A Cure?

It’s day #654 on this particular journey. I hope you’re traveling well.

Since the earliest days of my abstinence from alcohol I’ve had (often well meaning) friends, family and even strangers ask me how long until I could drink again. My answer, invariably was, whenever I want. I stick by this answer, even when some older, wiser members of AA might scoff at my arrogance. However, I don’t mean this as some kind of display of toughness or power. I can in fact, drink whenever I damned well please. But that it’s not the same as will drink.

As an alcoholic I know I have a problem with ‘things’. Anything that requires ‘moderation’ is something that I will have a problem with. I suppose it’s probably a good thing that I’m not 6’2, dark, handsome and chiseled because I’d probably find myself addicted to pursuing models! How fortunate for me that I’m not. (Ha!)

Let’s do this.

Well folks, here we are. It’s day 643 on this particular journey and I feel better than I have recently:

I’ve been thinking about beer a lot lately. Not drinking it, per se. More like the fact that it’s best enjoyed in a chilled glass with a bit of head on it. The kind of beer that is just cold enough that it’s slightly uncomfortable when it touches the roof of your mouth, but cold enough still to feel instantly gratifying; satisfying. I know, that’s a pretty indepth thought about a sip of beer, especially for a bloody recovering alcoholic. And that’s exactly my point; what ever in the world is a recovering alcoholic doing daydreaming about beer? Well from my point of view it’s a failing of sorts…

Not a failing in the sense that thoughts are a test and if I think about beer I fail. No, it’s a little different. It’s a failing because it represents ignoring the negative impacts that beer had on my life. It’s rewriting history and I won’t allow that.

Sure, what I wrote about beer is true. It does taste nice. It is refreshing when cold. Hell, it’s even aesthetically pleasing under the right circumstances. But it’s also addictive. It also brings out the absolute worst in me. It also takes away my filter while increasing my bravado. For me, and I would wager many, that is a very dangerous combination. It does a lot of bad things to me and plenty of others like me. (Thankfully there are others like me; more on that later.) So to think only of the minor positives is to ignore the incredible potential for pain and suffering. In short, it’s not fair to those I’ve hurt and to myself.