I woke up around 10:30am this morning in a fog. As soon as I sat up, I lost control of my stomach, which purged itself of its mostly liquid contents. I tried to stand to get a towel, but a wave of vertigo forced me onto the floor and dry heaving. In between bouts of sickness, I deleted a series of embarrassing tweets and cried.
“I’m so tired of this,” I muttered, yanking at my my arm hair. “I’m so stupid.” My words escalated into shouts, and I spiraled into a tearful, self-deprecating mess. I tried to comfort myself, but it didn’t work. “Please be kind to yourself,” I begged. “You don’t deserve kindness.” I longed to call someone. But who?
I feared my best friend would be annoyed with me for bothering her all night and that the host of the vodcast I admire so much would have blocked me for over-tweeting like I do when drunk. But neither of these was true. The relief was overwhelming, and it was enough to get me off the floor. After cleaning up my mess and taking a shower, I went to the kitchen to get some water. To my surprise, two of the stove’s coils were glowing red, and a burnt, ruined pan was on one of them. Thankfully, I didn’t accidentally burn my house down. At least my cats were happy to see me.
Seeking a quick rebound from the night before, I went to a department store to inquire about rehiring me. The head of personnel seemed glad to hear I wanted to return. I planned to make a follow-up call the next day. Afterwards, I spent the afternoon in the wheat field outside my previous residence, finding solace in the sound of the swaying wheat despite still feeling sick.
I attended the meeting at 6pm. I asked about the group’s diversity and learned that many of the members were part of the LGBTQ+ community. They assured me I’d have no trouble finding a sponsor who was also on the rainbow. And to think, this was one of the main reasons I was so hesitant to go to face to face meetings.
At the meeting, I received a white keyring signifying my first 24 hours of clean time, with the words “Just for Today” embossed in gold on the back. Another man celebrated 26 years of sobriety. His sobriety date coincided with my mom’s passing date. I couldn’t help but take it as a sign that I was in the right place, and shared my feelings with him about it. He cried with me and we shared a huge hug.
After the meeting, I received many more warm hugs. One person said, “I’m glad you’re here. We’ll love you until you can learn to love yourself.” I felt safe and welcome — I believe I’ve found my people. Where I could have been dead tonight, I’m just grateful for another day.
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