For me, getting sober was the metaphoric equivalent of taking a hammer straight onto my glass heart. Sobriety sent my heart flying into a million pieces. It crushed every sense of belonging I had. It dropped me naked onto the driest of deserts without a compass. It forced me to experience life as the manifestation of a slow, crawling creature moving against time— a creature I could no longer manipulate to exist under my control. My will was useless. My ego burnt to ashes. My heart shattered into a million tiny glass pieces that I had to walk through, barefooted, in order to land in sobriety.
I eventually made it to the other side of early sobriety, but boy— the way up from rock bottom is just as brutal as the way down. Hence, why so few people recover from substance abuse. The statistics are not on our side, and now I know why. Getting sober is fucking hard, nearly impossible, which may indeed have worked in my favor. You see, most addicts are intense; our thirst for pushing boundaries and testing the limits is bottomless. Our drive for beating the odds is what got us into the crazy mess of addiction in the first. We all strive to be the expectation of whatever rule has been created for us to follow. So by the off chance that we do decide to get sober, those of us who were the most dedicated and loyal to the bottle tend to be the ones who beat the odds of addiction.
The most disciplined during addiction tend to be the most disciplined in recovery. We had to learn how to prioritize our alcohol intake to ensure we could function properly, and we used that same prioritization skillset to stay sober and stay alive. Most of the recovery I see are from folks who had to stop, or we were going to die. This does not mean you have to be in such a dire situation to sober up. Anyone can stop drinking alcohol; not just alcoholics are entitled to the gift of sobriety. Anyone can have a booze-free life. It's the best dope in town! And this is coming from someone who has dedicated her entire life to chasing highs.
Up until embarking on the sober wagon, I had never experienced or survived a broken heart. My heart had never ached for the kind of things love is made of - acceptance, forgiveness, compassion - in the way it does now.
My love is not bound by the limits of addiction. It does not travel as far as my need to escape reality will caring it; it's infinite, beyond my own control and imagination. As cliché as this might sound, getting my heartbroken created a crack for real love to flood in. To this, I raise a teacup and cheer to landing on the other side of early sobriety.