ActivityWhere are those magic words? Those words that let the reader know I understand.  I understand where you are, but if you can just trust there is another way, I promise there is.

Active alcoholism, especially when in it, is the worst kind of torture. Non-addicts have no reference point for this kind of futility. Once one has conceded to this condition there is no turning back. Drinking has lost its joy, yet it remains a necessity. It’s a bogus livelihood.

Ten years ago, today, I had the gift of my last drink. I had plans to admit myself to detox at South Coast Medical Hospital the next morning. The big plan was to stay sober for one year. Within this year I was going to prove to myself (the world) that I did not have a drinking problem; I just needed a little break, a reprieve, a hiatus of sorts—from alcohol. After all, any normal, non-alcoholic could go a year without a drink. This hospital detox was my attempt at a jump start. Jump start = I tried on my own and caved at day two.

As was par for the afternoon, I stopped eating around 2:30, so I could feel the full effects of my 5:00 o’clock cocktail. I bought one nice bottle of wine to be savored that evening. Deluding myself that I would be satisfied, I hunted down a bottle of my husband’s vodka. (Not my first, or even second, choice for a drink.) I sat with this bottle (yes, the whole bottle) in my room as I did paperwork on my carpet.

And then it happened, no sooner did I grab the neck to take a swig, when the lid popped off, the bottle tipped over, and the carpet and my papers were bathed in booze. How could this be happening? This sh*t happens to real alcoholics, not people like me.  I felt so screwed by the universe. Here I was making this noble effort at sobriety, albeit tomorrow, and this happens. Our company papers stank of vodka, the carpet reeked of vodka, and I hadn’t even had a sip.

My big solution: Rags and baby powder. Yep, that was my big idea. I would soak it up with the towels as best I could and then sprinkle the baby powder to absorb the remaining wet, and hopefully the smell. The baby powder made it worse and now I had clumps of vodka to clean up. By the time I was finished I had lost my desire to drink. I needed to start acting undrunk so I could confess it was a sober accident when my husband asked. What a cluster.

This was the quality of my life the day of my last drink: manipulation, lies, pretending, denying, faking, using, and hiding.

And believe it or not, I had trouble cashing that in for a sober life. Somehow, someway I thought sobriety sucked. I refused to see I was living the suckiest life of all.

I wasn’t ever planning on being ten years sober, at least in the beginning. I was only planning on getting to the weekend. I was only planning on getting to that one year mark. But something happened along the way.

I heard those magic words from you. I don’t remember who or when. I just know I heard them because I could see, clearly, that alcohol and I were no good together and we never would be again. As hard as living sober can been (and has been at moments) it is infinitely more wonderful (at moments) than I ever imagined it could be.

Thank you for my sobriety. I am here because of friendship and fellowship in the recovery community.

I found those magic words in my head. I found them being connected to you.

There are so many people that share so many wonderful words.