The last relapse was pretty harsh. It was just having to stop that was really hard – it was getting over the now massive hump of shame, and stopping the racing mind, who now just wanted the fix. My sponsor was, of course, worried (if not panicked). He called almost everyday. Of course he knew where my head was. For a week or so, I did not go to meetings, didn’t pray, didn’t reach out. And though I stopped use in a few days, the scorched earth remains of those few days reverberated in my life across the board.
The new jobs I was considering as options? Well, in order to keep one, I gave one up. If I were even more reckless, all options would be out the window. The new job change and better pay would not be a reality anymore. It barely is, though I’m happy to say I’ve not messed up the interview process. It will only be possible if I keep clean.
Friends in recovery knew something was wrong. They called, and tried to get in touch. Frankly, it was effort to avoid their support. As I did that, I felt a massive source of shame. Shame that they’ll see my face, of their reaction of either disappointment or rage would leave me in hole of more desperation. Because you see, they would never, EVER judge me like that. I was. The judgement I thought they would pour on me, was really my own.
Finally coming to a meeting was just utterly reliving. My sponsor immediately hugged me, sat next me, and was there. It would be later that I learned that my relapse, and my very close call to quit recovery, hit him hard. I’m just happy I didn’t let those thoughts over-take me. I love my sponsor, and I could not bear hurting yet another caring person because of my use.
Today marks day two of the ninety meetings in ninety days “challenge.” I have to start over yet again. I just hope that following the fire of a relapse that’s left behind scorched earth, all that can happen are for the seeds of those events to grow. Hopefully, a tree of wisdom can show up once again. I really really really hope that this will be the last time. I just don’t think I can handle another failure. I’ve run out of recovery chances. This is the last one, and I don’t intend to waste it.