Day 271
"...or in some sense, we die."
That line is a common theme in meetings, as well as in my own writings. And almost always in my mind. Sometimes it's just hyperbole, a description of how serious we take our recovery. But most of the time, for me at least, it is much more than that. Most of the time, it is a statement of perceived fact; if I don't move forward in recovery, I will move backward to a place of death. I've spent a lot of time wishing or hoping or at least willing for death to ease my pain. This is not an unpleasant thought or an expression of fear; it is a place of comfort in some crazy way that I don't think I can really spell out. I know that at some point in the last three hundred days I made a decision to live, rejecting the desperation of acting out sexually on my way to death as an option. But it was an option, and I can't forget that, but neither can I wallow in it. The decision is made, and I'm not going back, not today. God, help me.
–JR
– JR
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