Classic me, right? Get any kind of a roll going and it’s time to blow the whole mother up.
Step 10: Continued to take personal inventory and when we were wrong promptly admitted it.
I let things build, I acknowledge the ballooning, but I don’t deflate. It’s the daily weeding I’m talking about here. I look down. I see the weed. I point at it and I say to anybody who will listen, “Hey, see that weed there? It’s really growing.” But at no point do I actually pull the damn thing out.
It’s an unhealthy allowance my alcoholic brain gives me. The idea that I’ve built up enough credits for a good ol’ fashioned blow-up blowout. It’s a “Yell at everybody and 10 minutes later I’m fine” kind of situation. Ain’t it grand the wind stopped blowing, ma?
On the upside, after the blowout, I did recognize my wrong. I did take a personal inventory, and I did promptly admit it. And that’s all well and good. But the day is still scarred, and the trust that had been growing slips down two or three levels. This is when my alcoholism strikes again. It’s give-up time. I feel like Bruce Banner after a Hulk rampage. I’ll always be a monster. Time to walk slowly down the road. Cue the sad piano music.
That’s when it hits me, albeit a day later: it’s practice, not perfection. That’s the lesson. It’s not about accepting the hopelessness. It’s about understanding the monster.