two years of sobriety

Two Years Sober

Two years of sobriety has taught me a lot: self control, dealing with emotions in a positive way, and understanding that it is better to let some things go that simply aren’t working. 

I had talked before about the dreams I used to have after quitting. The dreams usually consisted of me drinking and suddenly waking up in a panic because it felt so real. I haven’t had one of those dreams in a very long time, that is until the night before my two year mark. The dream was so real. The beer in my hand felt realistic and when I took my first drink, I remember thinking “well, so much for two years.” Waking up I felt that same, familiar sense of panic. Finally, it dawned on me that it was only a dream, not reality. I had made it two full years without a single drop.

Reflecting back from where I came I’ve noticed how much I’ve grown. How, regardless of the suckiness of the feelings, I deal with them head on. I no longer turn away and find an escape.

I’m committing myself to writing more. I find that putting the words down is a wonderful way to propel myself forward. Here is to the next two years!

anonymous asked:

i dont wanna stay sober tonight.

yea… same here. But…. I’ll tell you why I’m choosing not to use or drink tonight:

- My friends and family would be so disappointed if I choose to relapse. Any and all trust and respect would be lost. The consequences would be so great that I would just keep trying to escape. 

- Life is better sober. My life was out of control and I was slowly dying. I refuse to let my addictions take over my life again. I would seriously compromise all aspects of my health if I chose to use. Basically.. I don’t want to die. My life is worth more than a cheap escape. 

- I have some kick ass rap playing on my iPad.

- I don’t really wanna suffer withdrawals or a hangover because its hell.

- Even though life seems to be kicking my ass, I’m gaining some valuable lessons, insight and information. Drinking/drugging yourself into oblivion would just destroy that. Later on you’ll be glad for the shit and stress of today because it taught you something.

- I’m avoiding making stupid intoxicated decisions. I won’t be waking up with major regrets from the night before, nor would I have to justify my reasons for using thus avoiding guilt and shame. 

- My goal is to use my story of recovery to help others in their own journeys. I don’t want to wreck that by giving into my emotions. 

- I’m loved, valued and worth being known. So are you!!!

- Getting sober was the hardest thing I’ve ever done. I’ve worked harder for these almost-two-years of sobriety than I’ve worked for most things in my life. If I can get and stay clean and sober, then I can make it through tonight without losing what I’ve gained in recovery.

A message from Spencer...

To our fans…After 10 years of being a part of this unbelievable journey it saddens me to say that I will be leaving Panic. This was not an easy decision to come to, but after a lot of thinking it became clear that this is what’s right for me and the band. I love this band with all my heart, and getting to see it grow from 4 kids in my parents garage to what it is now has been incredible. I loved it all. But, at a certain point, I realized that I wasn’t able to be there for the band the way I wanted to be, and more importantly, the way they needed me to be. I consider myself extremely lucky to have been surrounded by the people I have been all these years. They truly are my best friends. A few years ago, when my addiction grabbed hold, and wouldn’t let go, they could have easily kicked me out, and never looked back, but they didn’t. Instead, they encouraged me to seek treatment, and gave me the time I needed to get my life back in order. They helped me through those rough times, and now, on the other side, with two years sobriety from prescription medication, and working on a year sobriety from alcohol, I am nothing but grateful for all they have done. It’s things like that that always made this band feel more like a family to me than anything else. When we were together in the studio or on stage I wasn’t with co workers at a job, I felt at home with my brothers. Looking back over the past decade I still have to pinch myself to believe it was all real. I still remember waiting all day to get out of school so we could go write songs, and record demos on a drum machine and a 30 dollar keyboard. I remember being so nervous when Pete came to town to watch us play the only 3 songs we had, and then going to Del Taco where he treated us to a well deserved meal (as any self respecting AnR guy should). I remember pulling all night triple shifts driving around the country in a conversion van with a single axle trailer on our first tour. Im going to miss it all. Staying up all night writing songs, and recording them over and over until my hands would bleed. Catching red eye flights to get to a photo shoot or video shoot, and being so delirious on set we never thought we’d stop laughing. Explaining to our manager that I wanted to perform on top of a ten foot tall carousel and have a caged tiger on stage, and being surprised when that didn’t seem “totally reasonable” to everyone else. I’m going to miss the good interviews, the bad interviews, and the interview in Germany when we were asked “your new album doesn’t seem to be as good as your last…why?”. Or being in rural China where I’m almost positive we were served horse, but we ate it anyway so we wouldn’t offend the women who spent all day cooking for us, and you know what, it was pretty good. Or the time we were stranded in a Russian airport for 20 hours, and the only thing that kept us sane were the funny pictures or videos of encouragement you would send us. All of those moments that made me want to say, “I’ve had enough, this is crazy, I quit!” those are some of my favorite memories now. But what will stick with me the most is showing up in city after city and finding more and more of you who had learned the lyrics to all our songs, or had made home made t-shirts with our faces surrounded in puff paint, or baked us cookies from your grandmas secret recipe and put a single hair in each one (ok, that one was a little creepy…creepy, but delicious). For me, that’s what made it all so surreal. Yes, getting to travel around the world with my friends was no doubt some of the best memories of my life, but it was what happened during that hour and a half on stage each night that was truly magic. And none of it was possible without you. Whether it was in front of 15 people at Brendon’s church social or 15,000 people in a field somewhere in England. What we created, the four of us onstage, and you in the audience, that was something special. It was on those nights I’d say to myself “If I could be anywhere in the world tonight, with anyone I wanted, it would be right here with you”. It’s what I’ll miss the most. So, thank you. I truly cannot wait to see what’s next for Panic, whatever it is, it’s going to be great.  From the bottom of my heart, thank you for giving me the life I only dreamed of 10 short years ago.

- Spencer

Just One More Time

The thing they don’t mention about recovery is that relapse is inevitable. You can have two years of sobriety and all it takes is one damned instant, a single falter in your step, and you’re back at the beginning, if you survive. Heroin is a fallen angel with pitch black wings and cold gold eyes. We call her boy on the streets, but lord knows she’s a woman, with the manner in which she tempts men and brings even the strongest to their knees. You don’t think it’ll happen to you. All you have to do is decline her advances, right? You don’t realize that ‘just one time’ turns into a thousand more. You start off snorting because that’s not so bad. That ends up not being good enough. You need more, you crave that high, so when he offers to help you hit your vein, you’re practically begging for it. You don’t just want it anymore; you need it just to function, just to be remotely human. When you don’t have it, you’re dope sick and, trust me, that is living hell. Your insides feel like they’re rotting away and you’re shaking because you’re filled with fire and ice at the same time and just the sight of food makes you vomit and here’s the catch: the one remedy to make all the suffering stop is the same vixen that caused it. Heroin. It’s always just one more time. 

- J.K. 💉

July 2016: Midnight. Fireworks pop. I am smoking on the patio in the damp summer heat, body sliding like molasses back into the grave, back into the needle. In the mornings I wake up in the back of your dented Ford pickup, idling at a gas station somewhere in the California desert. Getting high, nodding off again, and then waking to a different car on a different day, still driving, with yet another man whose tar-stained hands play me like a piano until I soften, reluctant, and once again find my faith.

July 2015: Early evening. The sun strangles the moon in the blistering summer sky. I am holding the hand of the girl who will later ruin me, drinking vodka from a water bottle at a barbecue for someone’s two-year sobriety anniversary. I walk out with a handful of stolen Ativan in my pocket, dirty and barefoot, watching somewhere in the back of my mind as what is left of my self-preservation instinct buries itself under centuries of grief, disappears like the heat of a flame under glass.

July 2014. It is 10 o'clock in the morning and twenty-three stitches to sew me back together again, pinching like barbed wire across tender, purple skin. With each scar, my mother cries a little bit more. Carves twin angry gashes into her arms, recreates a slow, halting history with paper cuts and kitchen accidents. With each regret, a part of her drowns inside. Mother, I’m sorry for being too late to save. Mother, I still slaughter the bad parts of me every Fourth of July. There are enough demons in me now that my soul is afraid of my skeleton. Mother, they say you are land of the free and home of the brave. But you are also land of the lonely, and home of those lost at sea.

The year of my conception:
My father is pushing my mother off of the toilet and into the bathtub. She’s seven months pregnant and he’s three bottles of cough syrup into his two hundred-something night of “sobriety.
My first year:
My mother leaves my father. She and I hide in vans at her work when he comes to find us. She cries out of fear of evil taking her baby. Every night.
My second year:
My mother meets a man. He’s good to her. He makes far more than adequate amounts of money and doesn’t hit her.
My third year:
My mom marries this man. We move into our home. Four bedrooms, three bathrooms, and an office I’m not allowed in.
My sixth year:
I start seeing a therapist. I’m afraid to go with my dad, but I like visiting the dog, so I go anyway. Usually not without crying though. My Ritalin gets stuck in my throat when I take it.
My eighth year:
My mom has twins. They’re two months early and I don’t know why I can’t hold them, but they’re so small, I don’t think I would if I could.
My ninth year:My Mom has another baby. He’s on time and perfectly sized for holding. My step dad gets sick.
My tenth year:
I have a new school year starting, but my mother is crying the day of orientation. My step dad came out of remission and both twins are diagnosed with autism.
My eleventh year:
I learned a lot about tying knots. A noose is harder to tie then I thought though, and I guess it unraveled under the weight my mother suggest I lose.
My twelfth year:
Not eating carbs is hard at pizza parties. I’ve lost ten pounds though and my mom says I look great. I start taking longer in the bathroom after dinner. I have to let the water run so no one hears me throw up. My step dad dies in the back bedroom before school one morning. My aunt told me I wasn’t allowed to cry because he wasn’t my real father. I guess that’s okay. She wasn’t there when he cleaned my scraped knees and took me for ice cream. Who’s going to take me for ice cream?
My thirteenth year:
I diagnose myself with borderline personality disorder, depression, and anxiety. I refuse to take my Ritalin anymore until my mom takes me to a knew doctor. I start two new medications. I also find a way to cope. It’s always hot wearing long sleeves.
My fourteenth year:
I only buy hoodies. My mom says I’m wasting money and skinny jeans make my legs look fatter. I stop eating dinner.
My fifteenth year:
I meet a boy who would prefer to stay and smoke with his friends than walk me home. I walk myself home in the rain. I didn’t like him anyway.
My sixteenth year:
I go to live with my dad. My mom has too many rules and I don’t have friends. The neighbor boy who I’ve been friends with since I was five decides “no, please don’t” is an unacceptable answer to his proposal. He does this twice. I should have said yes. I come home with a blood stained skirt and bruises. I think I’ll tell my dad. I think, from what I’ve heard, that I’m supposed to tell someone. I guess the empty vodka bottles on the floor are the only things I’d be telling anything to. I can just go to bed, but I still won’t walk in a shed without shaking.
My seventeenth year:
Maybe I should stop taking so many pain pills at once. Maybe I should eat dinner a few times a week. I stop loving the girl who burns me with her cigarettes when she’s angry. I meet a girl who learns how to make me think I need her. I can’t fill my lungs anymore. I can’t make my anxiety stop long enough to stay at work. Nothing is ever clean enough for me to breathe and the three dishes in the sink tell me I should go. I try to go as far as I can. The hospital staff is nice and escort my girlfriend out when she makes me cry.
My eighteenth year:
I go states away and a i guess a nine hour drive is enough to convince me I don’t want to marry her, so she leaves me in Ohio. I stay here for a month and it’s getting easier to wear short sleeves again. The girl I stay with understands. She kissed me like she could read my mind. She also kissed her girlfriend that way and let me tell you, it’s a harsh wind blowing when you’re riding back to where you came from, in love with the girl holding hands with someone else in the front seat. I think I lost fifteen pounds that month.
My nineteenth year:
I’m sober for a month or two before I sleep with a guy on my ex girlfriend’s basement couch after I find out she’s cheated on me and goes to stay with her mom because I broke up with her. There’s vomit in the toilet and two lines on the pregnancy test. Maybe my mom will let me come back home now. I meet a girl who comes to live with me. Our house is perfect except for the scratches on the walls from picture frames shattering against them and the constantly slamming door when she gets mad at me again. She gets mad at me a lot.
My twentieth year:
The baby I’ve carried comes almost three weeks late and I understand now why I’ve been sober and why I’ve only allowed myself a few slip ups in my quest to create no more raised, pink lines on my legs. I ran out of room anyway. I can’t understand why I feel so disconnected from everyone, but this baby I’m nursing has gorgeous silver-blue moon eyes. She’s my wildflower. I’d pick her every time. The girl I love tells me she feels like she should have always been male. I start saying “he” instead of “she” and hardly even blink at knowing there’s any difference in who he is and who he was.
My twenty-first year:
We’re staying in a shelter and it snows a lot. A man pushes me into a bathroom and asks me for a favour. I know what can happen when you say no, so I politely decline and escape my chair with the help of a distracting phone call. This isn’t the first time I’ve dealt with being treated like a whore, so I cope. Twenty pounds down from my binge eating weight. I move back home. He stays where he is. We’re better off friends. I marry a man after twenty-five days of knowing him. Manic decision, I know. He makes me want to die. One, two, three, dozen new scars. He’s a lot like my father. We’re getting divorced with my reason being abuse. I meet a girl who treats me like rosebuds and loves me like I’ve painted the stars. She isn’t like my father. She isn’t poisoning my life and she tells me to drink more water. I drink eight bottles a day now. She dresses in her uniform and I help carry her camouflage bags to where she’ll be leaving from. She said she’d be right back. She didn’t know she wouldn’t. Neither did I. I’m still waiting for her to come back.
My twenty-second year:
I start college next week. I have four medications to help me exist. One of them takes my appitite. I try to force myself to eat each day because I’ve got a tiny person watching everything I do. I don’t want her to be like I was, but i can’t force some things to happen when i’m not really ready yet. I’m still clean. None of my scars are new. My daughter wakes me up with kisses.
—  tcm

Spencer Smith has announced his departure from Panic! At The Disco. Read a full statement.

“To our fans…After 10 years of being a part of this unbelievable journey it saddens me to say that I will be leaving Panic. This was not an easy decision to come to, but after a lot of thinking it became clear that this is what’s right for me and the band. I love this band with all my heart, and getting to see it grow from 4 kids in my parents garage to what it is now has been incredible. I loved it all. But, at a certain point, I realized that I wasn’t able to be there for the band the way I wanted to be, and more importantly, the way they needed me to be. I consider myself extremely lucky to have been surrounded by the people I have been all these years. They truly are my best friends. A few years ago, when my addiction grabbed hold, and wouldn’t let go, they could have easily kicked me out, and never looked back, but they didn’t. Instead, they encouraged me to seek treatment, and gave me the time I needed to get my life back in order. They helped me through those rough times, and now, on the other side, with two years sobriety from prescription medication, and working on a year sobriety from alcohol, I am nothing but grateful for all they have done. It’s things like that that always made this band feel more like a family to me than anything else. When we were together in the studio or on stage I wasn’t with co workers at a job, I felt at home with my brothers. Looking back over the past decade I still have to pinch myself to believe it was all real. I still remember waiting all day to get out of school so we could go write songs, and record demos on a drum machine and a 30 dollar keyboard. I remember being so nervous when Pete came to town to watch us play the only 3 songs we had, and then going to Del Taco where he treated us to a well deserved meal (as any self respecting AnR guy should). I remember pulling all night triple shifts driving around the country in a conversion van with a single axle trailer on our first tour. Im going to miss it all. Staying up all night writing songs, and recording them over and over until my hands would bleed. Catching red eye flights to get to a photo shoot or video shoot, and being so delirious on set we never thought we’d stop laughing. Explaining to our manager that I wanted to perform on top of a ten foot tall carousel and have a caged tiger on stage, and being surprised when that didn’t seem “totally reasonable” to everyone else. I’m going to miss the good interviews, the bad interviews, and the interview in Germany when we were asked “your new album doesn’t seem to be as good as your last…why?”. Or being in rural China where I’m almost positive we were served horse, but we ate it anyway so we wouldn’t offend the women who spent all day cooking for us, and you know what, it was pretty good. Or the time we were stranded in a Russian airport for 20 hours, and the only thing that kept us sane were the funny pictures or videos of encouragement you would send us. All of those moments that made me want to say, “I’ve had enough, this is crazy, I quit!” those are some of my favorite memories now. But what will stick with me the most is showing up in city after city and finding more and more of you who had learned the lyrics to all our songs, or had made home made t-shirts with our faces surrounded in puff paint, or baked us cookies from your grandmas secret recipe and put a single hair in each one (ok, that one was a little creepy…creepy, but delicious). For me, that’s what made it all so surreal. Yes, getting to travel around the world with my friends was no doubt some of the best memories of my life, but it was what happened during that hour and a half on stage each night that was truly magic. And none of it was possible without you. Whether it was in front of 15 people at Brendon’s church social or 15,000 people in a field somewhere in England. What we created, the four of us onstage, and you in the audience, that was something special. It was on those nights I’d say to myself “If I could be anywhere in the world tonight, with anyone I wanted, it would be right here with you”. It’s what I’ll miss the most. So, thank you. I truly cannot wait to see what’s next for Panic, whatever it is, it’s going to be great.  From the bottom of my heart, thank you for giving me the life I only dreamed of 10 short years ago.”

- Spencer

6

There’s nothing like stepping onstage into a sold out crowd of almost 16,000 people. What inspires me to keeping doing this everyday, is the joy that I get when I sing onstage. It’s absolutely irreplaceable. With two years of sobriety, people think that I have it all together, but in fact, I’m just beginning. It’s easy for people to assume that everything’s taken care of and that I’m always camera ready, but in fact I wake up everyday like everyone else. I have the same worries and fears that everyone does. I’m afraid of spiders, I’m afraid of changing my hair and hating it, I’m afraid of being vulnerable in front of the world. It’s so scary to think that I may not get to the place where I want to succeed in my music, I just pray that I get to use my voice to the fullest. The hardest part about working on myself is being honest, not only with myself, but with everyone around me. Things like therapy, and constantly staying in touch with people that have helped me get to the place where I am in today. And I’m still facing these obstacles, and these problems, and getting through it the best way that I can. I’m a sister, I’m a daughter, I’m a warrior. People think that I’ve got myself together, but I’m actually still a work in progress.

Submitted by electriccenturies.

yo have you seen this? He posted it on the same day that Mikey posted about being 11 months sober…. so gross.

Seriously? This man has reached a new low. He brought up horrible drama from two years ago on a day that Mikey’s trying to celebrate his sobriety. But watch the fandom ignore this and keep gushing about how sweet and amazing Bob is, as usual.

(For those of you who don’t know the story behind ”family breakfast”, it’s here.)

New Beginnings II Haymitch & Effie

It had been two years almost to the day since they said their goodbyes on the steps of the presidential palace. He still remembered that moment fondly- the moment he finally gave in and kissed her. But he’d meant it and he hoped she’d understood what he’d meant when he’d told her not to be a stranger.

Sure enough, a month after he returned to 12, his newly fixed phone rang. It was Effie. She hadn’t forgotten him after all.

Travel between the districts and the Capitol was still unsettled, so the pair chose simply to communicate over the phone or through writing letters. He missed her a lot. He’d never actually missed someone who was still alive before, but somehow knowing that she was a tangeable thing for him made it all the more painful.

When Katniss and Peeta announced the wedding, he knew he’d see Effie again. Effie Trinket would never miss a wedding, especially that of Katniss and Peeta.

They arranged for Effie to stay with him for a couple of days before the wedding. They both knew they needed time together. Their goodbye in the Capitol left so much to be discussed and it wasn’t something to be discussed when they weren’t face to face.

The day arrived when Effie was due in 12 and sure enough, at 11am, there was a brisk knock on the door.

Haymitch had made the effort for once in his life. He’d been coaxing himself into sobriety over the past two years and, even though he still drank on occasion, he was sober for the vast majority of the time. The thought of Effie kept the bad thoughts away.

As soon as he pulled the door open, his jaw dropped. He’d always found her strangely beautiful but now…well, here stood the girl under all that makeup. She was breathtaking.

“Hey, you…” he gave her a lopsided smile, unsure whether it would be appropriate to kiss her right then. He’d leave that up to her.

I know I’ve been reblogging a lot of jokes and stuff about Spencer leaving Panic! At the Disco (mostly to cope), but I just kinda wanted to say something a little more serious real quick. I want to thank Spencer for all the hard work he’s put into Panic! At The Disco for the past years. He’s been through hard times, but he still came out strong (two years sobriety from prescription medication and a year sobriety from alcohol, go Spence!). It was sad coming on Tumblr this morning expecting things to be all fine and dandy, only to see Spencer’s goodbye message. In a way I kinda saw this coming, but it still wasn’t a fun thing to see. I know we’re all very sad about Spencer’s departure from Panic!, but let’s all just be happy for him that he’s trying to do what’s best for him. I’m sad I never got to see him live, but at least I can always listen to him on their awesome albums. From the bottom of my heart, thanks for the great ten years Spencer, we love you!

What’s annoying me is people making posts about Robin like his depression was some fucking secret. Like he didn’t acknowledge his sadness or it went ignored by the public.

That man has been in the public eye since before you were born. He suffered from cocaine and Alcohol addiction. Doing Aladdin and all your other 90s favorites as a comeback. In the 80s he was a mess, traveling and doing drugs and partying. Go read Robin stories from back then, it’ll explain it all.

Before all your “childhood memories” the dude was a comedian. A harsh one at that. He was crude and political. But yeah, he was funny. And he dedicated two fucking decades to sobriety and spent twenty years as a legacy.

He did the damn best at being the best he could be. For 20 fucking years. Don’t act so surprised, he had a history. We all do. He wasn’t just some movie star. Robin was fucking special. He doesn’t deserve your infinite reblogs for the day, he deserves your respect and honor and understanding. Don’t acknowledge his depression and suicide all of the sudden because that’s what is circulating.

If you have a son, a daughter, a niece, a nephew.. Sit them down, make them watch your favorite movie. Make them watch the beauty of his acting. Make them fall in love with a character he portrayed like we did. That’s what he wanted, for his comeback all he wanted was to be remembered for something more than a coke head manic depressive. Get off your high horse about how he was a sad clown. Because he fucking wasn’t.

There is nothing like stepping on stage into a sold out crowd of almost 16,000 people. What inspires me to keep doing this everyday, is the joy that I get when I sing on stage. It’s absolutely irreplaceable. With two years of sobriety, people think that I have it all together, but in fact, I’m just beginning. It’s easy for people to assume that everything is taken care of and that I’m always camera ready, but in fact, I wake up everyday like everyone else. I have the same worries and fears that everyone does. I’m afraid of spiders, I’m afraid of changing my hair and hating it, I’m afraid of being vulnerable in front of the world. It’s so scary to think that I may not get to the place where I want, to succeed in my music. I just pray that I get to use my voice to the fullest. The hardest part about working on myself is being honest with, not only myself, but everyone around me. Things like therapy and constantly staying in touch with people that have helped me get to the place where I am in today. And I’m still facing these obstacles, and these problems and getting through it the best way that I can. I’m a sister, I’m a daughter, I’m a warrior. People think that I’ve got myself together, but I’m actually still a work in progress.

There’s nothing like stepping on stage; into a sold-out crowd of almost sixteen thousand people. What inspires me to keep me doing this everyday is the joy that I get when I sing on stage. It’s absolutely irreplaceable. With two years of of sobriety people think I have it all together, but in fact I’m just beginning. It’s easy for people to assume that everything is taken care of, and that I’m always camera-ready but in fact I wake up everyday like everyone else. I have the same worries, and fears that everyone does. 

With two years of sobriety, people think I have it all together but in fact I’m just beginning. It’s easy for people to assume that everything’s taken care of and that I’m always camera ready but, in fact, I wake up everyday like everyone else. I have the same worries and fears that everyone does. I’m afraid of spiders, I’m afraid of changing my hair and hating it. I’m afraid of being vulnerable in front of the world. It’s so scary to think that I may not get to the place where I want, to succeed in my music. I just pray that I get to use my voice to the fullest.