Chemicals. That’s why bowls of lollipops and candy bars litter my meetings. Add to that gallons of coffee, and I might not be drinking anymore, but I could run around the world for you if you’d like.
Rumination: For me, alcoholism isn’t just about alcohol.
I know, I know: my number one priority is to stay sober. But doesn’t my need for constant substitution signal that there’s other things I still need to work on? Am I still altering my perceptions and mindset through other means? Just a thought I had during a smoke break.
Because here’s my alcoholic thinking: in order to live within my own skin, my skin needs to feel different. To that end, my choice has forever been to turn inward and ingest, absorb and distort. I never instead turn outward to expel, share and diffuse. It’s embarrassing.
Sugar, caffeine, and nicotine. Three stand-up drugs that acted as my alcoholism’s posse. Now they feel like interlopers: hangers-on crashing on my couch long after my last hit record. And for someone whose metabolism is naturally akin to that of a ferret, filling the rodent’s water dish with Mountain Dew and then knocking the exercise wheel off its axis probably isn’t the answer. I become the very definition of a caged animal. So why the surprise when I bite?
My serenity can’t solely rest on not doing things. That needs to be the starting point. Not doing things become bearable through positive, substantive action. My serenity is wholly dependent on the right-sized things I start and continue. I pray daily for the willingness to convert inertia into positive action. Build some sweat equity.