I took a long drive in the country yesterday to think about things. You see, I’ve always been a hearty guy, but lately I’ve been a little unnerved by the steady deterioration of my faculties and general health. Am I that same guy?
Deep in thought about it, I turned a corner, and there it was–an old barn in the middle of nowhere. I felt an immediate affinity with it, in that it was old and somewhat broken down like me. It was then that I realized that the kind of beauty it has can only be found in the old and rustic. Maybe I could live with the new old me. There’s an old anonymous quote that seems fitting here:
I know 3 months is a relatively short time, but for me, it’s probably the longest stretch of sobriety I’ve had since I was in basic training for the Air Force. I’m feeling great, and all this shoveling I’ve been doing is whipping me back into shape. The horror of withdrawal is still fresh in my mind, but lest I forget, here’s an excerpt from my poem Withdrawal:
What was I thinking
I went back to drinking
And now I lay stinking
At home in my bed,
Tossing and turning
My stomach is churning
My fever is burning
I wish I was dead…
No, I don’t miss that at all.
I never believed in AA because the first step of their method is to admit that one is powerless over alcohol, and I just couldn’t believe that. I thought the only one who could help me was me. I was wrong, obviously; I couldn’t help me.
After I almost died from drinking in November of last year, I finally gave in, and on my son’s advice, I pulled stakes on my life and moved in with him. Thank you, Aaron, you saved your pa’s life!