One of the craziest things about being sober is being caught in some sort of time-space continuum. The first few sober days are horrible. I can still remember that feeling of clinging onto the edge of a cliff by my very short fingernails: the awful cravings and the sleeplessness. The sleeplessness was the pits. For
When I was drunk, and in my early years of sobriety, I believed wholeheartedly in ‘the truth’. Now, I’m not so sure. The problem with the word ‘truth’ is that there are as many truths as there are people, because truth, to my mind, is a matter of perspective. I now prefer to deal with
Alcohol wasn’t the problem, it was the solution…life was the problem. Trying to navigate through feelings, memories, emotions, life’s inevitable ups and downs, lack of confidence and PTSD, alcohol was the answer. And it worked. Until it didn’t. I had a very long and twisted relationship with alcohol. It gnawed away at the best of
I’ve been musing about recovery and how, perhaps it follows the template set by Jesus’s resurrection two millennia ago (I’m a non church going Christian, fyi). Jesus had been in the desert for 40 days, praying and preparing, knowingly, for his death. He was tempted many times by the devil, but pushed away wealth, power
