Recovery is lonely.

I'm living at my parents' house. I never go out any more. I have no social life. My friends seem gone.

I have a fish and two dogs here. That's nice.

I guess I should go to more meetings, but I've always been a person who just conected with a few people, not a whole lot of superficial connections, and when I go to meetings I still feel alone.

It makes things hard. I'm depressed a lot. I'm considering seeing a psychiatrist. Maybe I need zoloft or something.

Meetings in the morning, work, then back home, read, sleep.

It's good for me, but I still feel like crying a lot. I guess this is part of it all.

At this very moment, my parents are fighting in the other room, and I'm sitting here and if I turned I could look over my shoulder and see them. They're not fighting per se, but my mom is sniping at my dad and my dad is being frustrating and I am sitting here reading this page, which is bringing tears to my eyes because for some reason every phrase seems to be just right for how I feel these days, and applicable to all the things I'm struggling with and thinking about, and there's this crushing silence now descending over the household, as they both go silent with anger and words unsaid, like they always have since I was a child, and the tears in my eyes are half transported with beauty and the serendiptous perfection of Gibran's prose, and half squeezed from me with the weary awareness that there are some things from which some people never recover.

Doubt is a pain too lonely to know that faith is his twin brother.
Faith is an oasis in the heart which will never be reached by the caravan of thinking.
-khalil gibran