Eight Years Sober.
I should get my coin tomorrow. February 16th, 2008, was the first day I didn’t drink in more than ten years. At least, the first day I didn’t drink without being angry and miserable and entitled and furious about it, intending to get another drink as soon as I could. The first day in a long, long time that I felt I was healing instead of dying. I spent most of it unconscious, dosed with Ativan.
I haven’t taken any alcohol, or drugs recreationally since. I haven’t taken pain killers other than NSAIDs (though I might, if prescribed and needed, and I’d have a plan for their management and disposal). When I checked myself into that rehab, 8 years ago, I felt done. Defeated, sick, and ready to stop fighting. I still feel that way, but in a much happier and healthier way.
I am defeated. I am sick. I am not fighting. That’s why I’m still alive. That’s why I’m flourishing.