Broken Mirrors

I had a drinking problem for years. It was always five o’clock somewhere and I craved the feeling of a good buzz. I drank to socialize. I drank to fuck. I drank to escape. I drank to stay skinny. I drank to be able to stand my own presence. I drank to embrace oblivion. 

I slipped the bounds of my reality too many times, innumerable times, and made new ones that I can’t even remember. 

Being with someone who was equally fond of the drink was like needing oxygen to breathe, but it’s also like looking in a broken mirror—you still recognize your reflection in all the cracks and broken pieces, but instead of getting a new mirror, you just stop looking at yourself. 

I’ve had thirteen years now, of sober clarity, to remember and to reflect. To sit alone in silence, to face my worst demons, darkest fears, deepest pain, biggest insecurities and all my defects of character. To own my mistakes and feel remorse and regret and an ocean of fathomless sadness.

To find my true self and to be able to look at her again through the eyes of forgiveness and gratitude and unconditional love and acceptance. To know that I still have so much to give and so much life yet to be lived.