When I first got to recovery, I was terrified.  Every fiber of my being told me to get up out of the chair and run as fast as I could out of there.  It felt like my brain and my body were literally split into two factions.  My legs wanted to pick me up and carry me out.  My arms held onto the sides of the chair for dear life.  I knew if I let go of that chair for a second, I’d end up running. 

That is how I feel today.  I imagine it is how I’ll feel until Tuesday.  My instincts are screaming for me to run.  It is all I can do to hold on and trust that in this situation, like so many others, my instincts are wrong. 

I am old enough now to know the truth is that my instincts are skewed.  I know that as uncomfortable as it was for so long to cling to that damn chair, the action of doing it led to my rescue. 

So right now my nails are digging into the edge of the seat.  My legs are pissed.  My brain is tired from the internal arguing.  And, I’m hoping that this time will be like last and that one day I’ll think about how grateful I am for having held onto this chair for dear life too.