Recovery Accrued

   The tide comes in, the tide goes out. Solitude and serenity find their interludes. A recovering alcoholic is who I am and who I will remain being as I wend my way in sobriety. I am beginning to find my way. Wounded, yet in the process of healing, I reluctantly admit that helping others sustain their sobriety also helps me. Neither a hero nor a healer, I push myself forward. The tide comes in, the tide goes out. No bottles washed ashore.

Evening Meditation:

   Alcoholism is identity theft. The old "the bottle in front of me became a frontal lobotomy" is more than partially true. Even if I were famous, any sense of capturing some sense of an autobiographical self would be impossible.

   Believing I am sober does not make it so.  Recovery accrued.     "For fast-acting relief, try slowing down."- Lily Tomlin
    How many 'new normals' have I had? How many possible futures postponed by another drink? How many pasts must I remember to remain sober? How many 'whys'  must I stop asking?   from All Drinking Aside (Rough Draft, Day 70)