We partied like pigs, with an endless supply of slop being poured down the chute into the troff. The mass relapsers toasted away almost a hundred years of sobriety in a joint effort over some sangria at a dark restaurant, I was to join the pack a week later. 18 years, 15, years 9 years, 20 years, and so on... the clinking glasses at the toast may as well have been filled with gasoline, overflowing onto the table candles, causing a fire that would tear through everyones lives within seconds.
The fact that most of us were in recovery for so long and now being cut from the bondage of freedom, drew us closer together, forming a pact of slow suicide and total devastation of everything good that had been built over the years. Some of us made it back with a few scrapes, some of us died and came back to tell the tale, and some still wander the streets failing miserably at succeeding.
I wouldn't consider myself lucky, but I am damn thankful to be one of the ones that got out "alive." The only thing that sucks is having to watch or hear about the others that weren't as un-stubborn as I.
I won't go into detail about what happened yesterday, just know that you are in my prayers (god that sounds fucking gay). I hope you get the chance that Lazie and I were given, and I hope that when you come out of this... you once again join our little cult of shitbag idiots trying to keep our heads above water and out of our asses.
I fucking love you Ron.