Our first feature today is Martha M.’s reflection on her one-year anniversary. Our second feature is a poem by Chloe D., who is an Al-Anon member and subscriber to the website. We are learning that more Al-Anon folks who appreciate our secular focus are following us. Since these two pieces are sharing a comments section, please use their names in your comments. In the near future we plan to add an Arts Section to the site, and will aim to have separate comments section for each piece featured.
don’t have a word that encompasses how grateful I am to be sober. I hated drinking. I hated *needing* to drink. I hated wanting to quit but not knowing how and being so terrified of quitting because I didn’t know if I’d still be me without alcohol. I hated sneaking and lying and hiding. I am beyond relieved that I don’t have those specific burdens anymore.
However, I’m also so angry I can barely think sometimes. I’m angry and self-pitying. Why? Why can’t I enjoy a nice glass of wine with supper; why can’t I have a beer after work; why can’t I sip some bourbon before bedtime? Why does my brain take something that is enjoyable and relaxing for some people and turn it into something that is toxic and destructive for me? Why do my friends feel the need to censor and edit themselves around me now so they don’t come off as insensitive? Why do I feel uncomfortable when other people are drunk around me even if they aren’t alcoholics? Why do I have to fear and dread the day my daughter is given the opportunity to drink because I’m terrified it will grab hold of her the way it did me and maybe she won’t be so lucky? Why can’t I be normal?
Mainly, I’m afraid. What happens when I forget? What happens when it’s not so fresh in my mind? What happens when the only memory of my drinking is the anger that I don’t get to be normal? Will I want to drink? Will I think enough time has passed to cure me? Will I convince myself that I’ve grown and matured to the point that I can handle my liquor now? What’s I there to stop me?
I wrote an inscription in the copy of Drunk Mom by Jowita Bydlowska that I bought as soon as I returned a friend’s copy to her. It says, “This is exactly what it was like. Don’t ever think, ‘It wasn’t that bad.’ It was. Reread this if you ever get complacent. Remember how awful it was. Remember how scared, sick, sad, & tired you were. Keep finding new goals to set. Keep being alive in your life. April 24, 2017 (10 months, 14 days sober).” But what if that doesn’t work? The most terrifying thing for me is hearing people talk about having years of sobriety and then, all of a sudden, going back out. I don’t understand how they can do so well for so long and then lose it. To me, that is the scariest part of this disease.
So, I do my best to remember. I don’t hide my experiences. I talk about them and reference them and that time of my life. I even joke about it. It’s a part of who I am and I respect that and appreciate it for making me who I am now. Some days I hate that I have to do that. Some days I’m okay with it.
When I saved this document, the thumbnail on my computer screen only showed the first three words I had typed: “As of today…” I guess that’s the best I can hope for.
About the Author
Martha celebrated her first year of sobriety on June 10, 2017. Her home group is Many Paths in Urbana, IL. She lives with her partners, her daughter, and their various dogs & cats. She loves gardening, exercise, and her newfound LaCroix habit.
By Chloe D.
And I ran back to myself lovingly,
Knowing that I was the only one who could fill my cracks;
Knowing that I had done the absolute best that I could.
This is the story of returning to myself;
of coming home;
of becoming whole
I hugged her and kissed her all over,
Thanking her for surviving so that I could now truly live;
For fighting and adapting, sighing,
Knowing that I could safely rest in the one most beautiful place in the entire world.
It was when we reunited that I felt peace,
Knowing that, all along, this was what I was aching for.
Our perfect and whole spirit is siphoned through sick and hurting humanity.
We manipulate the world into puzzle pieces and force them into our newly formed scars,
Mourning the greatest loss.
But without this brokenness, we never know true wholeness,
Never allow ourselves to bloom and fill our throbbing and aching hearts.
So I thanked myself for protecting me when no one else would or could,
And then for figuring out how to fix my fixes.
Because I love myself— I have to.
Because if I don’t, nothing is ever enough, no one is ever enough.
Because without her, I wouldn’t be alive.
So I released the weight of wishing it had been different,
Of raging at the Universe for bringing me those people,
Of doubting my worth for all those years.
I did the very best I could—
And so did they.
And so I hug and love myself,
Knowing that every breath brings us closer
Until we fill the cracks and become one again.
About the Chloe D.