Cleaning House.

I've finally, finally gotten a full night's sleep, sort of. The last several nights have been marked by phone calls, withdrawal agonies, and waking up at ass-thirty to go to the methadone clinic. It's been fucking miserable, but it's Saturday, at last, and I slept and slept and slept.

I woke up today and cleaned my room, and then started on my Step 5 work. Step 5 work culminated with me on my bed, sobbing hysterically and talking and talking with a power greater than myself that I sure hope has some plans for restoring me to sanity.

My overwhelming impression of Step 5 is that it made me realize that, all along, there really have been invisible hands protecting me and protecting my husband. He's been doing a singularly bad job of taking care of himself, but he's still, mostly, ok, and he's got a plan for making himself better. I've been detached from any sense of spirituality, or god, or a presence of a higher power in my life for years and years...but looking back, it's clear to me that what has appeared to be madness has been a journey, predestined. No matter how many wrong choices I've mad, how poorly I've taken care of myself, or how far I've gotten from the place where I want to be, I've always, always been ok, in the end. I am taking quite a bit of comfort in known that, and in knowing that I'll continue to be taken care of.

It feels good, though. My room is clean. My heart is clean. I'm ready for what is coming, next.