From an e-mail to my sponsor, Ed, June 14, 1983.
The people here are very accomodating at my new job. It's quiet here, though. A little strange when you don't know anyone. I'm worried about me lately. I got stoned on Sunday and haven't
been to any meetings lately. While I was high I thought about wine! Boy am I crazy. I felt very depressed Sunday. So depressed over nothing. I couldn't figure out why I was feeling so low. I had to do something, and since I knew there was pot in the house and I had to smoke it. I feel guilty and ashamed now. I didn't want to tell you this but I felt I should tell my best friend who would understand.
When I felt depressed, it was such a rotten feeling that I had to do something to get out of it. All I could think about was drugs. I didn't go to a meeting because my family was planning on me spending Sunday afternoon with them. I know that it's fucked up. I feel like I'm going backwards. I know pot does nothing more for me than make me want to smoke and drink more and more.
Such a crazy illness, Ed. Now I'm avoiding meetings. I was going to go yesterday at noon, but found something else to do. I was going to do today, but when I realized it was alread 12:10, I rationalized that it wouldn't be worth the effort to walk down there.
Why would my HP want to help me when I don't even want to help myself??
I hope to shake this negative feeling. I'm sober today, and that's what matters.