Good job, good money, and happy family. 2 months without a disaster where I ended up blacked out and pissed on my bed or thrown up on the floor. Only to be fucking found face down on my floor with a handle spilled over in my hand. Mothers hate that and will subliminally remind you the next day. Anywho, 6 months in no drunk tank and I have no intention of going back. I'd rather drink alone...

One thing I have to bring up is that everytime I hop off the wagon is that before the first pull from the bottle makes me feel sick. Like I know I have to die a little before that feeling of freedom rolls in. It's not automatic anymore to where I can just embrace it. The hesitation is nauseating and tedious. Like you want to so bad to feel freedom but you know you're fucked the next day.