05/14/2017 — Another day, another dollar.

I have been thinking about way to start this post. The longing to write again does exists, but where to begin is the question — so forgive the lack of a train of thought that rambles out of this post.

It has been roughly eight months since November and a good chunk of time has passed since the winter. I am still involved in “a program”, or “my program” and have a system for surviving that has been treating me pretty well. Friends from rehabilitation have come, but honestly most have gone.

The place that harbored my first entry into a program has since shutdown which brings odd emotions.

I want to vent, or rant rather about the last eight months. I want to say a big fuck you to all the people that were assholes when I was on the floor. I want to tell people to go fuck themselves for treating me like shit, and not helping me off the floor. I want to say I have your fucking number and I will find you, but I relent.

Let me explain.

Time has passed and harboring ill will does no good, and I know that. Harboring ill feelings to the people that weren’t supportive doesn’t help my journey, but yet it the thought of it is delightful (to say the least).

When I was barely weeks sober and opening my eyes for the first time there were people that would come over unable to relate and say the most awful hurtful feelings — because they were hurt. They wished, or expressed that I should have or could have done things differently. I want to go back in time and scream at them yeah we all could have done things differently but this is the way it is right now.

A woman whispered in my ear after showing support and caring and listening that she wasn’t really here for me — she only cared for the well being of my partner.

How the fuck is that helpful? So you don’t give about me, you’re just fucking with me to unfuck someone else? Well, thanks I guess?

I’m angry. I’m pissed. I want to tear the god damned walls down and burn every fucking bridge just to say fuck you. Some people that heard by rumor of my recovery don’t come around anymore. Good people, people that lived with us, people that were friends — but not friends once you have a disease, or a sickness, they won’t touch a leper.

Addiction feels like a volcano, it builds up over a long time and then eventually shits magma all over the place. But that magma dries, and cities are built upon the ashes.

I guess, ultimately, I feel like people came to me only to kick me while I was down. Well I’m not quite so down and out now. Everyday I get stronger, wiser, faster. My nerves healed, my legs aren’t crippled, and I’m definitely not shaking, sweating, and shitting myself anymore. I feel rejuvenated, alive, and ready to crush any opposition that stands in my way.


Well, shit.. I guess that’s where this story lead. Eight months no drinking, no drugs. Life is good. Explored the world, and created some life inside my wife. Maybe that’s a story for another day.

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