AddictionUnscripted is a platform dedicated to breaking the stigma of addiction and bringing the voices of recovery together in a united front. We know everyone has a story and we’ve created a community that embraces brokenness and allows us to share our truths and use our voices to move the conversation about addiction and alcoholism forward. In writing about our triumphs and tribulations as they relate to addiction, we bring the conversation about addiction into the public eye, and we connect and serve the millions of Americans who are still struggling with their own abuse.The online community of bloggers and sober writers has provided an outlet for the over 24 million Americans who are currently suffering from addiction or alcohol abuse. This number does not even begin to touch those who have been personally affected by addiction. Our choices for the recipients of AddictionUnscripted’s Top 25 Recovery Bloggers of 2016 were based on the originality of content, the frequency of updates, and the voice they carry in the recovery space. The list is as follows, and in no particular order.
Just me and the Men at the NA meeting today. I got the council workers to lift the Pony onto the footpath as they continue to pound this wee lane into a street.
Could be Bad.
Could be Good.
Its pretty cold. Snow up on the Tablelands. They say that down South its wild wet and windy and REALLY cold.
Arkue and I spoke last night of Step 1 in depth. Powerlessness and Unmanageability over Everything. Over every tiny little thing. I am surely in one of those phases. Every little thing I have moved towards has seemingly “failed”. That is what has brought me to what Dino calls SWEET SURRENDER. He equated it with the aboriginal initiation rites. From out Moree, he is.
I am in the Sweet Surrender at the moment.
We had a new lad there today. In big shit. If nothing else, growing old with this disease keeps me in touch with the young and with their suffering and their joys. One lad I knew way back, well he is in Brisbane now and doing mighty fine.
One of the Girls has raised her Kids and is a trusted and beautiful mature woman now. Drop dead wonderful.
The Reading for the meeting was about seeing the god in other people and part way through, the various people began to enter my awareness. Marian and Flo and Margaret and Yvonne and David O. Claire Saunders , the Canadian school teacher in Coogee who convinced me I could teach again.
Many, many of them.
People who have shown me the god within.
My family is right up there as well. Lucky woman.
Family of the future.
Tom Waits has been sober for fifteen years now. He told the Guardian about it in 2006, saying:”Oh, you know, it was tough. I went to AA. I’m in the program. I’m clean and sober. Hooray. But, it was a struggle.” Does he miss it? “Nah. Not the way I was drinking. No, I’m happy to be sober. Happy to be alive. I found myself in some places I can’t believe I made it out of alive.” Has sobriety affected his creative process? “No. I don’t think so. I mean, one is never completely certain when you drink and do drugs whether the spirits that are moving through you are the spirits from the bottle or your own. And, at a certain point, you become afraid of the answer. That’s one of the biggest things that keeps people from getting sober, they’re afraid to find out that it was the liquor talking all along. “I was trying to prove something to myself, too. It was like, ‘Am I genuinely eccentric? Or am I just wearing a funny hat? What am I made of? What’s left when you drain the pool?'”
Source: Why Tom Waits Quit Drinking
Jack Grisham, lead singer of punk band TSOL, sober 26 years, has written a book about recovery called A Principle of Recovery: An Unconventional Journey Through The 12 Steps. And it is, no joke, mind-blowing. I’m never one to be all, “Ooh yeah, please let me read more books about recovery and the Big Book!” But this book is funny, personal and so refreshing that you have no choice except to love it, pull out your highlighter and periodically shout, “Oh my God. Right!!!” I rolled down to Huntington Beach to sit down with Grisham in his haunted former schoolhouse of a home. Here are the highlights of our talk.
On this particular day, my recovered life looks like this. I’m sitting on my living room couch working (writing this), still wearing my pj’s and flip flops at 11am. I drove my daughter to school like this after getting her ready for Halloween dress up day. I have an abandoned kitten by my side that […]
Source: I Love Recovery Cafe
Philip Seymour Hoffman
Last summer I found a small box stashed away in my apartment,
a box filled with enough Vicodin to kill me. I would have sworn
that I’d thrown it away years earlier, but apparently not. I stared
at the white pills blankly for a long while, I even took a picture of
them, before (finally, definitely) throwing them away. I’d been
sober (again) for some years when I found that box, but every
addict has one— a little box, metaphorical or actual— hidden
away. Before I flushed them I held them in my palm, marvelling
that at some point in the not-so-distant past it seemed a good
idea to keep a stash of pills on hand. For an emergency, I told
myself. What kind of emergency? What if I needed a root canal
on a Sunday night? This little box would see me through until
the dentist showed up for work the next morning. Half my
brain told me that, while the other half knew that looking into
that box was akin to seeing a photograph of myself standing on
the edge of a bridge, a bridge in the familiar dark neighborhood
of my mind, that comfortable place where I could somehow
believe that fuck it was an adequate response to life.
– NICK FLYNN
The Box dares to fly open this morning. Now the Grieving escapes the Stable and gallops off in all directions. Now I cry when my daughter rings. Now I panic once more. Now I vomit. Now Desire to continue has left me once more.
We went to Toormina and bought $100 of food for Remi to cook for tomorrow night. I am OK with my little girls and on my own and on computer but that’s about it. The rest of the Time, the small box is visible. Wee beasties chewing their way out of it. These are the hard core ones that must have been there for a VERY long time and through many explorations and cleanouts.
Will I make it through this Time ? I don’t know. JB, my friend in Coolangatta always called it SHIMMERING. That’s what I am doing. SHIMMERING. His heart failed him.
The Psych who is coming here to visit with me spoke of SELF COMPASSION. I am in need of that. I am SO weary and still sliding downhill now and then.
The Little Box is there. I have it “in case I need it ” as I slide.
What would happen if I were able to toss it far off as I slide ?
What would come flying out ?
What would finally leave me alone ?