Danny's Letters to God
The subject is being 38 years old with a wife and three children and being so fat you cannot hold a job, the kids will not be seen in public with you and any sex life is not an option. Hopeless is the feeling you wake up with, live all day with and fall into a food induced coma with. Hopeless is being unable to be human. Hopeless is utter and complete despair and being too much of a coward to kill yourself quickly.
Hopeless is watching other men make a pass at your wife in full view, being unable to stop him and wondering how long it will take to break her down. Hopeless is not being able to take care of basic hygiene or play with your children. Mostly hopeless is the disgust in people's eyes as they turn their faces from you. Hopeless is that deep black slimy hole with no chance of escape. Then one day you just stop digging and cry out to God for death or help. At that precise moment in time hopeless becomes a word and no longer a condition. The black damp pit begins to have some grayish light and steps begin to appear ... yes, steps. How many? Twelve. I take them one at a time, one day at a time with people just like me.
Hopeless takes its cousin, Alone, with it. They seem to vanish together and I am living. The steps are so simple but also hard and demanding. As I become used to them, a set of traditions appear, also twelve in number. There is a special quality inherent in them, something very noble and worth fighting for. They are the guardians of the Steps that lifted me from hopelessness. The road from hopeless is long and sometimes hard but always righteous. Just do the next right thing while remembering that the worst day on this road is better than the best Christmas I ever had.
Hopeless no more.
There is no challenge I cannot find the answer to in the Big Book called Alchoholics Anonymous, my text book for life.