In my earliest days of recovery, I can clearly remember the mornings. My eyes would open and again I would realize it hadn’t been a dream or nightmare but reality. My wife knew everything and so did my children. I didn’t feel like getting up and just rolling over but I couldn’t do that either or my wife would become suspicious I was doing something again.
In those days, I would share in group and talk about feeling not just like crap but “the thing that aspires to be crap.” It was to show how low and worthless I felt. The guilt and shame were heavy loads. I was still in the middle of Step 1 and admitting I needed help. Step 2 was Hope and what hope was there for me? How could this ever get better?
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