Empathetic Euphemisms Inspired by my Alcoholism
By: Bo Cook
Tags: Addiction, Empathy, Alcohol, Recovery, Encouragement

Bull in a China Closet

Picture for yourself a precious space. In this space place all that is dear to you in life. Relationships, hobbies and interests, your passions and joys, your dreams. This is your china closet.

Give to everything precious and sacred in your life a relic, a totem symbolic of your hearts affection for each, for each is a part of you, and you love each piece dearly.

Now, open a bottle and drink.

Forgetting everything in the china closet.

Fall asleep. Leave the door open.

In has wandered a raging drunk bull. You cant get him out of the house before everything is destroyed, because the bull is you.

Now you wake back up, and the totality of the chaos leaves you in shocked daze. And maybe some fragments of the precious relics remain, can be painstakingly pieced back together. But for the most part, there’s only ruins.

The good news is at least the bulls back out of the house, which means you CAN start again, rebuilding your china closet of life. Careful though, don’t forget the chaos and fall asleep, leave the door of possibility shut tight, opening it just a crack is enough the let the bull back in.

~ Reflections

The Busted Mule

It’s stubborn, stuck, and ain’t budging… that rut he’s in is a mile deep! A trench of self-trodden behaviors and patterns so well-rehearsed the brains on autopilot. Conduct indicative of this motley beast, he could at times be majestic no doubt, at least the potential is there, as it is with all God’s creatures, certainly not engulfed in this unmovable attitude though.

The despair of the work ahead to get clear of the rut seems insurmountable to the point of incapacitation… a busted mule. Good for nothin till his busted ass takes the next right step forward.

This almost always takes some help though, a connection to something or someone outside his narrow sighted self. The farm boy has been with this busted mule all along, not always remembered by the mule as it plowed through life, one dreary step after another till the paralysis hit. But his guide has never left, always nudging the mule towards less rocky ground, out of the rut. If only the mule would accept that help through connection, taking that first step in the right direction, the depth of the trench would lessen.

Ol’ busted mule is stubborn though, as was said. So its down to a choice for the critter, die in the self-trodden trench, or start walkin, and see what happens when he gets that head above ground again, there’s a whole Universe waiting for him.

~ Empathies and encouragements on finding sobriety from a fellow former drunk.

The Dog Days (of Recovery)

Nothing sounds better than doing nothing, fuck the “work”. The summers heat begets a natural laziness inciting the mundane, the mundane brings about a general detachment to any process, and boredom inevitably sets in.

The rush of freshness a new spring brings long past, the darkness that was winter a distant memory.

Days like these its easy to forget there ever was a winter darkness, life cruises, feels “normal” (whatever that means), regardless it lacks a certain intensity, the old familiar rollercoaster, a self-perceived heroes tragedy now on permanent intermission.

But, sure as the sun will rise so will that winter come again, maybe not freezing acid rain this year, maybe just a solid blizzard hits your life, blindsiding you on the way home from work one day.

Its how those dog days of recovery were spent that’s going to make all the difference. Whether you make it back home safe or get swept away in the storm. Either way, those dog days end up being some of the best you spent. Spend them wisely.

~ Adjusting to sobriety and finding stability in the vigilance of recovery.

Beating a Dead Horse

Not the nicest of nomenclatures, but it gets the point across.

(Kentucky loathe the day my drunk ass stumbles that way…)

Its kind of what it feels like going back to the bottle.

And what you wake up to.

If you do.

(I could start a glue factory.)

That horse is dead already!!!

It cannot by ANY means known to man be ridden ANY further!!!

Time to get a new horse… that’s the bright side cowboy.

Cause you can beat it all you want, doesn’t change the fact its dead.

You’ll die before you get anymore use out of that horse.

It served its purpose, got you to where you are and you wouldn’t be here without it.

Be grateful to the poor horse, dig it a grave, bury it, and get back in the saddle.

~ On relapse and recovery. When its time, its time.