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I had convinced myself that everything was easier when I was drinking.  And in the world I’d constructed for myself, it was true.  Problems went away or were resolved without my knowledge.  Situations I found uncomfortable went by in a blur.  And what I meant by uncomfortable situation was:  home, work, mornings, noons, nights, weekdays, weekends, vacations, and holidays.

Step One: we admitted we were powerless over alcohol – that our lives had become unmanageable.

For a substantial length of time, it worked.  Well, it worked like alcoholism works, and eventually I found myself on its timetable, on its schedule.

I needed to feel a certain way before I could participate in anything, and with each passing day the window of opportunity to get meaningful things done kept shutting quicker and quicker.  I found myself sluggish and useless earlier and earlier, leaving plenty of time to dwell on and loathe the thing I’d become; hiding among the masses, barely standing upright, no zing, no zip, no nothing.  And we’re not talking hangovers here, this is pure lethargy.  There was constant crashing; either my mental or physical was in need of propping up. The spiritual side had long ago crashed and burned.  I was just trying to maintain two out of three.  And when that proved too much to bear, I’d concentrate on the physical.  I’d become an extra in my own movie, occasionally being called upon to stand unobtrusively somewhere in the background, full of self-pity and resentment.

But today I see that things aren’t always either-or.  It’s not about choosing between being the star of the show and the guy who sweeps up after.  It’s about recognizing my role in this particular production, and doing everything in my power to help it succeed.

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