My brain knows my
disease. My brain loves my disease and my brain will never forget my disease,
because my disease has carved permanent grooves into my brain that no amount of
sobriety can ever putty shut. The grooves in my brain lay waiting for me to pick
up again so that the grooves can progressively deepen.
I must depend on the help
of others. Acting alone, I will be devoured by my disease. For addicts, alcohol
will devour memories of the past and anxiety about the future, drowning them in
the unreal, insane world of addiction. A living lobotomy. A blind man descending
a spiral staircase leading to nowhere. No past. No present. No future.
Addiction will survive by
eating you alive. Now, in recovery, I’m learning how to thrive.
(Sotto):
Well, isn’t that fucking beautiful? The guy gets sober and finally life
is like a goddam Broadway Musical. He’s delusional: One nut short of a
Crackerjack’s box.
from All Drinking Aside (Rough Draft, Chapter 51)
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