Hiromi_X

So, next Wednesday marks nine months sobriety for me. It's weird -- in that time, I could've had a baby, but then I guess I did in a symbolic sense.

It took me over a month to pick up my 6 month chip, since I'm so busy these days. I picked it up at the first meeting I spoke at, and afterwards, a lot of women came up to me and told me how happy they were for me, and how afraid they had been for me when I first told them my story. People who knew me in my crazy days tell me that. My therapist said that sometimes she was afraid that I'd stop showing up, not because I lost interest in therapy, but because I was dead. My sponsor tells me how far I've come with a sense of wonder. Other friends tell me that the things they did to help me they did out of a desperate hope that I wouldn't die.

Even after hearing all that, some drunk-think remains. A part of me is continually surprised that anyone should ever have worried that much. Never mind that they have experience with very troubled people and know about these things. I had everything under control, in terms of my using. Sure, I was suicidal, but I nevertheless felt that I would die by choice, not as an unintended consequence of my behavior.

I know that doesn't make sense. I think it's because I wasn't one way all the time. At times, I felt total despair and exhaustion and thought of death as the only respite. Other times, I wanted to be strong and healthy, but was afraid that something horrible would happen, and I wouldn't be able to stand this horrible thing, and I would die. Or I wanted only to escape, or was terrified at the prospect of feeling pain and being unable to numb it. I was almost always scared for myself, so why wouldn't other people be? Having typed all that, I think I've discovered another big reason why I'm surprised people worry -- I'm actually suprised that they care enough to worry. I've spent years building moats and barricades around me, not because I really wanted to be walled off, but because I couldn't let anyone think I wanted them to care. So now I find that they care. By their own choice, even. But it's still a little sad that I'm afraid to accept these freely given gifts.