I used to have this thought in the back of my mind for a long time. I used to think this before I turned myself in, after, and when I sat my number out…I thought
“One of these days I will drink again.”
Like matter of fact and like it was a part of my life I couldn’t let go. Or maybe not ready to let go yet.
It was so much a part of my life, I didn’t see the illness of it.
A wonderful counselor who listened to Jimmy Cliff, Bob Marley, and Sublime music, somewhat of a left-wing radical, kind of old, fuzzy, hippie dude, showed me one day.
He took the sentence on a dry erase board “I cannot drink while on federal supervised release.”
I related to the sentence, bummer, cannot drink, sucks, have to find a way around that, I thought.
Then he underlined CAN. Then he looked at me and said “Dana (because he called us by our first names, everyone else called me Lonehill) look at what you CAN do.”
“You CAN do this, because this government may have locked you up but they didn’t kill your spirit. Your spirit needs you to take care of you now and you CAN not drink while on federal supervised release. It is a choice you CAN do.”
I don’t know if he made me see the light or if I felt the planets aligned or what, but I did know that I was strong enough to CAN not drink. That it was a choice also, not just a requirement and obligation.
I was strong enough today, thank god.
I will pray for tomorrow.