(UN)Safe Space

Safe space?

People in twelve step programs incessantly talk about place.

“Don’t put yourself in an unsafe space.”

For alcoholics, it’s a bar.

For gamblers, it’s a casino.

For sex addicts, it’s…being conscious?

“Stay in a safe space.”

The disease is strong enough.

You don’t need to give it home field advantage.




I have an UNSAFE space

I’m too embarrassed to say what it is.

(I give y’all a lot. I gotta keep some shit for myself.)

Every time I go to the unsafe, I say “I will spend within my spending plan”.

I never do.

I never have.

I often triple or quadruple it; shattering my already tight budget.

I’ve had a sponsor for 3 months and they say call anytime.

And every time I am about to go to the unsafe, that famous little voice says “call your sponsor and he will help you”.

But the voice is completely drowned out by the illness’ voice. The siren that has done nothing but cause severe damage to my life and to the life of the people I care about for more than 30 years.

I’m so hooked to the unsafe that I don’t allow myself to call my sponsor because I’m afraid they will stop me from going there.

I am literally rolling around in the metaphorical shit, tamping down the fire.




As I type this, I am in the unsafe right now.

I am nestled here, safe from sobriety.

I am hurting myself.

And it hurts so good.

Today is not the greatest.

But tomorrow promises everything.

Tomorrow I’m allowed to hope.



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