I am having trouble writing. Things are not well in New Life Land. I have had to do things that make me sick to my stomach. Good things. Right things. Appropriate things. But I'm not well. I'm struggling. And I wish it was different. I wish I could tell you that sobriety is all bunnies and butterflies, but it's not. It sucks. It's hard. And I have to do hard things. Things that make my tummy hurt. Things that make me throw up, I'm so anxious about. But I'm doing it. I'm doing the right things. No matter what. I have been crying a lot. My hair is a wreck. My house is a disaster. I'm trying to move in the midst of going on vacation and dealing with my emotions. It's not good. But I'm going to be okay. That much I know. This living thing is hard. Did I tell you that I'm on page 518 of the Big Book? When I found it, I knew that I belonged.
"I had never expected to live to see thirty. Suddenly, I was 29 1/2 and showing no signs of dying anytime soon. I knew in my heart that I would live whether I drank or not, and that no matter how bad it was, it could always get worse. Some people get sober because they're afraid to die. I knew I would live, and that was far more terrifying. I had surrendered."
I am alive. And I have to live differently, or I will die. I know that. I am trying that. I am scared of that. I am alive.