It’s like I wake up each day in a parallel universe the one where I am left wondering wait, where did that casual glory of day to day life handmade and well-worked (so damn hard for!) go, how the hell did I end up here? This is how it feels day after day, every day after day, wake up get energy up enough to get out of bed never really wake all the way up to all of this bc where did it go, what happened to my real life…? Til my recovery stride finally hits this is what it is like, and that didn’t happen til this past September, which is probably why in my mind I’m still back there somewhere, early fall. But then crash allll the fallout that started Homecoming weekend and since it’s been me putting my teeth in to each day for me get it like fighting for me every damn day since.
And now the moon is dark again, we are finally recovering like truly really making something of us since all the fallout, witches new year came and went and now Thanksgiving week is here. I had back to back cancellations this morning so I got to spend an hour in the woods before therapy. I actually left my session today contained enough to come to Starbucks and write, which hasn’t happened at all the last two times. So anyway what’s with the highwaters they really are fashion right now? I hadn’t actually noticed which tells you something about where my head’s been it was Tom who pointed it out on Friday, at the asian fusion spot we both salivate over in West O and yea sure as shit it’s really poppin all the hottie 20 somethings here on College Ave dressed like their going clam digging what the hell?? I wonder about parallel-uni me the one I left off back there that March when Covid hit, coffee shop second office couple times a week Assateague island wanderer me, left off in that dream somewhere would highwaters been that me’s kinda thing? Last night in a recovery room I acknowledged that it’s been 22 years since I had a drink. My dad came with me. Four years ago Thanksgiving it was the first one without my sponsor alive. I had to skip out on attending dad’s side’s celebration that year. I had been going by his closed door when he answered the call from his doctor on speaker phone so I heard it when the doc said his liver was in full cirrhosis. He wasn’t sober a single night since he got the news all the way up through Thanksgiving which is why I didn’t go to his family for the holiday, I couldn’t bear to fake fake fake all those smiles. I knew he wouldn’t tell them the truth he’d heard from the doc. I knew because I know about busying yourself with drinking in order to keep the truth from your self. The nightmare that is that merry-go-round ride. He was cute when he announced it last night, Yes it’s true I have four years without a drink this week, I had to put him on blast when I was sharing but still the little pride light in his eye, the hic of emotion in his throat. He’s never been to a recovery room other than to celebrate me, so it meant a lot, to share it together. Me 22 years, him 4 years now, sober & clean.
The theme last night was gratitude in action. How real that is. As motivator, as principle put into action. What’s got me here my butt in the chair writing to write because my late sponsor made me promise not to postpone joy and oh god allll the things she taught me that I needed to know how to do once she was gone. What’s got me on the floor of my office stretching meditating crying angry at higher power all month but talking to the great mystery day by day anyway because my body needs to move it out. Gratitude’s what’s walking me through the woods yesterday on my break today through therapy and the whole process, gratitude’s back there where parallel-uni me left off because that’s just it what she knew and used to be so about, that saying thank you and being thankful are two very different things.
It’s the fight for me right now because of what used to motivate me all the way back when I was first fighting to get and stay sober and clean, gratitude bc I am living and still can fight even and especially if it means feeling pain. And so it is. Soliloquy, on the dark to new moon Thanksgiving week, to where parallel-uni me meets grateful to still be becoming me, onset of Year 23.