I am the voice of self-love.

I’ve heard everything self-loathing has to say. It’s OK. Nothing new there. My job is to support the self – no matter how he’s feeling. I’m here, and have always been here. In fact, I was Present before the seed met the egg. When his mother was stressed, didn’t want to be pregnant, smoked cigarettes and got sick, I was here. I’m the real nurturer. In me, the self can always feel safe.

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But in 1995 I relapsed for real with almost 10 years of sobriety. But I couldn’t wake up from that reality. It wasn’t just a dream. It’s quite shocking to dream that you’ve woken from a drunk dream but then discovered that it was not a dream at all.

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Combine a smart ass 12-stepper with a holier-than-now Zen-tillectual and you’ve got a reason for Prozac whether you’re the subject or the object. On one hand we’re superior because we’ve overcome addiction and on the other because we’ve found The Way. Add the ability to quote some Freud and you get an insufferable jerk who really knows how to get under people’s skins.

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