When I stopped drinking in 2016 I thought life would get easier.
Long buried feelings began to surface; things I had no idea how to deal with without resorting to selfish, petty anger or blind rage. I hurt people; my fiancee, my kids, myself. I thought that being sober would cure all of the agitation and sorrow I felt.
Those feelings intensified.
And I did not want it.
I did not want to lash out in anger over not getting pepperoni on my pizza. I didn’t want to fight about the dryer. I didn’t want to feel jealous when plans were made that didn’t include me, but I did. I got mad. I destroyed things. I broke trust and got my way, even if it was only to make the point that what had transpired between another and I was not okay for me. I broke the rules.
I did not want this.
On the cusp of starting over again; my disease still takes from me. It’s cost me time with my children, time away from work. I’ve all but lost the best relationship I’ve ever had, and for what? Because of feelings I do not fucking want.
I sought help through Intensive Outpatient Therapy. I continue to go to counseling. I’m making better efforts to communicate with those closest to me, but the damage is already done… probably more so than when I drank, because at least then I could hide my shit and nobody had to know.
Now everyone knows.
And I do not want this.
So now what? Do I give up? It would be easy to finish this off and head back into a bottle. Nobody would care anyway, right? A lie I tell myself. I know that people care. I know I care. Even in the depths of my hurt, there is a hope that keeps me going. That a year and a half later, for all of my faults, I am still a better person than I was before. That today I will try to be better than yesterday.
Shit sucks right now, and I do not want this.
But I am sober. I am clean. I can get on with today.
And I do want that.