Dearest Sobriety...
I slogged through so many feelings, so many realizations, so many excavations of deep old festering shitty wounds. I started running to air them out. I took walks down my friends’ dead end dirt road in the tiny town I’d escaped to in Western New York and wept and sometimes yelled out loud at people who weren’t there. I was not graceful. But over and over, pushing forward through these feelings that I previously would’ve poured alcohol over got me to a place I couldn’t have understood. And instead of hating my past self, and being so unbearably mortified by her weakness and sickness, I felt this huge flood of gratitude and even admiration. What a brave, strong person. What a stunning thing, to wake up every day with your brain trying to kill you, and still do an interview. Still try to pitch something. Still, write something up. Still still still keep trying. Each one is a grasp at staying alive, and in that, I succeeded. An unequivocal success, you know? Here I am.
Love Curated extract from post by Danielle Tcholakian
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