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This Sober Life by Dave Breslin 98 pages; quality trade paperback (softcover); catalogue #02-1211; ISBN 1-55395-496-3; US$14.00, C$17.25, EUR11.30, £7.80 Dave Breslin pours his emotions into poetry. He gives his readers a front row seat into his struggle with alcoholism.
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About the Book
THIS SOBER LIFE is a poetic look into the mind of a young man as he struggles with his addiction to alcohol. As Dave Breslin opens the door to sobriety he spills his heart into each line he writes and displays his honest emotions on to the page from his lowest points to where he stands two and a half years later. Like each day of soberiety, each poem helps build and surface the true person behind the disease giving him the strength to battle through his addiction and severe depression. Watch as this seemingly never-ending path of confusion, denial, anger, pain and loss brings this man to the realization of himself as a totally new person ready to take on a whole new life.
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About the Author
Dave Breslin is a recovered alcoholic from Massachusetts, who found poetry and writing as his alternative to alcohol.
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Reviews
Words can heal
Tewksbury's David Breslin finds strength in his fight to stay sober by writing poetry
By KATHLEEN DEELY, THE LOWELL SUN
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Excerpts
Letter to Happiness
Dear happiness,
Now and then I get this feeling
of just wanting to quit
waiting here miserably
for you to return from your trip.
Because it's everyday I'm feeling
like we'll never meet again
and that maybe I should realize
our wounds are to deep to mend.
I try to keep on pushing
and telling myself to persist,
hoping that someday soon
our life together will again exist.
But I try and can't remember
what it was like to have you near.
I wonder if I would even
be able to tell if you were here.
So I guess what I am saying
is that I'm really quite concerned.
I hope that when you receive this
it will be soon that you return.
So hurry back and don't forget me.
Without you my life is madness.
I miss and can't wait to feel you.
Sincerely yours, Sadness.
This Sober Life
This sober life leaves me
more than just a little bit confused.
At times I'm afraid I think too much,
it's not hard for me to think myself to tears,
sometimes I think tears are the overflow
of this flooded mind I'm drowning in.
This sober life isn't so easy
sometimes I feel I may be too aware.
I pay my Psychiatrist
a 55 year old
potential virgin
who lives alone,
looks like the Unabomber
and probably drinks himself to sleep every night,
one hundred dollars an hour to tell me,
"Life's worth living."
For this sober life
I've traded,
comfortable conversations for
random nervous and anxiety attacks,
huge loud parties with many friends for
silent lonely rooms and sleepless nights
and women falling all over me for
antidepressants that dehydrate me and steal my sex drive.
In an effort to convince myself I'm not crazy
once a week I go to the state hospital
and start conversations with the mental patients,
so far it's not working,
now I'm jealous of the catatonics.
Is this wrong?
Sometimes this sober life makes it hard for me to motivate myself,
to breathe.
I'm so tired I can't sleep and
It's only getting worse.
Some People tell me I'm too pessimistic when I talk with them
a few people have told me I'm too quiet,
all of them tell me if I have nothing good to say
don't say anything at all,
maybe I'm not the only one who's confused.
This sober life has brought me invitations
back to high school to speak of my disease,
when I was there I thought my disease was a talent,
everyone else did too,
I suppose I could tell them sobriety helps you
taste the blood in the back of your throat
from the stomach ulcers you couldn't taste or feel
when you were drunk.
When I was in school I was only invited to
detention for this disease.
Now I'm the guest speaker?
When I was drunk
I used to hate being hung over,
it's been over a year of this sober life
and that's exactly how I feel.
I'm not so sure which is the disease,
being the drunk I was,
or this sober life I live now.
To All of You
I wish that I
could open up my head
and expose my mind
to you, my friend.
I just wish that I
could show you everything,
all I've seen
and all the places I've been.
Somehow show you
things just aren't right,
make you feel
as I did those nights.
I could show you nights
when tears never ended.
I could show you days
where every answer was, "end it."
If only I could give you
just half of this pain,
I know if I could
you'd want to change.
You all insist,
"That won't happen to my life."
Almost as if
I thought it would mine.
Is it that
You're all just this blind.
If only I could let you
see through my eyes.
You'd see my feelings
of guilt and regret.
You all accept things like funerals
and hospital visits,
court cases, jail cells
and uncontrolled fixes.
Do you really think this is
what life is all about?
Are you sure you're the one
in control of yourself?
I can't show you my mind
but I'll tell you in words
there's a side to all this
that no one deserves,
it's full of pain,loss and sickness
and it only ends two ways;
You either fight and you win
or you die staying the same.
or the days I awoke
and wished I was dead,
the people I met
who were worse off than me,
who lost money, houses, jobs,
lost their families.
Let me try to explain
a suicidal thought,
it's like a virus in your mind
you just can't get off,
once it gets in
it won't leave you alone
it's every questions answer,
it's all that you know.
Even today I still say,
"If I only knew then."
and here I am telling you
and still you don't listen.
What I Miss
When I look at everything in
black and white
I might be missing some things
but I figure I did this right.
So what if I miss laughing with all my friends
or miss feeling like I fit in.
I might miss staying up until night turns into day
and I might miss cold beers on sunny days.
I miss rum and I miss schnapps
but I also miss Derek and I don't miss cops.
I don't miss courts and I don't miss cells,
don't miss feeling like killing my self.
I sure don't miss crying in bed all night,
don't miss worrying about paying fines,
don't miss hangovers or morning regret,
don't miss calling, saying, "Bail me out dad."
Even though I miss not worrying about my life
or not having to wonder, "Am I doing this right?"
I don't miss asking,"Did I say that?"
I don't miss crying on train tracks,
don't miss not knowing where to start,
don't miss questioning, "Am I falling apart?"
I don't miss counting prescription pills,
don't miss wondering, "Would this jump kill?"
I don't miss being angry and not knowing why,
don't miss yelling up to God,"Just let me die!"
I don't miss not sleeping night after night,
don't miss not having an appetite.
I don't miss puking and I sure don't miss quitting,
I figure by now you get the point that I'm setting.
Catalogue Information
