Did you ever get to a point where you feel like you just can't make it? I mean, on your own? If you haven't, I suppose you are either not human or a sociopath. It hit me like a ton of bricks this morning. First of all, let me digress a bit. I am not fond of people. But I am fond of life. The last two times I left rehab I went into what is known as an SRO (single room occupancy) unit. Just me, the four walls, and my thoughts. Not a good place to be, and the results were predictable. Oh, I was able to hold out for a couple of weeks, but soon there suddenly appeared a bottle of whiskey and a handful of benzos. Potentially lethal.
So, today, if I have the opportunity, I am going to ask to be placed in a house where I would have a roommate or two. I need accountability and, finally, I am not ashamed to admit it. It is cathartic, really. I'm not going to say that it won't suck, but in order to preserve this life, it is the best option.
So I'll have to make my bed every day. Big deal. Maybe have to clean the kitchen, go to recovery as a group, walk every-fucking-where. Clean up cigarette butts that aren't mine, soggy ones, stick them in a rusted Maxwell House coffee can. Have my food stolen from the community fridge. (Fortunately, I'm a vegetarian, so usually the Boca burgers are safe).
If anyone steals my laundry, though, game on.
No comments:
Post a Comment