Ham is cured. Thank G-d, I’m not ham. Ham likes to be the center of attention. Thank G-d, I’m not ham. I can’t be the worker among workers if I believe I don’t need to work. I can’t be a friend among friends if I am an island or a precipice, above or away from the need or reach of others. Cured is a one way street that leads to a dried up lonely end. Just the same way that turning my cucumber into a pickle took me out of the garden, curing takes me away from the only home I know, recovery. Though I am often raw and sometimes fresh, these I can survive, finished due to the drying out process that would be a living death. Thank G-d I’m not cured.
Side step pitfalls
Because I am my fathers child,
I make my attendance at meetings frequent and regular.
Having looked deeply in the genetic mirror
I see so many bitter days.
I’ve run from implications and sheltered in the steps.
The humility that saved my life,
Is understanding I am no different from my family
And since this is a progressive disease we all have
I will just get there faster.
Knowing who I can be helps me turn my will over
And keeps me grasping my Higher Powers belt loop.
All I am turns in every direction
And can pull or push, lift or fall.
I know my assets.
I know their power and their limitations.
All my hope is placed on a plan to use these resources.
I follow the only lead
Which has never promised more than it can deliver.
You are reading selections from More Sober on the Way to Sane and Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault