Alcoholism is a dreadful disease. I know, there are those folks who just think we are sniveling creatures without any will power who just exist to make their lives chaotic. They don't understand that a lot of alcoholics would love to quit drinking, and can't. I am aware that I am among a very fortunate few who have succeeded at putting the disease in the background, in the dormant stage. It is not gone, though. And it can bubble up from the depths and cloud my thinking and make a drink seem like a good idea at any moment. So I remain vigilant, do the things that help me remember what works. And then there are some who do the same things I do, and still cannot stay sober. If I could do it for them, I would. And I cannot. I can listen, I can suggest things I did, I can share my own trials, I can hope to lighten their load of guilt and shame, but in the end, every one of us has to make that decision on our own, to save our own little butt. Like life, I think my disease is cyclical. There are the high times, when Higher Power and I are waltzing together, happy, joyous and free. And the dark times, when HP is veiled by my own angst, and I feel alone and terrified by my own shadow self. I know what to do, though. And it doesn't involve thinking. I cannot heal myself with the mind that makes me sick. I go into action. Self-care becomes paramount, along with ending isolation by taking myself out to meetings and gatherings where I can get much needed perspective. Gratitude lists lift me out of want into plenty. All these things are in my spiritual tool kit, laid at my feet. It is packed with 19 years of experience, and all I need to do is reach into it, after I notice that it is still there. You'd think I would have tripped over it sooner!
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