Delving into the past

Today was my third day in the 12-week treatment program, and I felt like a few of the pieces started to fall into place. Not the emotional part, that one’s been loud for years, but the biological part. The mechanical part.

There’s a voice in me

Today was the second day of my 12-week program, and for the first time in a long time, I felt like I wasn’t just “a person with a problem.”I was a person with a system, a brain, a history, genetics, stress responses, memories, all interacting in a way that explains why alcohol became my escape, my reward, and eventually my prison.

I was born with restless feetand a bottle hidden in my shadow.Every road I walkedwas just another way of leaving myself behind.

There are seasons to my downfall,a tide that knows my name.It rises in the quiet hourswhen no one’s watching,when the world stops demandingand my mind starts whispering.

I walked the long streets with a bottle in my hand,pretending every swallow was strengthand not surrender.

They all want something a piece of me,a promise,a future I can’t keep steady.

I’ve thrown fists at the world,but the worst blowswere always the ones I aimed at myself.

It doesn’t happen with thunder.

They’re six and nine,

I used to chase the burn,

I went to my first 12-step meeting today.