I went to my first meeting that night so terrified I felt numb. I was in a church basement, drinking nerve jangling coffee from a styrifoam cup, wondering how the hell I was going to get out of this mess. Then they started talking. Sentences straight from my head were coming out of other people, person after person relating experiences that I had never considered might be shared.
Seventeen days later it's not all sweetness and roses. Sometimes I forget what I've heard in meeting after meeting. Sometimes I feel lonely and fucked up beyond repair. I'm waking up and realizing just how fucked my life has been, how crazed my thinking was...and still is. The fall out is wide reaching, including the messy ending of my four year relationship. This whole sobriety thing sucks in many regards, but I've looked around some rooms and decided I want what they have. I'm tired of the isolation of my drinking, of feeling powerless in my own life, of settling for whatever allows me to continue medicating myself into oblivion.
I don't like calling strangers and asking for help. I don't like rearranging my life to make meetings. I don't like talking to my sponsor every day--hell, I don't even particularly like my sponsor. I'm still a hard packed ball of pure will in many ways, but I'm doing it, and it's helping, little by little I'm getting better. Strange yet familiar feelings keep bubbling to the surface, feelings like 'hope' and 'self-worth'. Every day I don't drink is a mix of accomplishment and miracle--amazing to think of after so much time spent with little of either in my life.