The drinking used to work. To be fun. A two hour escape from the world. Slowly, over the years, it went from three or four times a week and three or four drinks at a time to every day and seven or ten or more and drinking sprees and blackouts and hospitals. Hitting bottom and periods of sobriety and relapses and more bottoms and hospitals and vicious cycles.
I don't know how much brain I've lost to alcohol and how much depth I have achieved from my merry-go-round of relapse and recovery, but I know I cannot drink today.
I measure my life by days instead of drinks today.
Humble. Thankful. Grateful. Alive.
from All Drinking Aside (Rough Draft, Chapter 86)
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