I heard an old-timer at a meeting once say, ‘You know, the first few years of sobriety were a blast because the changes were so drastic and everything was so new. Now it’s…’ and then he talked about mowing his lawn. I had read the writing on the walls – sobriety becomes boring.
When I was younger, I always thought there was this better version of me that I was waiting to grow into. That may very well be true, but thinking of a heaven in the future can make a hell out of the present. Speaking of damnation, I’ve had a deep and vicious fear of hell all throughout my life. One that waited, hungry for me at the end of this life.
My life in recovery is more even-keeled than that. Even-keeled doesn’t quite feel like the right word. My happiness, while more mellow and low-key today, is more constant than the peaks and valleys of getting high, more unshakeable than relying on something outside of myself that has become unreliable.
By: Donald Huffman “What’s wrong with people?” she says, almost too quiet for me to hear. “Were they born with parts missing or did it fall out somewhere along the way?” ― Isaac Marion, Warm Bodies Character Defects Protect You, Until They Don’t All shades of degradation and dereliction can visit the suffering […]
It wasn’t that I had the delusions and hallucinations of the schizophrenic, or the manic episodes of the bipolar sufferer. I had a condition that would have me seek to put a pill bottle or a pipe in my hand like magnetism. I had a mentality that weighed incarceration and a lack of real employability as acceptable risks. The benefit of temporary sanity and calm that came from booze and dope had made all the pitfalls worth it.