeling “proud of myself,” I’m reminded how and why my addiction began. I’m reminded of the man that supposedly loved me, yet left me there overdosing, and how he eventually lost his life. I’m reminded that I could’ve been laying there in cold blood beside him had I continued my path of self-destruction. I’m reminded of the dwindling list of faces I call “friends” who have lost their lives due to the poison coursing through their veins. I’m reminded of the countless families suffering the loss of mothers, fathers, sons, daughters, brothers and sisters. I’m reminded that an innocent child will never know what it’s like to have her mother because she chooses her next fix over the starry-eyed beauty she created. I’m reminded of a Mother with declining health who, not only has a daughter in jail, but now raises her grandchild while enduring her own battles. I’m reminded of the darkness and how it almost snuffed my flame.
These haunting recollections are kept locked away in the basement where very few visitors get the opportunity to enter. You see, I keep people behind the red ropes of the museum that is my mind and only show them the exhibits I want them to see. But I’m tired of being silenced by fear. I’m tired of hiding my past in fear of judgment. I’m tired of seeing those I care about losing their lives because their addiction is hidden from the world by the very people who “love” them. And I’m tired of carrying the weight of my shame on these shoulders.
So, no, I’m not proud of myself…but I am grateful for all the lessons I’ve learned, for the driving forces pushing me to continue writing, for the beautiful souls I have met along this journey, and for the shunned addicts whom my voice is now an advocate for. I’m thankful for finding my life’s purpose! – Dena Daigle, Phoenix Ascended