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Sunday, October 11, 2015


Before I actually quit drinking booze, I had to analyze the idea by writing several long dissertations in my private journals. I wrote these over the years as the idea of not drinking was one that slowly fermented in my brain. I fell into a pattern where, the next morning, I would write about the way I felt after a night of being drunk. I would write about repeating this awful routine of waking up the next morning, having an awful headache and dealing with the aftermath of answering what should have been very simple questions:
  • Why did I act the way I had? 
  • Why did I say what I said? 
  • Why did I think what I thought?
As the years went by, answering those questions became more and more difficult. And, after all those years of trying to justify why those answers were always the same answers and why I had to keep repeating my earlier words within those justifications, I finally reached the point of no longer even wanting to ask or answer those questions. As a result, I'm proud to write that I haven't had any booze for 4 years, 9 months, 1 week, 4 days. I've come to realize that I cannot erase the things I did when I drank booze. I've tried. I've tried so damn hard to put myself in reverse and slam down the gas pedal to go back in time and permanently recycle all of those miles and experiences. I liken it to when Cameron and Ferris put Cameron's father's car on blocks, put the vehicle in Reverse and a brick on the gas pedal so that the miles come off. While that scene is fiction in "Ferris Bueller's Day Off", I think the point is clear: I can't go back in time. All I can do is learn from what I did and shove it to the forefront of my mind so that I don't do it again.

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