I’ve got a little anecdote I thought I would share. This morning, I grabbed a pair of pants that I haven’t worn since sometime last summer. When I put them on, I could feel some paper wadded up in one of the front pockets, and my first thought was, “Well, fuck.”
Back when I was using, I would typically wrap up a nic mint or two in some kleenex and put it in my pocket if I was going to be going out with the family for a while and needed to get my fix. It turns out I had those little fuckers stashed everywhere. Over the past year, nic mint bottles (full and empty) as well as individual ones have popped up from one place to the next. They’re like cockroaches. I naturally assumed that I had inadvertently stumbled upon yet another stash in my pants pocket.
When I reached in and pulled out the paper, I was pleasantly surprised to find 3 Trident wrappers and restaurant receipt instead. Trash. The receipt was dated August 7 and I quickly remembered that was my+_ first “date night” with my wife after I quit. It was nice to be out, just the two of us, but I mostly recall sitting there gutting it out through the suck while my wife enjoyed her dinner. I also remember how my phone was blowing up with txts from grizzleyslayer, telling me he had just caved and freaking out over what he should do. That would be my first direct contact with someone else’s cave, and that sudden realization of “I better not fuck this up if I’m telling this guy to sack up and get back on the horse.”
It’s funny how a few pieces of trash can come to symbolize so much. Rather than having yet another reminder of the routine lengths I would go to in order to hide and feed my addiction, I was rewarded with a reminder that I put a stop to that shit nearly a year ago. As the +1’s begin to pile up and blend together, it’s nice to pin a gold star on one today.