90 Days

I told my group in Continuing Care on Thursday that if I made it to 90 days sober, I’d do it by the skin of my teeth. So here I am. Today. By the skin of my teeth. My last drink was 3 months ago and I haven’t had a sip since.

I’m having a very hard time quieting my brain, which all came to a head this week. A friend asked what I wanted more than anything and without hesitating I said “peace.” That’s all I want, in the whole world. I’ve used a ton of alcohol for the last 15+ years to shut my brain completely off every night, until I passed out, and now I don’t have that. So it works on overdrive. So much so that I contemplated suicide. It’s not fun to talk or think about, but it became a particularly attractive option this week.

The bridge. Tonight I walked across Taft Bridge for the last time for the foreseeable future. Before I did, I descended a path into Rock Creek Park and made my way under Taft Bridge. I felt the cold stone columns with my fingers. I sat down on the bike trail underneath it. Here is where I would’ve landed, had things gone a bit differently. If I had had maybe 2 more drinks that night. I closed my eyes as the sun set and thought of phrases I mull over during meditation class:

The curve of the earth.

Ease of well-being.

Calm and simple.

The curve of the earth.

Tonight I hiked back up to Calvert and Connecticut and walked across Taft Bridge for the last time. I’ve promised loved ones I won’t hurt myself, and I won’t. My head will calm down in due time. I just need to be patient. I’ll hang on and stay sober. My insides are all emptied out. I filled it with alcohol for all of my adult life and that served me well, until it didn’t. Now I don’t know what’s there. A heart. Lungs. Plenty of blood, still flowing, healthier than it was 90 days ago. I stick to the breathing exercises. Breathe in cool air, breathe out warm air. This has to get easier at some point. I am not my thoughts.