I swear. Every time I think I’m up on some kind of success.
Every time I string a couple of good days together.
It doesn’t last too long…but a whole lot longer than I ever thought I’d be capable of achieving.
And I should be proud of those moments. Of that string of hours. Or days.
Half a night, one day, 3 days, or even just a better mentality on a typical night.
Every time I pull some magic out of my ass that has me feeling like maybe just maybe I can be successful at this, at sobriety…
I crash and burn and dig myself deeper and deeper.
What, I had 3 days, couldn’t get further than that, got triggered by some real life shit, and now I have to go twice as hard? Dig myself even further into the darkness of it all?
No, I don’t have to. But this just feels like a pattern now. A brand new pattern, because I’ve never even attempted to string minutes, hours, or days together before.
First firsts are hard. And maybe it gets easier. Maybe the magical days you manage to string together stretch out. Maybe they get longer and longer.
But this is still so brand new. And I feel like I’m failing even harder. I feel like it’s setting me back.
I’m a perfectionist who loves to know the ending.
Attempted beginnings with unknown endings don’t sit well with me.
Especially when it feels like I’m losing control instead of gaining it.
I just want to be alright.
Why does that feel so fucking far away and impossible?
It’s okay. You can start over tomorrow. No biggie 😉
Tomorrow is always brand new. It’s always hope. And it’s always a promise of something good.
I just need to make the most of it 😞