Sometimes I forget how bad the cravings used to be, like a phantom limb that doesn't quite ache anymore but twinges if I overextend. It's a dangerous thing, that forgetting. Like convincing myself the ground is solid when it's really just a thin layer of ice over a pit I almost fell into. "Complacency kills," they used to say, and God, were they right. I almost resent the good days sometimes, because it makes it easier to believe I was never really as bad as I was. Then something triggers me and I remember, oh yeah, I was willing to burn EVERYTHING down.