Wednesday, March 6, 2013
I just wanted to let you all know that I haven't run off and joined the circus (although it is circus season down here and if you think circus's in the states look a little rough around the edges, you should come to Mexico. Shudder!), I'm just juggling priorities right now and trying not to drop anything.
To have a life. To be busy. To have a purpose. To have a reason to get up in the morning other than drink!!
To be sober!
I am so grateful.
Now to change my train of thought in the middle of the tracks, as I'm wont to do. A member posted on the moderation management board the other day that she was grateful for the struggle, she was grateful that at least she had a desire to change when it seemed so many didn't. So many seemed to be happily drinking themselves to death. (not her exact words or intent, I'm taking artistic license here).
I wrote back and said, "Don't be too sure. You don't know that those people don't wake up every day and say to themselves, "Today is the day I'm going to quit. Today is the day, I'm going to take back my life." only to fail once again."
That was me. It may have looked like I was just a drunk who didn't care while deep down, underneath the blood shot eyes, splotchy skin, shaky hands...I was consumed with the desire to change.
I remember there were these two guys I knew in high school, I'll call them Bubba and Butch. Bubba was your typical muscle brained athlete who liked to pick me up and dump me in the trashcan or body slam me on the wrestling mats, that was his way of showing me that he liked me. Butch was the stereotypical dreamy bad boy with big beautiful green eyes, long feathered hair (it was the 70's), soft lips (yep, I know for a fact they were soft) and, down deep, a heart of gold.
They were teenage hard partying boys, that grew into adult hard partying men. They did drugs, a lot of drugs, they didn't go to college, they held and lost multiple jobs and women. I liked them a lot but I always held myself above them. I was better than them. I didn't hold out much hope for either of them. I figured they'd go through life stoned and wind up as shriveled shaky old drunks at the ripe old age of 49, minus the majority of their teeth, on a liver transplant list. If they were lucky.
I lost track of them through the years but lo and behold, through the magic of facebook, I found them again a couple of years ago. And guess what? They had sobered up and cleaned up their act and there I was flushing my life down the proverbial shitter of alcoholism.
Alcohol doesn't play favorites and it doesn't matter if you're rich, poor, famous, infamous, brilliant, or just an average Joe, there are no advantages.
If Bubba, Butch and I can do it, you can.