I quit drinking over seven months ago in August, and, if I am being honest, which is what I am trying to be and which is what inspired this sobriety in the first place, I have to admit that I wanted to quit drinking for more than ten years before that.
I am verging on my eighth month of sobriety now, still divorced from my old life and still without God, and I want to write more about this experience, but I am unsure where to start over the last month. The sheer volume of words that I could share about my first few months of sober living overwhelms me. The first teetotaling winter of my adult life has left me speechless.
I want to keep writing about it, though. I need to. I may not be a religious person, but I do put some stock in the idea of logos: in the beginning was the Word. It is when I put words to my life that I pick up its threads, that I recognize its warp and weft. Words lay my life both bare and plain, and, although I know that this is going to sound very dramatic, it is the absolute truth: writing is my birthplace. Language defines the movement of my whole being through time, it says here you are, take yourself and go, it corrals the chaos into a recognizable mould capable of affecting change.
Here's where you come in. Help me to write about my sobriety. Help me to define the place I'm in and the places to which it might lead. I'm turning to you.
Do you have questions about how I got from August to April? Do you want to know if I've gotten fat from my new crutch, chocolate ice cream? Are you curious about the particulars about my experience? Please ask me in the comments, and I'll tell you no lies, at least as far as I am capable of telling the truth, (which proviso I add because I refuse to step on the bathroom scale and confront what chocolate ice cream has done to my middle, which I now fondly refer to as Ian, my food baby).
I'm putting myself in your hands. What would you like to know?
PS. My first answer is to Scared's comment.