Angry used to get me.
Even a month ago, I was a different person. The wine bottle incident from Christmas Eve(last blog post), for example, would’ve gone like this:
-come home to a bunch of half-full wine bottles open on the table, their odors driving into my weak alcoholic brain like nails
-read the post. I got through the craving.
-Christmas would’ve been ruined. I would have taken at least 6 months to forgive my parents for what was simply a shitty oversight on their part. Not malicious. Just an unfortunate accident. I would have been thinking “It is your fault for bringing me into this world with all of my demons and now you want to feed them, too?”
-But it didn’t go like that. I got through the craving, asked my sister to get rid of the wine, and I didn’t become “bitter, alcoholic Martha” in sobriety. God bless my sister.
I’m not a saint, but I forgave my parents on the spot. I was able to do this because I know that they love me. I did not know this (but thought I did) when I came home for Thanksgiving.
I told my friend, “I want to come out of my bedroom.”
And he said, “They wish you would.”
And they did, so I did, and everything was, well, splendid.
I have come so far, and I’m patting myself so hard on the back I might bruise.
But I don’t care. Realizing distance from [bad times] to [present times] on roads of love and family and substance abuse are miles to be celebrated.