I remember a day, 4 or 5 years ago. I was depressed and struggling with issues of my own, and with the church leadership. Sometime in the afternoon I saw an "America's Next Top Model" marathon on cable. I zoned out of life and into the TV. I drank Cosmopolitan martinis all day while I was lost in the TV. I escaped my life.
I remember that as a very good day. I miss days like that. Drinking and losing myself and not caring about life. Why do I miss those days? I was wimping out. I was running. I was weak. I was scared. Not really a concoction I'd normally call good.
These days, I am no longer escaping through alcohol and I am grieving the times that I did. And that's okay. I'm going to let myself grieve and feel sad that I am no longer doing that. But I am not going back. You see, even though that day seems good in my memory, it was a day of cowardice that if explored again would likely send me spiraling down, down, down into a place where I don't have control over the vice of alcohol, but it would have control over me.
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