7 Years...Amen

At times this world can be so beautiful, it's hard to take it all in.
But don't you be afraid, just let it rain...and say Amen.

~Jen Foster~

August 23, 2010 marks 7 years of sobriety in my world...7 years since my world fell apart...7 years of slowly picking up the pieces and figuring out how they all fit back together...

August 23, 2003 was a Hell hot day in Dallas, and I guess I could say that it was the worst day of my life. Then again, I suppose I could also say it was the best. We all have moments in time that alter not just our circumstances, but the very essence of who we are...and, for me, this day and the weeks, months, and the immediate years that followed held many of them.

So much has changed, in fact, that I cannot even recognize the person that I was before I got sober. That person had such different values and perspectives than my own - and yet, there is proof of this existence in a handful of writings, photos, and legal papers that I keep in a box underneath the bed that I sleep in today - 700 miles from where it all happened. Most days, it might as well be 10,000. Some days, it feels more like 10. Always, I am aware that the road back is as short as the journey here has been long.

Every year on this day, I make a point of going back there in my mind and making a concerted effort to re-experience the "highlights" of the two years after my active addiction ended. Police cars, courtrooms, handcuffs, strip searches, work detail, letters home, family visits that never happened...endless days, and nights that seemed even longer. I don't force my mind back there to punish myself - I do it to remind myself of where I can never be again. For whatever the reasons I will say out loud that I stay sober...the real thing that keeps me clean is the pure and unadulterated terror of returning to that place. There is nothing that I fear more - and nothing makes me more grateful to be alive, and to be who I am now than the humbling memory of the path that led me here.

And then I think of how the story has changed. I think of how broken I was, and how strong I am now - mainly because I was just too dumb or hard headed to understand that giving up was, indeed, an option. 7 years - more than 2500 days - have passed since then, and each and every one of them has begun and ended with a prayer of thanksgiving to the higher power of my understanding - an entity for which I have no name...only the concept of a universal energy that encompasses the ideals of truth, love, compassion, wisdom, kindness, tolerance, patience, humility, forgiveness, mercy, and faith. The hours in between are filled with steps counted one at a time in the hopes that enough of these steps taken consecutively will eventually come together to create some sort of productive and meaningful life that is worth at least an honorable mention. It's a work in progress. When I stumble, I get up. When regret threatens to choke me, I fight myself out of it's grasp until I can breathe again. When the winds of change blow so hard that forward movement seems impossible, I go through the motions anyway...step...step...step...step. Eventually, the storm will calm and I will be on my way once again. Building my life upon these foundations has brought immeasurable joy and blessed me with the ability to reach beyond my comfort zones and into the places where my dreams await. There is less fear, and more risk (calculated as it might be) with the understanding that any given failure will not be my last...or necessarily even the end of the story at hand.

Looking out into the rain at the dawn of the 8th year of my second chance...I acknowledge the battered and broken person that has become a mere whisper in my mind in the darkest moments of night...and I celebrate the strong, hopeful, (and ever so slightly neurotic, many would say) individual that has taken her place. And each breath I draw into my lungs is released as a prayer of gratitude to the universe...

...Amen, once again.