Such a definition perfectly describes the nature of my disease. For the life of me, I could not figure out why I consistently failed to drink like a gentleman. I observed those around me who possessed the uncanny ability to drink in moderation, a behavior which left me wholly vexed. Every drink, no matter which angle I came at it, delivered me squarely into the identical spot time and time again - complete and obsessive intoxication.
I tried, oh, how I tried to conquer the ever elusive dragon known as social drinking, harnessed by so many of my peers. Both brief and lengthy stretches of drought convinced me, "This time! This time I will get it right!" Alas, my return to the bottle yielded only short and painful attempts toward temperance, finally resulting in full-blown daily debauchery. I repeatedly slammed my forehead into a singular brick in the massive wall of moderation, in a desperate attempt to break through. Instead, I fell to my knees, bloodied and broken. After succint respite, I gained my feet and started all over. Such was the nature of my insanity.
So many of my brothers and sisters have I witnessed who struggle to tame the unquenchable beast as I once tried. In and out, in and out, in and out of recovery, declaring to the world, "This time! This time I will get it right!" Only to come crawling back; battered, bloody, and beaten.
The monster cannot be tamed. Ever.
Here's how I break it down today:
- In my disease: I'm lonely, miserable, ashamed, sick, sad, broken, and unable to look at myself in a mirror.
- In sobriety: I'm happy, joyous, free, whole, healthy, confident, and proud of myself and my accomplishments.
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