Mysteries

I found words to every thought I ever had, but one. . . . --Emily Dickinson

What kinds of thoughts can't be put into words? We feel lost in space, mind-boggled by how small and big the stars are. We are sure and unsure about death, its blank and steady stare. Or we have done something that makes us feel both good and bad. Sometimes we hate someone we love, but we aren't sure what hate is, or love. We are scared of crowds and afraid of being abandoned, always alone. Sometimes we just want to laugh and cry, and when words fail we expect someone to know what our silences mean.
+ + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + +
Our condition may be the result of an allergy which makes us different from other people. It has never been by any treatment with which we are familiar, permanently cured. The only relief we have to offer is absolute abstinence, the second meaning of A.A. --from the original preamble of AA
+ + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + +
The fact is that most alcoholics, for reasons yet
obscure, have lost the power of choice in drink.
Our so-called will power becomes practically
non-existent. We are unable at certain times,
no matter how well we understand ourselves,
to bring into our consciousness with sufficient
force the memory of the suffering and humiliation
of even a week or a month ago. We are without
defense against the first drink.
+ + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + +
A today? There was none. The first part of my day was filled with guilt over what I’d done in the past. The middle of the day was anticipating relief from the guilt. And the last part was drinking to find some peace. A vicious cycle over which I was totally powerless.