There were posts this evening. THe second one was very painful and very cathartic. Admitting that not only did I believe in the Great Divine, but I was willing to accept that help is a hard leap (again.)
I can't say I'm a happy person when I get booze in me. I am, in a small window. Outside of that window, I'm either normal Naiad ( not your most optimistic person) or someone sobbing about the past AGAIN. I would say it's fair I sob about the past because "woe is me, my past was hard," but it's really not. The past is passed. It can't come to the present and beat me again unless I let it. Yes, I grew up in one of the toughest neighborhoods in the country. Yes, I grew up in a less than ideal home. But I have help. And I can beat this. Because it's passed. So no crying into my whiskey.