Written by, Rysse G.
I count down the days that I am sober, like a clock to how long I can just be in my life without running. 12 hours.
There’s a train barreling down the generations. 1 day.
Recovery they call it. What am I recovering? 16 days.
I cry like I’m unplugged, like it feels it will never stop. 18 days.I can almost admit I am powerless. 21 days.
They say a new habit is forming but my lungs still long for the warmth of that first inhale. 24 days.
Being powerless is a good thing. I bow down to something greater than me. 32 days.I can’t do this alone. I find meetings. I ask for help. 38 days.
Even in the way I sit in front of the T.V. and scarf down food like I haven’t eaten in days. Cross addiction they say. 42 days.
I’m counting the days to how many will it take til I can turn around and say “I see you” to the train. 46 days.
And it reveals itself to me as heartbreak or grief or hunger, something old, something new. 48 days.
Some days it goes easy on me. I remember to sing. I remember to cry. I remember to pray. 52 days.
I learn my lessons the hard way but I keep telling myself “I can do hard things.” 55 days.
I jump on that train I strap on and say here we go. 58 days.
I can taste the freshness of a sober life. I can almost see the train at the end of its rope, gassed out. 59 days.
I see now, I am recovering my aliveness. 60 days.
I am just riding the train now. And I’ll take another 24.
