My new sobriety date is 4•20•2021. The irony of entering rehab on a stoner holiday is not lost on me. Life is poetic that way… Or maybe my caseworker has a sense of humor. I’m finding that I have more words in me than usual, or more than I’ve allowed myself since I can’t get as high as I usually do anymore. There’s so much to say now. Every day before group therapy we give a moment of silence “to the alcoholic or addict still suffering.“ that little speck of reflection for those who have yet to start on any path to recovery. Sometimes I wish I wasn’t so brave. The dark pit that is “rock-bottom” can be so comforting and…silent. It swallows you whole. But it’s also terrifying to think that I have gotten used to the sound of my own screaming voice in the darkness.. As I write from rehab I am now 12 days sober. We get the Internet once a week, the beds are hard, in the toilets are prison-like, but who cares; I am safe. At least from myself. As I accumulate more sober days I hope to also accumulate more words. I need a different medium for all this pain, and drinking and smoking is no longer viable option, not if I want to be present for all that life has to offer. Even when life doesn’t look that great there’s always something to say, and if not for myself then for someone else. Words of pain AND hope (both pain and hope can coexist and it’s more honest anyway) Words like: I’m lonely as fuck in here but I plan to see it through.