Happiness in Sobriety (I Still Miss the High)

They don’t tell you this part—

sobriety doesn’t erase the memories.

I still miss the high.

I miss the numb,

the blur,

the way the world melted just long enough

for me to forget I was hurting.

There are days I crave the nothingness,

days when pain feels louder than progress,

when the urge whispers,

“One more time won’t kill you.”

But I know better—

it almost did.

More than once.

Sobriety isn’t a clean break.

It’s a war with the version of myself

who still thinks relief comes in liquid,

in powder,

in pills,

in poison that used to feel like peace.

I don’t stay sober because I stopped wanting the high.

I stay sober because I finally realized

the high never loved me back.

It just made the fall quieter.

It made the pain delayed—

not gone.

Now happiness is different.

It’s small.

Subtle.

Hard-earned.

It comes in mornings I don’t regret,

in nights I remember,

in breathing that doesn’t taste like escape.

I don’t always feel strong.

But I feel present.

And maybe that’s what living really is—

missing the high

and still choosing the heartbeat.