I live in four little worlds right now.
The first is the easiest to describe. Work is full of problems that I don't understand, but which I am expected to solve as quickly as I can. I panic and stretch and push myself to solve these problems. Then I come home and log back in and go another round or two. I've worked the last two weekends in a row, which is bad for me but was something that had to be done to break through the logjam. Somewhere in this mess, I get a paycheck that keeps us fed and out of the weather. There is no end of this in sight, and it feels like every day one of the supports that keeps me up is knocked slightly further out of position.
The second world takes place in hour long segments, down the street from the house. I get on a stationary bike and I go and go until I feel that ache that tells me my hip has had just about all the exercise it can take. Then I stretch and strain and lift as many weights that I can before I run out of steam. Then I drag myself home and sit and stare at a wall until I feel some little trickle of energy return. I work through the muscle aches until I think I can give it another go, pushing myself even when I don't want to, in the hope that some day I can push myself to do it even when I don't want to. This is a world I'm reentering, and it is exactly as hard as I thought it was going to be when I went back for the first time. I do it because I know the day will come when the hip will stop moving, and then I'll have to have little bits of me carved out and resurfaced. I would rather this day be as far into the future as possible.
The third world involves a little metal hook that I thread through yarn until a blanket or a scarf magically appears. This is one of the worlds where I feel like I am constantly doing things skillfully, and that I'm actually able to solve the problems I encounter. I may not be spectacular at it, but I can clearly see how I have progressed in the last few years. When I am in that space, I feel remarkably self-actualized. It is probably the closest I get to meditation outside of the tank. This is the anchor that is keeping everything else in place at the moment. I never thought that little strands of plastic and wool would ever be so important.
The last world exists entirely in my own head. The landmarks have changed a lot in the last six weeks, and there is a lot of change yet to accomplish. My life is suddenly full of more ghosts and half-remembered moments that have taken on added significance. I've been afraid of digging too deep in those memories, but now I know that I have to if I ever want to get healthy. So this is therapy, and writing, and talking about things that I would rather not talk about. This involves treating my addiction like it is a fucking addiction instead of whining about it all the time. This is talking myself into making thoughts come out that would rather not be expressed. I have been passively and actively avoiding this for a few years now, but recent events have made this position untenable. I'm forcing myself to deal with shit instead of ignoring it, and it is really fucking scary.
I'm hoping that I can work them all into one world. Maybe there are answers there.