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Sherrie Theriault's Blog

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March 4       DICHOTOMY’S EMBRACE     Contentment and security bleed in through the doors and windows of my heart.  Peace blows its fine wind across my mind.  I fear for my identity.  I raise my hand to beat the drum.  Is my pulse still there if the beat...
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March 3     SWEAT   I turn the desk lamp into the eyes of God.  I put question after question to the construct of my childhood concept.  “Would you please explain?"  Or, "Exactly why did You do this, that, or the other thing?"  "Are You now or have You ever been a...
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March 2       IF I HAD A SCREWDRIVER     If I had anything other than this hammer, possibly, I would discontinue pounding this helix into the side of my universe.  The slot is unused; the flat head of my sledge slams.  A wide void is punched into my abyss as the...
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March 1     WANTING   “Wanting to be alive is not as important as wanting to do right," said my sponsor. “I don’t want to be here," I half blurted, half sobbed. “I know," came the reply.  “Many of us come in not wanting to live.” “But sobriety is about living.” “Yes, and you...
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February 28     ONE IN A THOUSAND   “Did they tell you the odds when you came in?”  asked my sponsor. “Yes.  One in thirty makes it to the rooms.  One in thirty of those stays for five years.  One in a thousand gets truly sober and is catapulted to another...
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February 27     BELIEVE   Listening to what people say is a half waste of time; believing it is a full waste of time.  Truth wills out in behavior.  No matter what is said, what is done is the real deal.  What is done over time is the final test and the things which...
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February 26     TOP   The chipped paint of the red stripe gives the illusion of fading to rose as it spins.  The edge, painted with green, thalo in its intensity, reflects the windows of the room.  The bead, purple and gleaming, affixed to the stem, holds the cuff with its...
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February 25       SOD   Green and black, pinwheels of rolled grass speed by me on a flatbed.  Sod headed for home.  That is how it is for me.  I grew in a place of impermanence, a place clearly not my destination.  Uprooted and prepared for relocation, I am...
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February 24       DOMINOES     What happens to the dominoes that do not fall, the show cut short by my sobriety?  The tiles stand front to back; the least foul respiration will send them to their preordained destination.  I hold my breath as I glance over the...
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February 23       COMING TO THE TABLE   For many years, decades even, I stacked the table against myself and others.  I piled the sacred next to trifles; I deposited item after item and built towers to confusion.  After years of sobriety, I sorted the piles in earnest...
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February 22     SAFETY IN MY CHAIR   Sometimes I have to sit with my knees tucked up under my chin.  My feet can’t touch the floor at these moments.  I hug my legs to me, I feel contained but somehow adrift in my chair.  I center my mind on breath and pulse.  Pure...
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February 21   THE TEAM       The dream sobriety I envision, the fantasy recovery I mentally construct, blows out to sea as so much mist in the face of actual life.  Setting out sports teams, which don’t exist, is playful and entertaining.  Trying to rebuild the...
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February 20       TIME IS HERE TO STAY     I have passed my days emptying them like breadcrumbs onto a trail of rescue.  Expecting them to facilitate redemption, and if not that, at least retreat, I release an audible sigh as I let each evening slip to the path behind...
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February 19       LIFE IS UNFAIR   Assuring myself I will not be permitted through the gate, I walk the perimeter, assessing the fence, looking for a place to exploit, a wire slightly high.  Trying to look graceful, I duck under the fence, telling myself I prefer life on...
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February 18     THIN ICE   The ice is brittle, transparent and breaking away.  I brace for destruction, turmoil and frigid descent.  I am stuck in my topside thinking and can not realize the chance for freedom the cracking expanse promises.  I am an oceanic creature....
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