I am beginning to understand the meaning. At first, I was such a bastard. I couldn’t see beyond Friday night. At first I felt it was not a sufficient or substantial argument. I had to question the motive. But you can’t change what you do not acknowledge. I cannot correct that will not be corrected.
I wake up everyday and I say to myself can I make it. I wake up everyday and I say to myself will I fuck up again. Some days I can make until a week, but other days it only last for a couple of hours. I’ve gotten to the point where I can’t trust days anymore. I can only take it second by second and the hours and maybe a day hopefully a week.
I do like my sober days. I do like when I wake and everything makes sense. But there is always the pain. There is always what drove me off the cliff. I have to fight it. And some days I’m stronger than other days. Some days I’m so damn weak I don’t want to talk about it. But I always know if I make it though the day, even the ones where I am weak, I can be strong tomorrow.
So it is one day at a time, one second at a time that turn to minutes that can turn to a day that turn to a week, sometimes a month and then years. Getting better is like dealing with cancer. Will it come back? Will it come back? Will this be a good day? Will it be a time when I don’t think about this? As the child said, will I have to deal with this for the rest of my life? As the adult says to the child, will this be the end of my life?
One day at a time, the struggle, the quest, the challenge, the truth.
