Step by Step
Tuesday, March 5, 2024
Today, if at a meeting or in conversation with someone in recovery I hear his experiences on Skid Row, let me not make the smug and sanctimonious comparison that, “I was NEVER that bad.” If the other guy’s bed where he passed out or detoxed was a plastic bag on the ground under the bridge where the homeless and down-and-out congregate but my bed was in my house; if his basin to vomit was the river running alongside the bank of the ground under the bridge of the homeless and down-and-out but my basin was the pristine sink in my bathroom; if he landed in the county jail’s drunk tank but I never did; if he was in the hospital psyche room for the uninsured next to my room that was a little nicer because I had insurance; if his drinking cost him his family, home or job but I have a house even though it, too, is empty of anyone but me; if his last drink was two days ago and mine two years ago but both of us have not drank in this, the current 24 Hours; how, then, do I con myself into thinking, “I was NEVER that bad?” The other guy may have been on Skid Row, but I made Skid Row in my house. Today, I will not climb a moral pedestal with the lie that I NEVER got as bad as someone else — because I did. And our common journey continues. Step by step. — Chris M., 2024
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