My modus operandi is usually not to post when things are difficult, or when I wake up and put on my “asshole” shirt instead of another wardrobe choice. But. I am learning that it’s my choice to put on that shirt, and my choice to pick another one…on another day.
So, I had that shirt on the other day and picked up a drink. A big tall one. I was by myself (first mistake). I didn’t call my sponsor (until after I swallowed, second mistake). There are mistakes that happened days before the actual drink, too, I am learning that as well.
This morning I’ve changed my shirt. Again. And I am much happier with this choice — the asshole shirt is one that hurts. It hurts all of us.
I have also been fielding phone calls and texts and emails from the other fallen ones from treatment — those who slid, slipped, jumped off the wagon. We are an ornery and stubborn lot. I am praying for all of us — in the psych wards and jail cells and living rooms full of memories. If any of you make it here and are struggling, please keep up the fight. You are not an asshole. Just make better choices today.
The world needs you.
Augustana, Sweet and Low