Playing the Whole Tape: A Sobriety Survival Skill by Boston Paul A.
Cravings don’t come with a warning label. They whisper, they seduce, they lie. The first thought tells me, ‘No one is looking.’ That’s the trap—the illusion of secrecy. I keep to myself, I mind my own business, so technically, no one would have to know. That’s when the tape starts rolling.
I picture the routine: picking up my “usual”—way more than I need. A quick $200, maybe $300 gone, some of it on Newports because, well, why not? Then the sequence unfolds, always the same. A couple of drinks, then a couple more. My dealer’s number, hidden under a fake contact name, gets dialed. Two bottles of Ketel, the start of a spree.
Fast-forward to 2 a.m. The parrot on my shoulder starts squawking, ‘This is wrong. This is wrong.’ But it’s too late. Then 4:30 or 5 a.m.—the drugs and booze are gone. That eerie moment when the world starts waking up, but I’m still chasing a high that has already abandoned me.
That damn bird. Every addict knows it. The one that perches outside your window, chirping just as the sky begins to lighten. The neighbor’s car door slams at 4:45 a.m.—right on time. My signal that the shame is about to set in.
Then it hits. The weight of guilt, the suffocating regret. The desperate wish to rewind to 5 p.m. yesterday, to undo it all. But there’s no rewind button, just 12 hours of begging my Higher Power to make the pain disappear. No money left. Cigs are gone. Liquor turned into a throbbing hangover. I lay there, praying it was just a bad dream. And then—ring, ring—the phone. Time to pretend I’m fine, time to fake cheerfulness.
And that’s how it always ends. Every. Single. Time.
But today, I don’t fall for the lie. Today, I play the whole tape before I press play in real life. I fast-forward past the illusion of escape and straight into the wreckage. And because I do that, I stop. I reach out to my circle, I tell them what I just went through in my head. I let gratitude flood in, relief washing over me.
Not this time, Mr. Addiction.
If you’re struggling tonight, I hope this helps you hit pause. Tomorrow is coming—it’s your choice how you wake up to it.
Stay strong. Stay sober. God bless.