The Wonder of It All

Today marks the sixteen-year anniversary of the date I entered treatment for.alcoholism.

I'm what's known as a "one and done" inpatient treatment alumnus.

i.e., I went once and haven't needed to go back.

(Yet.)

By the grace of God, I hope I never will.

I've stayed sober (or, at least, abstinent) for sixteen years. 

(So far.)

I didn't know then that I'm actually somewhat of a rarity.  I'm among the fortunate few, according to inpatient treatment success statistics.

I'm beyond grateful for.that. I was.ready, and I worked.

Hard.

Knowing about the statistics, I wonder about the people I knew back then in rehab.

Especially the.ones I thought would be lifelong friends due to our shared experience and the closeness built over nearly five months of living together and progressing through the stages in our treatment programs.

I wonder...

Where they are now.

What their lives are like.

If they're still sober.

If they go to the reunions at Hanley in West Palm Beach.

(I was never contacted ONCE about attending a reunion. Kinda sucks.)

For the first year or so after leaving treatment, I kept in touch and frequently visited some of the people to whom I was closest.

It was hard, though, once we were all out and living our own lives, separated by 70 miles.

Life after rehab got really busy. Church. Meetings. A new job. Celebrate Recovery. And, most of my closest friends at Hanley were young enough to be my daughters. 

It seemed a natural progression for our "outside" lives to diverge, and for the relationships to gradually dissipate.

Part of me was glad to not have to make the effort any longer. It was sad and disappointing as one, then another, and yet another relapsed or got into various difficult situations within a few months of exiting treatment.

Honestly, I welcomed our moving in different directions. I felt like hanging around the ones who didn't seem to fully embrace recovery put my own sobriety in jeopardy.

It's been nearly sixteen years now, though.

And, I can't help but wonder.

Could I have made more of an effort to invest fully and positively in their lives? Would it have helped them to be strong, stay on the path of recovery?

But, I also wonder, was I even equipped?

That first year, every stressful, unfamiliar, or challenging situation and circumstance I got through without drinking was a victory.

I had to listen to that inner voice warning me when I was about to enter a dangerous situation. Even if it seemed silly.

I  do wonder sometimes, though.

Could I have -- SHOULD I have -- been a better friend?

But, then, I wonder...

...Would I still be sober today?

Remembering Rehab

Tomorrow will be the sixteenth year anniversary of the date I entered rehab for treatment of alcoholism. 

O. M. G 

I was so apprehensive. Anxious. Scared.

I had to stay overnight in Detox, even though I hadn't had a drink for nearly a month. (I count April 10, 2007 as my Sobriety Date, not May 7th as Hanley tried to insist).

I remember the fear.

Fear it wouldn't work.

Fear I'd fall.

Fear I'd succeed and hate my boring, insufferable life, which seemed to stretch out interminably before me (ah, the wonderful naivety of being 50!).

Fear it would all be for naught, and my husband would leave me anyway, that this was his way of beginning the legal process of separating himself from the hell he had endured for so many years, with me conveniently locked away for 28 days.

He was the reason I agreed to go to treatment. 

He'd given me an ultimatum.

Get treatment or he was DONE.

I didn't want that. Him leaving me, that is.

Not because he is a saint and the love of my life.

No.

Because by this point, I hated our marriage, the ways we avoided the elephant in the room, the complete destruction of any semblance of a healthy relationship.

I was just flat-out SCARED.

Scared I couldn't function without him, without someone who tolerated my rages, my major depressive episodes, and most of all, my coping mechanism: ALCOHOL.

Long story short, rehab worked.

It was hard, but I embraced it fully, and I LOVED it.

So much so that I stayed for 4½ months.

I knew within the first 2 weeks, long-term sobriety was possible, but only if I could identify, confront, and begin to work through the underlying issues that prompted me to turn to alcohol in the first place.

So, I stayed.

I worked.

Hard.

And when I was ready, I went home.

Home.

Where the heart is.