I don’t write anthems of recovery as I think there is no such thing as an anthem. But sobriety amazes me with it’s linear sence of time.
I knew a woman, recently divorced who hadn’t slept in years. It showed in her posture and iritation. She senced that alcohol fueled wit in me and gravitated towards me when she was blacked out. She’d either lecture me in bars, or weep and listen to me in doorways where she stumbled and fell.
I remember spending a night with her nude on a couch. I also remember her screaming at me infront of my friends on the night of a theatrical premier (my fucking premier). I am told that was the same night.
I wish these people and I could watch the highlights of our ridiculousness from the comfort of a couch as retold in a Sports Center-esque recap with slow motion replays and objectivity. Then maybe we could all be friends again. But as is, we hate eachother as much as we used to love eachother. I hope our paths cross again in a relapse in a doorway and our minds and pain shine the strongly.