11:58 pm
Yes, it is. And, it’s only become apparent, after almost two weeks (no, I can’t believe it either), that I have a choice! Like my counselor was trying to tell me a few months ago, You don’t HAVE to drink. I knew what she meant. Toward the end (the past year or so), drinking has felt almost mandatory, DESPITE feeling sick and hung over and depressed. It was like, I approached getting drunk yet another night with something like dread, a whiney feeling in my gut that was crying out, No! No more! Yet, I forced myself to indulge, because…I guess I either felt like I had to drink or the cravings made me fear that I had to.
It was eye opening the other day when I came to that juncture like I do every day, craving a drink and wondering how to move forward, which way to go. This time, I sat down. I SAT DOWN there, on that figurative path, and looked around. I weighed my options — to drink or not to drink — and even though I felt a craving to drink, I chose not to. For various reasons, one being that I didn’t want to break my sober stretch yet again, another that I didn’t want to get drunk and then get drunker and then wake up feeling like complete ass. So I chose to not drink. Of course, I still wanted to, so I fought through the cravings. But, I chose! And I get to choose every single night, day, minute, second. I GET TO choose. That’s pretty amazing. And not something I’m used to relying on, since for so long I actually didn’t have the choice, whether it was due to a physical or psychological (usually this) need to drink. I still believe I have a strong psychological DESIRE, but I no longer believe it’s a need. I don’t think it ever was, but I could be wrong.
I haven’t felt much like talking about all the bad shit, but soon, I must (Yoda says). I know I can’t ride this detox/Hey, I’m sober! buzz for much longer. Ugh. The past few nights I’ve been fighting off the cravings by remembering the shit that went down, the belligerence, the blackouts. If there’s one thing that helps me to not start drinking, I’ve found, it’s recollecting the horrific nightmares — hell, actually — that I’ve put myself and others through while blacked out. It’s crushing, literally. I have had to lie down and hold my head, that’s how heavy, how weighed down my brain feels when I go there.
I’ve also been dwelling on the write-off’s, the people who have dissed and ditched, judged and walked away. I’d like to be able to say, Yup, all y’all can go fuck yourselves for not seeing the obvious pain I was in, the fear that translated to anxiety and anger. Yup, all y’all can go fuck yourselves for not helping me, for not believing in me, for making it seem that I was shirking my responsibilities. Maybe the reason I drank was not because I never HAD them, but because I had too many, for too long. Then, I take a deep breath and try to empathize by putting myself on the receiving end of some of my blackouts. And remembering, not everyone is a jerk, an asshole, sans empathy. There ARE people who have cared, who have supported me through this, who have done things that no “normal” friend should have had to do. I let it go.
Anyway, I’ll delve into all that soon enough. And I’m sure it’ll be cathartic. But for now, I just want to turn it off, shut it down, and fall asleep. Sober, of course. (12 days!)




