Two years sober. I am two fucking years sober. Twenty four months without a sip of alcohol. What a journey it has been so far....
Each year on my birthday I’d blow out my candles and wish for love. The universe has a funny way of making wishes come true because seven months later I entered alcohol addiction recovery and started to fall in the deepest and greatest love of all, the love with my own self. You see, prior to sobriety I was drinking daily. I didn’t know how to sit at a table and simply drink a glass of orange juice, it always had to have something in it like vodka, make it a double too. Back then I was an expensive date, now I’m a very cheap one.
“I miss partying, the drugs, the drinking. I miss it all.” I said. So much so, I’ve been tempted to get a script for adderall just to be able to focus on everything else except this grief, the death of my old self. But that only defeats the purpose of this new journey.
Every time someone new entered my life, I questioned his intentions. Not every man I came across was bad but in my eyes there was a dark horse in everyone. Anytime they touched or kissed me, I never felt it. In private and intimate moments, I wondered if they felt the wall between us or what it felt like to sleep with someone that was dead on the inside. No one ever had me again the same way as my first love.