I’ve been very open and blunt about my stint in rehab, and my addiction to alcohol. Lots and lots of alcohol. Enough to put me as close to death as one can get without actually being on the slab. I talk about it, I joke about it, and 104 days after my last, almost fatal drink, I’m still beating it soundly, as they say, one day at a time.
I’m one of the lucky ones. In more ways than one.
I got a phone call today from a fantastic person I went to rehab with. We were thick as thieves there, and by the time we became “old timers” there, were more caregivers than anything else. I was, obviously, a drunk, he a “pharmaceutical enthusiast.” We both had serious drive to get better, and coming up on four months on the outside, we’re both doing very well. He just became a father, and I’m regaining my independence. We are not the norm.
We chatted about who we had heard from and/or about, and out of all of us, we are the only ones left who haven’t “gone out” again. The statistics for relapse are grim, and for today, he and I are indeed, in the vast minority. I was proud of us, terribly proud, and at the same time, incredibly sad for all the people we knew who are back out. There’s nothing we can do for them, and that sucks. But, given the damming statistics, we can’t. We have to take care of ourselves. It’s not easy, being selfish. But we have to be. Just listing all the names of the less fortunate made that grimly obvious.
I don’t have anything stellar and inspiring to say about all of this. I’m just a little stunned at the perspective I gained from that conversation. I think often about the people I went through rehab with, I wish them the best, I worry about them. But for today, I’m just incredibly grateful for what I have, and that my pal is doing so well.
Congrats, DP. You’re going to be a great dad. You know what to do. Love ya.