Day Twenty (!)

I bought the new journal--smallish, red leather cover, very pretty--but haven't written in it yet. I keep finding excuses.

Seems I'm scared about the things I need to write about. My perspective on my dad is evolving, and with it my sense of my history blah blah navel-gazing blah. I'm afraid to face up to what it means.

There's no way around it, though. Going around things is the alcoholic way, the way I'm trying to grow out of. The only way out is through. People in AA have told me that failing to deal with your childhood shit will come back to bite you later in recovery. That isn't why I'm thinking about my dad right now, of course. It's more about the convergence of my alcoholism and things with A and various recovery-related insights. I've smushed a bunch of dad-related emotions for most of my life, and I'm starting to see that it's time to come to terms with them.

So I guess I'll go write in the red book.