Including today, I've got 4 days to go to be at the end of my 7th month.

For some reason, that's FAR more important to me than the 6th month was, and I'm not really sure why.

Maybe it's because, while month 6 was a milestone, month 7 is PAST a milestone. My goal isn't a destination - it's the entire journey - and so being past a milestone feels better than reaching it. It means I'm still walking forward, not 'arriving'.

It feels good. It also feels scary. I'm starting to discover that it really IS a journey. Urges still come. Every once in a blue moon, I'll think some stupid thought about how nice a little Keno would be, or how fun some slots would be and then jump back a little with surprise that I actually thought that.

Yet I did.

The urges don't own me anymore, though, and I can easily banish them with logic and the old 'Today I will not gamble' chant, but it's still scary that those thoughts will STILL pop into my head at the oddest times and for no reason. I suppose I should be grateful. They're a reminder that I must never fool myself into thinking I'm in the clear. If I was in the clear, those thoughts wouldn't pop into me head to begin with.

I also use them as a good excuse to remember how I couldn't stop once I'd started. How sincerely shocked I'd be at the end of a gambling jag that everything I'd promised myself about gambling smart 'this time' went out the window. And how physically sick I'd feel afterwards. THAT I still remember clearly and it was nightmarish.

So the occasional urge is a good thing, really. It keeps me from thinking that I've got it 'under control'. I don't. I've got it stopped. At this stage of my recovery, I've DESPERATELY got to remember that. The door may be shut, but the monster's on the other side still. I'm not opening it again no matter how often it knocks - but I'm afraid one day I may think it's safe to open the door and take a peek. Like I'm the idiot in the horror movie who just can't resist one more look in the haunted house... you know, to be sure.

So THANK YOU occasional urges. You're actually helping.

I'm aaaaaaaalmost into my 8th month. I seriously can't wait. I WANT to be there. I want to look back and say 'Wow. I'm capable of so much more than I thought 7 months ago,' with proof effortlessly backing me up.

I guess I'm just weird. The 7th month means so much more to me than the 6th. But who cares? What's wrong with a little weird? After all, what matters is that I'm psyched. It's going to feel great checking out this odd milestone on my journey past it.

Life is here for me again and I intend to revel in it. That's the best part of fighting the fight. Those little moments when you know you're winning and that YOU did it. Nothing feels better. Nothing. And these days, I can honestly say, it's not just a chant anymore. It's also a promise to myself, and maybe even a little bit of a brag directed at the monster on the other side of the door...

Today I will not gamble. Never again.