Wild alphabetI do not remember the first time I heard these words. Undoubtedly, my thinking was too muddled to let them resonate.

I have grown to like them. They are a tool to indicate my level of confusion.

I was a product of the “survival of the fittest” method. If I wanted something I took it. Asking was a formality, something I did to keep my conscience clear (“clearer” would be the more appropriate word). Suffice to say, this liability ushered in undesirable outcomes; all of which I eagerly played the victim.

It was always someone else’s fault that I hadn’t reached my potential. The sadness is … I really, really, really believed this nonsense. Denial is the word most often heard in recovery. I was in denial about who I was long before I was an active alcoholic. Alcohol was simply the substance that brought me to my knees. I could have redirected course anywhere along my path.

Like many that struggle with addiction there is no clear line that we cross when we choose recovery. (Much like there is no clear line that we have crossed into addiction.) Most do not know day one is really day one until sometime later.

On day zero, tomorrow is day one. On day three or four we are no longer “really” alcoholic. We were probably just over reacting. They were probably just over reacting. We’ll figure out how to drink—the right way.

Recovery from alcoholism requires a change from within if we are to maintain our state of abstinence. I’ve yet to meet an addict bounding through the door ready, even zealous for change. Most are crawling. We are wondering what happened to our life. We are fathoming the turn of events that has brought us to this (often pathetic) moment.

Recovery seems so elusive. First off, the word recovery. I loathed that word. I had a drinking problem. I didn’t need to recover from anything besides wanting to drink excessively every night. Next, I wanted a concrete plan. I wanted a 1-2-3, a-b-c type of approach. Meetings, talking, writing—these were not what I needed. It all seemed too slow. My girlfriend called it “slow-briety.”  We chuckled (mid-meeting, eyes rolling) unaware of the word’s accuracy.

I managed to put together some sober time. I did what was suggested by those who had already managed to find happiness living sober. Somehow, somewhere along the way I got clear on one thing and one thing only: I would never drink like a non-alcoholic.

There was no going back. I was never going to make it work again. It was over. I could stop chasing that which was no longer mine for the taking.

Once I got unconfused, I could stop saying no to life.

I still hear that no when I am making a decision. And then I remember to look at the facts. I remember that change for me feels scary, confrontational, and vulnerable. It is my subconscious doing what it does—keeping the status quo.

I’ve never grown in status quo.

And sustained sobriety requires growth, regardless of the days I’ve been sober.

Today is a new day.