Alcohol is my addiction, was my addiction, is. You see, I'm sober now. Twelve plus years of continuous sobriety. Approaching my teenage years of recovery. But I must still look back at my old insanity, sometimes in disbelief, always in relief that I do not live that way today.
Was my addiction, is. Grammatically imperfect, fact. Memory intact of what was not intact. I cannot be deceived to believe I couldn't be that way again.
More simply put, I am addicted to alcohol in unwavering recovery, secure, serene, on a tightrope, always there, a wagon to fall off of. Grammatically imperfect, perhaps, but sane. Sober, serene, striving on.
Addicted to chaos no longer. I long for the continuous undulations of recovery, loved.
Here, an old song playing, as if on a Gramophone....
"This memory is trivial. This message is sidetracked. This memory is traumatic. This memory is morphing. This memory is morphine. This memory is Librium. This memory is liberation. This memory is prison. This memory is prism. This memory is schism.
Ego is a place from which to dive.
Ego is a place in which to hide.
This memory is morphing.
This memory is morphine.
This memory is more, fiend. More.
Shallow, hollow, yellow, dying, dead.
(Surimi): The Mona Lisa, except this time, not the painting. The Mona Lisa, except this time, not a photograph. This time the Mona Lisa, a three-second motion picture of Alcoholism's promises to Jim. Promises, expectations, and then the abortion. Mona Lisa's abortion: Alcoholism's smile.
Jim could not become father to himself.
... forever now the old insanity is always within my arm's reach. No. Not today. I will not drink today. One day short of the old insanity. One day longer, sane. I do not want or need the same old song.
#Alcoholism #Addiction #Recovery
"Nothing matters more than that we remain sober because when we remain sober everything matters more."