It’s been a good day. I woke up about 11, feeling annoyed with myself for the Library hours I am not putting in. At around 3, I went out with some people from meetings. We had coffee and wandered around the (largely closed, Bank Holiday) shops for a bit before the meeting. It was surprisingly easy to talk with them, laugh with them, be with them.
The meeting was good, big. There were a lot of shares about relapse and, considering how close I came last week, that felt very relevant to me. Afterwards we were going to go to another meeting but it was off because of the Bank Holiday, so we went for more coffee (I had orange juice- current financial situation= no vegetables or fruit= desperation for vitamin C). J and D between them rolled me 12 cigs to get me through the next few days: quitting smoking in early recovery, they said, was not a good idea. I don’t want to be bouncing off any more walls, do I? Either I, or the walls, will be covered in bruises if I do, and my money’s on the walls to win.
It’s to be a positive week. Library tomorrow, SMART Recovery on Wednesday, followed by Shut Up and Write (a lightly coercive- coffee & cookies- silent writing group at uni). Thursday, mentoring, physio, meeting. Then I’m away for the weekend at a festival with my mum and auntie and little sis. Not drinking there will be difficult but I need to remind myself why I’m doing this. It’s not for fun, it’s not a bet, it’s not for Lent, it’s my life, and it’s serious.
Every day I wake up sober is a tiny miracle. Every day I feel positive about it is a bigger one. Every time I remember to take my meds is a tiny victory. Every day they work is a bigger one. And if life can be like this, a series of tiny miracles and little victories, then I am up for it.