The Sober Diaries Novels & Stories

he said his eyes glistening. I nodded about my head vigorously trying to think something but my mind was totally blank. Thing which keeps me sane? Calms me give me comforts? What's it? I closed my eyes trying to remember something. Suddenly Joshua's face came infront of me, how he cares for me, he concerns for me, tell me what's wrong and right, his presence calms me, he comforts me when I need it, he-he is the one who keeps me sane. I opened my eyes and stuttered out "Y-you it's you who keeps me sane."

She knew, with a terrifying certainty, that if she let herself actually ‘feel’ the weight of Mira’s finality, if she let the grief break through the dam, it would shatter her into pieces she could never piece back together. So, she focused on the mundane. She focused on the texture of the unfamiliar, soft pajamas she had been changed into. She traced the rhythm of her own shallow breathing. She did anything to stay hovering in the hollow space between reality and denial. A soft click broke the silence. The heavy bedroom door swung open, and Idris stepped inside. He carried a small wooden tray holding a bowl of steaming broth and a glass of water. The usual detached, armor-like aloofness he w

Step by step, I was getting closer to the man whose methods were rumored to be cold and cruel. It was said that he was ugly and temperamental. No one could ever tell what he was thinking. As for his three previous wives, they were said to have spent every day in great suffering. However, when I saw that almost mythical person, I realized how ridiculous the rumors were. Aaron Prentiss was leaning against the desk, his steel-gray shirt showing off his broad shoulders and trim waist. Behind his gold-rimmed glasses, his blue eyes were deep as the Atlantic. He was twirling a fountain pen in his hand, his fingers long and deft.

The beginning of the same pattern that had destroyed everything before. I closed the notebook and pressed my palms against my eyes. My chest felt tight. I had been doing so well. Four months without a drink. Four months of showing up to therapy and actually talking. Four months of trying to be a person who did not ruin the people around him. And one casual sentence from Vivian had been enough to drag me right back to the edge.

'There are times when we stop, we sit still. We listen and breezes from a whole different world whisper.' 'Breath is the power behind all things. I breathe in and know that good things are going to happen.' 'Within you, there is a stillness and a sanctuary to which you can retreat at any time and be yourself.' 'Feelings come and go like clouds in a windy sky. Conscious breathing is my anchor.' These were the quotes Carmen had saved in her old diary. A large notebook, she had from her childhood. The book he, her old bestie had bought for her.

My euphoria was over and Vic pulled away, as Anya coughed loudly behind him. I felt so embarrassed that I wanted a hole to open up right in front of me, so I can jump in and disappear! Why do I keep doing this to myself?? Why do I keep wanting something I would never get! I didn't have the time recover much as all my friends began to give me presents and wished me once again. Rahul and his girlfriend Pari were the last to wish me.

I love him so much. Tomorrow uncle is inviting someone for his marriage. It hurts to even imagine him with someone else. Wish I could tell him, my love. Wish I could for once be selfish and tell him that it does not just his cure that's my concern it's him. Just him. The dairy ended when she went with him to the other city for his treatment. She must have forgotten the diary here. His trembling hands held the closed diary tightly. Tears blurred his vision realizing how much he has taken her for granted. She loved him, kept herself hurt, endured every pain for what. For him. For his happiness. For his sanity.

I snapped the book shut, completely losing my mind in a fit of genuine howling laughter. “Elijah?” Jasper asked, his face twisting in disgust. “As in Elijah Brooks? The golden boy?” “The one and only,” I wheezed, wiping a tear from my eye. “This girl is writing an erotica about Kingsborough’s favorite little choir boy. Oh, this is pure gold. This is blackmail heaven.” “Who is it?” Silas asked. His voice was terrifyingly calm but there was a dangerous edge to it now. I flipped to the inside cover of the diary. There, written in that same meticulous loopy handwriting was a name..

I know the difference between that kind of looking and the other kind. Second. I am sober. Three hundred and forty-one days as of this morning. I counted when I woke up because I still count. My counselor here says I will always count, that the counting is not a sign of weakness but a sign of paying attention, and that paying attention is what I am learning to do. I believe her. She is from Oaxaca and she has been doing this work for twenty-two years and she reminds me, in specific ways I cannot entirely explain, of your mother.

I muttered, the words heavy on my tongue. Madam Katie offered a reassuring smile, her hand resting gently on my arm. "He'll understand," she said soothingly. "And who knows? Perhaps this isn't goodbye after all." “ Thank you for your kind words, I will be out soon, I need to grab my journals and diary book “ Sorting through my journals, memories flooded my mind, each page a testament to the tumultuous journey I had endured. Suddenly, one of the diaries slipped from my grasp and fell open, revealing a chapter of my past I had tried to forget.