I walk all the way down the airstrip at the end of the island, now a long stretch of dirt, sand and wild grass. I focus on hearing the birds on the docks and the waves lapping up on the shell beaches. I could already feel my lungs closing up, running out of oxygen. I kept walking. I wouldn’t let myself rest until I got there. It was my own metaphor in a way; I had to pull myself through. I’m three quarters of the way there and it’s nearly impossible for me to breathe. I’m dizzy and the world starts to spin, but I start to run. I must stay in control. I run as fast as I can and feel the wind against my body and through my hair. I’m almost there and I think I can make it, but I lose control. My legs weaken and my knees buckle as I fall down to the ground. I lay there for what I think to be 2 minutes before I give in again and close my eyes. 10 minutes later I can feel again. I feel the salty ocean air and I can hear the birds singing to each other over the water and through the mangroves. I push myself up to standing position and make my way down the small hill that stands between me and “the grotto.” The grotto was built by one man but added on to by all of the islanders. This special place, wound into the mangroves, had a different meaning for everyone. For me, it was a safe haven. Safe from all my “illnesses”, “disabilities” and “disorders.” When I was there I could ignore everything that was wrong with me and forget everything that haunted me from my past. I didn’t even have to think about anything in particular, didn’t have to think about recovery vs. relapse, or what I had to do to get better. I stumbled down the hill and to the hammock I lay on when ever I needed to forget. I took off my shoes and felt the soft sand wiggle its way in between my toes. I lay down on the hammock and stared out over the ocean and up into the clouds. I turned on my music, my favorite Beethoven piece and put it on repeat. A song I would never tire of as it helped me get through everything. To people like me they say “you have to find the light and the end of the tunnel.” I took it one step at a time through the long tunnel, but I didn’t focus on the light at the end for that wasn’t what kept me going. What kept me going was the music that lined the dark walls and pushed me forward step by step. What was the light at the end anyways? Recovery? Perfection? Health? Could I ever get there? Right now I don’t care, right now I only care about staying happy, staying here.