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.....
Thanks,
Kim

The Sober Door ©

Preface

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.

“WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM ME? ALL OF YOU?”

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 NOT THE MAN YOU WANT IN YOUR LIFE.”

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.

“YOU ARE ALL F**** NUTS”

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.

After the Holidays

Years ago, I used to find that the most depressing time of the year happened right after the holidays. The celebrations were over, the list of resolutions that I had made was already lost in the post-holiday shuffle and the coldness of winter was finally becoming reality. It was a time of looking back at the year prior and wondering if the regrets of my actions would follow me into the new year.

When I became sober, the post holiday period was more of a sigh of relief....I had made it through the social maze of skipped invitations and constant reminders of what I was missing out on (or so I thought at the time).

The last few years, however, I look at the post holiday period as a great time of self reflection. I no longer make lists of resolutions I know I will not keep. I have only one real and true resolution that I live every day of my life. Everything else, because of my constant resolve, is falling into place with the work that I put into being sober.

One thing I do around this time is take inventory of my goals and objectives. Where am I within my sober life? Where do I want to be this year? This month? This day? Resolutions, post holiday periods are more about asserting what we are living with and reflecting on how we can achieve even more balance in the months to come.

Today, my personal inventory looks a lot more like an orderly pantry than cluttered attic desperate for reorganizing. Sure, the cans on the shelves may still be stacked in slight disarray, but it's accessible and ready for cold winter days of reflection.

Happy New Year

So, New Years Day 2009. 530am. I'm on my way from getting coffee since I went to bed on New Year's Eve at 8pm thanks to my resolve not to go out on NYE anymore. Car dies (thanks to my 90,000 mile BMW that neither Healey Brothers nor BMW corporate would help at all). I walk home in 2 degree weather with pajamas on. Three miles into it I am picked up by the local newspaper delivery guy making his far too early rounds. I am freezing, he knows me from another lifetime. I am so grateful.

Get home, news is not good. No car. I'm likely paying for it for the next two years. Instead of the complete panic that normally envelopes me, I start thinking of my options (having it stolen, though it crossed my mind, is not one of them)......

I realize that, no matter what, I still have options. Was it a mistake to buy the car? Yes. Am I completely humbled? Absolutely. Do I still have my health and happiness? Most definitely.

As much of an inconvenience as it is, I am still here and alive. I still have family that was able to lend me another car for the time being (humbled once more driving a truck with 237,000 miles that actually runs!). I was freezing walking home but survived. I have seen great kindness from strangers, friends and family. Everyone is chipping in when years ago, they may not have been so apt to help.

In all, I am pretty lucky. I finally got back to my car four hours later (and again, kindness from the tow truck guy who picked me up at home), there was a yellow flower and a newspaper with a note written: "Hope your 2009 gets better. Smile". I actually smiled. In the wake of such shallow disparity, I still have the things that mean the most. And then some.

Happy New Year!