So Work it, You’re Worth it?

I wake and want vodka.  I go to buy cigarettes to numb the craving a little- so much for Stoptober.  And I spend the day fraught with frustration, winding everyone else up with my pacing and negativity.  I suspect that all the clichés are lies: it works if you work it?  One day at a time?  Easy does it?  Hah.  Rubbish.  Recovery is rubbish.  The fellowship is a fraud.

I don’t want to go to a meeting.

I get myself to a meeting.  Someone makes me a coffee, someone gives me a big smile, a few people I have met before are there.  The chair gives me a lot of identification and the sharing is positive… and suddenly I want to cry, and cry, and cry. I listen a lot.  Then when my heart stops racing and I think I can control the tears, I speak.  My share is short and (I feel) inadequate.  It’s a splurge of feeling with a few jokes thrown in.  My experience and strength are minimal.  My hope is waning.

Afterwards, someone gives me his number.  Someone gives me a hug.  I walk to the station with two people and we chat recovery.  I get told about a lesbian meeting tomorrow in West London.  I take the bus home and it seems to go quickly.

I feel calmer.  I feel newer.  I feel safe.

I feel like getting better.


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