After 100 days I thought I could.
Because at the time I thought I could. Really? Seriously?
I’ve lived what I’ve written. And still, the self-deception continues.
Amazing. Astonishing. Sad.
Constitutionally incapable of being honest with myself? Yes, I am…at times. And it happens like with most others over time when I get farther away from the beginning.
Especially when there is no bottom other than being tired of living a life of numbness.
And wanting more.
But not wanting the ‘more’ when it comes. Because usually it’s about dealing-with the ‘more’…all the stuff that’s been buried. With wine.
I am my father’s daughter. He would go years dry and then binge.
Why stop now? I imagine him saying. I’ve said the same.
Since the Christmas Party I have been dealing with sorrow and remorse because I squandered a gift. A gift of grace and beauty. Yes, He gave me a miracle and I returned the favor by… well, you could say that I might as well have spit in His face.
I wrote in an earlier post that my relationship with alcohol had changed. And it has in the in the sense that I no longer want it as a habit.
But I know I do not have the ability to choose its place anymore. Did I say anymore? In reading this over I caught that. Denial runs deep. For the record: there was never ‘anymore’. There was no control from day one.
I really hate all or nothing.
Praying. For His Grace. And Mercy.