36 days and counting. . . . so lost
36 days ago, I lay in a hospital bed, dehydrated, weak and convulsing. It was my last time out, my last binge. In the first couple of weeks after that day, I felt strong, fearless, but that is now fading to weariness, exhaustion. I left my significant other of three years, after figuring out that he was toxic; when around him, I wanted to drink myself into a stupor. I got fired from my job six weeks ago, and although I'm in an in-demand profession, I'm having a hard time finding a new one, though it's not for lack of trying.
Tell me that it's worth it, a life of sobriety, without the chemical comfort that blanketed me for nearly two decades of my life. I feel so lost, as if I've just said goodbye to a close friend, now wandering into dangerous territory.
I know that I am not seeing things for what they really are, and I know that my perception can be rather askew. What am I not seeing, and what am I not understanding?
I just want to know that it is all worth it, because sometimes I think that my life is not.