On this very day eight years ago, I made the choice to stop trying to kill myself with booze, cigarettes, and various other drugs, prescription or otherwise. Usually otherwise. I'm not gonna lie, it's been a rough ride with many bumps and detours, and a few head-on collisions. But there have been fleeting moments of joy and peace, which always overrides the bad stuff.
I've hit a few more bottoms on my way to the proverbial bottom, and the conclusion is: I'm human––and there is no final bottom, but rather an endless series of them (sucks, I know). But if we get uncomfortable enough and seek help, we're able to get back up. Usually. Unless you like it down there in the dark all by yourself. I know I do.
The most wonderful part about being a sober writer is I actually write. I finish projects. Before I quit boozing, I spent a lot of time talking about writing, or fantasizing about it. When I would finally sit down to write, I'd bring out a bottle of 2-buck chuck (classy) and hit the keys. I would always finish the bottle of wine, but I never made it to the end of the paragraph.
After eight years, I have a modest collection of projects under my belt. Writing this blog has been my mainstay for the last seven years. I like expressing my thoughts and sharing my experiences. Maybe one of my readers wants to stop using, or has stopped using and feels even crazier. Hopefully I'm able to provide just a touch of inspiration with my honesty. Anything is possible. I'm still here.
Keep writing. It saves lives.