Doing the Next Right Thing

I was out of the treatment center a day, two days, a week--I can't remember. What I can remember is that I was scared. I was at home, sitting on the couch, with my two-month-old boy and my two-year-old girl. My wife was on a business trip. If she had known what was going on inside me, she wouldn't have made the trip. I had been placed back into the world after eleven days of detox and I was without a clue to what I was supposed to do. I was hopeless and helpless. In fact, there were three kids in that room, all looking for someone to take over. Waves of fear and desperation washed over me. My hands were shaking and I was sweating. Planes from a nearby airport were passing over my house and I would react nervously to the noise of each one. I was a total wreck. It occurred to me that a big glass of vodka would calm my nerves and I'd be able to function. But I didn't want to drink any more. The thought of it made me sick.