Residential Drug Treatment | Alcohol Abuse | Illegal Drugs

alcoholic. I just had my first birthday December 31st and today is the anniversary of my first fireside (newcomer chip.) I'm looking forward to entering the toddler stage of sobriety. Remembering is a good thing, something I do much better now than a year ago. I do remember very well the things I DON'T MISS about being a drunk:

Daily blackouts, those times I invincibly tried to fix the world and everyone in it: control.
Losing half my days sleeping it off, the ever increasing shut down:
worthlessness.
Waking up always disoriented, not knowing where I was, what time or what day it was: fear.
Shaking uncontrollably from head to toe, bouncing off the walls and other objects, falling: illness.
Digging through the trash and other people's belongings for my constantly disappearing keys (Okay, who took them this time?! I've gotta get to that liquor store, now!): insanity
Searching frantically for my hidden stash, the backup supply that never quite made the status of "backup". (Did I already drink it?): unmanageability

Helplessly observing the quick, effortless location of the stash by family members I had hidden it from. (All I had to do was ask.): more insanity.
Finding myself drunk driving somewhere. (Where was it again I was going?): treachery.
Putting my children on the "endangered species" list every day: corruption.
Losing precious, irretrievable time in my children's lives: abandonment.
Holding all human beings under suspicion, trusting no one: anger.
Being the suspicious person myself whom no one, especially not even I, could trust: despair.
Believing I'm not allowed to be human in my humorless, bleak, oppressive world: faithlessness.
Being unwilling to understand or accept the humanness of anyone else: unforgiveness.
Having no clue about boundaries: what, when, who, why, where, or especially how. (Who, me?!)
Owning other peoples mental, emotional, and behavioral stuff: guilt and frustrations.
Trying to make others own mine, to somehow change the past: blame and resentment.
Giving myself no respect or rights, while fighting to get some from somewhere: no self-esteem
19. Inviting disrespect and allowing others to take my rights away: self-sabotage.
Fearing normal things like the telephone and doorbell: paranoia.
Fearing everything and everyone, while blaming them for my alcoholism: denial.
Embarrassing myself and my family, but always realizing it too late or not at all, then doing it over and over again: shame.
Thinking of myself as a superhuman, while allowing myself absurd, irrational, twisted and illegal thoughts and behavior. (I know how exceptional I am, even if no one else does!): false pride.
Hiding like a tiny dot, hoping would notice the wretch in futile existence: deceit.
Knowing, yet denying, the dread and agony of loved ones who copes and dealth with me daily: sad.
Hopelessly wondering every moment of every day, "Who knows I'm a drunk, and what are they thinking but not saying?": rejection and isolation.
Forcing my eyes to stay open, knowing that if closed them I'd never open them again: terror.
The horror of staggering from my dark isolated reality into my darker isolated escape, on the autobahn to my darkest isolation, a drunken death: isolation.
Rapidly deteriorating mentally, physically, emotionally, and spiritually in the insidious downward alcoholic spiral that nearly took my life: powerlessness.
Shutting the door on God, opening it only for the flow of alcohol: infinite void.

The "I DON'T MISS" list is endless; the "I MISS" list is a blank page. God's world continued on its course in 2001; my rehabilitation and sobriety didn't change the world. Life continues on its terms, but each passing month has brought me closer to living my life on life's terms. Just focusing on sobriety has made that so, as I count on God and my AA tools to take care of myself. The more time passes the more each day means not the sum total of them. And each day means "NO DRINK, NO MATTER WHAT!" Today I have the knowledge, power and desire to make that momentous decision to keep that promise of choice to myself, unbound by the thief I allowed to steal away so much of my life for so long. I am able to write you this with a great sense of joy and freedom that I only dreamed of just a year ago. Being a chronic alcoholic is the greatest, as long as I didn't drink over it! Sobriety is a progressive trip, born out of a progressive disease. The best trip I've experienced: recovery.

Love,
Your co-addict friend,

Cindy