Not Getting Better

Getting better is one of the goals of sobriety. Life gets better. We get better. Basically, it’s supposed to get better. What if it doesn’t?

I’m not feeling like anything is better for me right now. If anything, the things about my life that were broken remain broken. I remain broken by them. I don’t feel any sense of hope or improvement. I don’t feel like there’s anything to look forward to.
It was easier to ignore these moods and these times when I drank more. I’m not gonna lie and pretend otherwise. The grey, sad days are the hardest to bear not because they have a cutting edge, but a smothering kind of pain. The kind that when I twist and turn to escape it, there seems to be no end to it.
I’m mouthing the words. I’m keeping on. I do my duty. I meet the standards. I try not to destroy my life. It all feels hollow and the only hope I have is that this is enough. Like a ritual without meaning, I hope it will some day be transformed and this duty, this performance, this act of keeping on will eventually come to mean something. Something better.
Right now though, I can’t say what that might be.