A lot can happen in six months. One hundred and eighty three nights have passed and every one of them I’ve been sober. To most people that’s not a big deal and often enough it doesn’t seem like a big thing that I’ve done it either. But I’d be kidding myself if I said it mattered not.
I’ve done several notable and important things in my life. The biggest was fighting for custody of my kids in court. Other moments include managing near death happenings with my daughters, losing substantial weight and writing a book.
Tomorrow I can add one more accomplishment to the life resume. Six months of sobriety. Nothing to shake a stick at, whatever that really means.
Again, I’m in that pocket of discrediting it’s weight and being in awe of the hole I finally managed to claw my way out of. Like a fly on that hangy sticky stuff, I was stuck. I was trapped. I hated myself and was out of excuses.
I was living a lie. The darkness was thick. The noxious fumes of depression invaded my mind. Yet, tied in with the insane trauma of the sleep apnea surgery, I turned the corner, finally.
I got out and I have stayed out. I consider myself one of the lucky ones. It is projected that one in eight Americans suffer from alcoholism. That’s 12 percent of the population and approximately 40 million people. All incarcerated in addiction like I was.
Alas, this is a time to celebrate. It is something to commemorate. This is something I knew I could do yet couldn’t find the path for many, many years.
I believe my dads life was cut short due to his similar self-destruction. I like to look at my journey as I’m adding years to my life. If not, I have at least removed the cutting it short factor.
Tomorrow is ultimately just another Saturday. To most, a day of rest. The first day of the weekend. To me it signifies another week of freedom and this one is the culmination of many. And many more to come.
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