Wednesday, January 14, 2009

The Sober Door © Book Excerpt

I've been writing a book for the last few months, it's a fictional labor of love about a woman who comes to terms with her sobriety. Since I have been getting a lot of e-mails regarding the book and am appreciative of all the support, I've decided to post the unedited first draft version of the preface to "The Sober Door".....stay tuned in the next year, it will be out there.....

The Sober Door ©


Locked in. Barricaded from the outside. He spared me. Saved me. Threw me with resounding force. Conflicted. I am being spared. I am being enveloped in blackness. I can hear him. Screaming outside. Ranting, ranting, ranting.


I know that I am safe for the moment. I know he is hurting everyone outside the door. I am shut in, shut out from him. They are outside. I am safe. I am spared. The noise of the punches. Each slap stings. Screams. Cries. It rings in my ears. I hear my brother screaming. My mother screaming. I am eneveloped in blackness. The vibration of each hit comes through the floor. I cannot see beyond the door in front of me.


I know I want him. I want him to open the door. I want him to bring me out, beat me and take me out of this dark place he has sequestered me to. I want to feel the pain. EACH and EVERY lash that is being inflicted.I have been in here for hours, this I know. Cramped and cowering, only wishing that he would love me enough to hit me too. I can smell his breathe, even from inside the tomb I am in. Acid. Fire. Sweetness. His nose, white like Christmas. His eyes wild as he had pushed my thrashing limbs. I was left out of the carnage. .I hear everything but cannot see. I am so desperate not to be forgotten in the massacre.


For a moment, I hear his hand on the door knob. I think, “he’s going to bring me out.” I am not scared. I am ready to handle his wrath as it is inherently mine. I tremble. For once, I am not forgotten. I will be his daughter. I will wipe his tears away with my hand. He will know that I want him.

And quickly, his hand is gone.

All goes silent. I hear whimpering. It is my own. I know he is gone. Left me here in the closet. Darkness. I am alone. I don’t know where he is going or how long but he won’t be back. He went too far. He left me.

He forgot to leave my present. He forgot to sing, to blow out the candles. He forgot to tell Mom that I only eat chocolate frosting. Today is my sixth birthday. I am locked in the closet.


Mike Walzman said...

It seems like a great book so far! I think its very inspiring that your writing a book. I love to read peoples blogs that live life to the fullest and seems like you do just that. Wish you the best on your journey : )

Recovery said...

Your blog rocks. I nominated it for the Lemonade Award. If you participate in this kinna thing, you can pick it up on my blog.

May God bless you and your family.


Recovery Rocks!

Dave said...

Wow- powerful stuff

Marci said...

Your on my favorites for a reason. Love your blog and your writing.

Anonymous said...

Can't wait until your book is published. Do you have a date?

SlogBite said...

Hi, I found your site through the “Bloggers in Recovery” feature at "Recovery Rocks." The reason I am stopping by is to see if would be willing to promote your site and your message through SlogBite like “Recovery Rocks” does. SlogBite is a new concept in directories with very specific categories that are granular in nature. In addition, you can join multiple categories and even have categories created for you.

Come on by and check out the “Addition/Recovery” category and hopefully join. You will be helping to create your own community within the SlogBite community.

I hope to see you there.

Picking up Women said...

The vibration of each hit comes through the floor. I cannot see beyond the door in front of me.