No More Rehab Journal...I left again!

Six am, morning of day sixty-three:

Exactly one month to the date that I would have graduated inpatient rehab, I again, stuffed all the belongings I could into my coat pockets and snuck out, unaware, through the back, behind the tall hedges. I walked right to the nearest convenience store, bought a six pack of beer, and rented a motel room for the night. I didn't call Ray. I didn't want him to be responsible. I called my godmother, so she wouldn't worry. I drank all day, fooled around with strangers, danced at a bar, and passed out with my old outpatient girlfriend sloshed next to me in the queen sized bed.

It is today, two and a half moths later, and I am still struggling daily with my sobriety. Good days, good weeks, then a bad day will slap me in the face like a wet towel. I am hopeful. I never give up. I do not fail. Steps back, steps forward. Learn, persevere, love. That's all I can do. I want to drink tonight, more than anything. Ray is gone for good and it was not a pretty ending. I cheated on him 12 times in one year. No one could or should endure that. I hate this disease. My son does not live with me. I am scrunched in a little one-room college quad, all alone. And I can't sleep at night. But I write and I pray and I believe my future...I believe I have one.