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Day 12…and feeling proud to be starting over

30 Mar

1:00 pm

Well, I wouldn’t say I’m starting over; being sober for almost 6 months has left some profound imprints on my brain! However, for the sake of pedantry, I AM starting the count over (well, as of last Tuesday, which was my day 1). And, today is day 12. And, I’m really proud of that. Looking forward to celebrating the accomplishment a second time around: a month’s time, two months, my 90-day chip (oh, Hell’s yes, I’m bringing that baby out and wearing it around my neck like a medal that day)…

It’s going SO much easier–of course, it is. I’m USED to not drinking. I’m used to feeling better and managing the mind, as it were. Though, I think it’s more often than not that I don’t WANT to drink. I think I’ve either practiced telling myself for so long that I don’t want to drink that it’s become the norm, OR, that mantra is finally sinking in and I really don’t want to.

What I really think it is for me is, having experimented. Now, though, “relapse” would simply be a choice, not something that’s going to come over me like a tidal wave and smack me to the ground, helpless. That choice is with me every day, and while it’s a difficult one to make the first 30 days, the first 4 months–it gets easier and easier to not just say no to drinking, but yes to life! (cue unicorn and glitter parade) Plus, I’m in a much stronger–and different–place, and I know (from experiments) that drinking literally only leads to bad hangovers, wasted days, and spent money. The best part? KNOWING that I really can’t afford those things anymore. That is the process I’ve struggled with, letting go of this idea that drinking and being giddy for two seconds is worth having all of the above.

And, y’know, blacking out and calling my mom and calling my brother and feeling regret about having done both… Well, it’s a reminder as to how one drink can lead to four can lead to “Whoops, I did it again!” Unfortunately, my hangover lasted for three days. THAT was rough… Combined with my memory of my last bad drunk, which was a tremendous hangover the day I flew out last October–it all adds up to a huge incentive/preventive.

But, deep down, the reminder serves more to remind me of what I have, and not what I don’t want.

Not drinking for almost 6 months has allowed me to simply get USED to not drinking. Now, I feel much better saying no and letting others go on the same, boring circus ride of getting drunk and being hung over. I enjoy attending events sober; dinner parties are more fun for me now because I’m USED to being the “dork” who’s not gushing out some ridiculous (and irrelevant) storyline, the more reserved “adult”–in fact, staying sober has made me feel more mature. I used to feel VERY mature growing up, and I’m sure that contributed to my choice to veer off in the opposite direction with my drinking; now, I actually like that feeling.

And, honestly, I get somewhat irritated now with friends who have that first or second or third drink, and then start to mentally wander off. I KNOW what’s going on in their heads, and it definitely does not involve listening to what I’m saying! I see the immaturity and irresponsibility of drinking to excess, and well, for someone who can’t afford to do so anymore (time’s running out, yo), it just bothers me. I think it’s the case very early on with “normal” drinkers, where they realize that a tradeoff has to be made. It’s like, No duh, for them. With us, fighting a COMPULSION to drink, well, it’s a big, hairy, instructive lesson in life when we don’t drink and as a result, learn a lot about what we’ve been avoiding confronting or dealing with, personally.

What’s the point? Well, I guess it’s: months ago, I literally could not imagine feeling anything but this immense craving to drink, feeling like nothing would make it as good as a drink, believing that nothing could be fun without wine, trudging to this and that event feeling a literal hole pulling on my stomach–the hole of craving, I see it is now. It’s not lasting, and it goes away. Might take a while–I’ll tell you, I dragged my sober ass from day 90 until about week 21, after which I think I started to plan my next drunk anyway (which happened shortly thereafter). But, it goes away. Or, it’s going away.

I think I’m just seeing things differently: I’m HAPPY to be counting days, and at the start again. There’s less pressure, I suppose. It’s almost like, I don’t have to think about “possibly drinking” or “falling off the wagon” for a while now. WHEW! What a relief. Which, of course, equates to relief at having made a commitment to simply not drink, even if a unicorn explodes or the sky turns green. No choice, much relief.

Then, it was counting against craving, to just get by and not drink. Now, the pressure’s on, in the sense that I see my triggers–anxiety/depression/moodiness, things that make me feel uncomfortable and I avoid doing or pursuing out of habit or fear. What I don’t (or didn’t) need is the pressure of 6 months hanging over my head. I think I wanted to shift my mentality to, I don’t drink, is all, instead of, I am Sober. Which, I suppose, eased the weight enough for me to continue (and want to continue) the baby steps–OK, maybe a bit bigger than baby–I’ve taken to start unraveling why I drank and what I can do about changing things instead of drinking over them. Sure, it’s the real work of getting sober, and maybe I took a slight detour to dump off some shit (i.e., all those days), but it’s my truck, my gas money, and my road! 😉

Anyway, here’s to day 12!

How to put this so that it doesn’t sound as bad as it is? I drank.

20 Mar

12:50 am

There, I said it. I did it. I would’ve had six months in a few weeks, too. Why? I guess I just felt…overwhelmed. Depressed. Frustrated. Physical symptoms of maybe a depressive mood swing that just weren’t going away–static brain, sinkhole feeling in my stomach. I had been planning it for weeks, though, so maybe the above, while real, were just excuses.

To be honest, it wasn’t fun–the drunk was boring and mechanical, I never actually felt buzzed, and what little buzz I did feel was abruptly taken away by my blacking out within, oh, about an hour of when I started drinking. Zero to 60 in like, an hour. How lame.

However, I learned a lot. And, while I still have to process some of it (I’ll do that when I’m not hung over) this, in essence, is the gist of it:

1. It still sucks to be hung over. Like, way sucks. I’ve spent today feeling alternately sluggish and anxious. I threw up a little last night (of *course* I don’t remember doing so, just like I don’t remember MOST of the conversation I had with my mom on the phone or passing out on the couch) so it wasn’t as bad as it could have been. There’s just a lethargy within, a damp feeling of confusion, uncertainty, sadness–it’s the hangover, and there is simply nothing GOOD here, in this state of mind/being.
2. I can’t drink normally. It doesn’t change. In fact, I went right back to where I left off.
3. Wine takes me to a dark place, a place of the past. I’ve grown used to being in the present, where there is light, where there is looking forward. Last night, I drank and went back, and got upset by events that have happened and aren’t happening anymore, that I haven’t let go. I think I simply NEED to let some things go. Let them be in the past, with no more dwelling.

And, I had SO many “God shots” yesterday, too, it was hilarious in a not-ha-ha kind of way that I drank anyway. From seeing two people I know, driving in their cars to the 5:30 AA meeting downtown as I drove by, en route to the store to buy wine; to having to go BACK to the store a second time to buy a corkscrew; to in between all of this, receiving a long email from one of my friends, complaining about the out-of-control, mean drinkers in her social circle and how proud she is of me for having almost six months sober!

Eh, I’m not really upset about having to start the count over. In fact, counting days is OK for a while, but… I realized today that counting days makes this into too much of a game. This is not a game, this is my life. In ways big but mostly small and subtle, stopping using alcohol as a coping mechanism has changed my life, my lifestyle, my way of viewing my life. And, all I know tonight is, I don’t want to–I can’t–go back to the other way.

I no longer define myself by my drinking

6 Mar

9:51 pm

And, no one else can, either!

Sorry about not posting as often as I usually do, but, I’ve had a lot going on. Nonetheless, I’m still here, still sober, and still thinking about drinking–but won’t–almost every day. I mean, it’d be nice, I guess, to have a glass of red. Mainly, I wonder if I can; and if I would, if I could. The thoughts are momentary, though; it’s just not something I’m going to give up the past 21 weeks (as of tomorrow) of mental work/anguish to do!

I’m definitely feeling like I’m coming out from under some sort of anxiety/depression fog, which has been enveloping my brain and hovering around it since December. I feel better, more confident, and well, more like myself, in general. Nothing has to be perfect, and, if they don’t want me, it’s their loss, is MUCH easier for me to tell myself these days, an almost automatic internal reaction–how it was, and should be; the baseline; normal. Not that I didn’t have doubts and self-confidence issues before, but the older I got the better able I was to channel the Fierce. Since I quit drinkin’, I’ve just felt…really unsure. Annoyingly, frustratingly so. More and more, decisions are coming without a lot of back and forth. I can count on myself again, and that takes away a lot of anxiety (which, I guess, I didn’t even know was coming from within).

Drinking was a phase in my life, I see now. I’m now most definitely not in that phase; I’ve grown out of it. Grown up, in a sense. Getting shitfaced messes everything up, and that’s the best it does; I really don’t have the time or desire to mess things up anymore. Drinking to excess has personal and professional consequences; I wouldn’t subject myself to them–and wouldn’t let others take advantage of me while drunk–if I had an OUNCE of self-love. I see that now.

I’m not sure if drinking will be a part of my future, but using wine the way I did–and abusing others and letting myself be abused by others–will DEFINITELY not be. It really is that simple.

I am no longer defining myself by my drinking. And, regardless of what box you fit into (someone I hurt, someone I “lost” along the way to getting sober), I am no longer allowing you to define me by my drinking. (“You” is not, well, y’all, but…well, you know what I mean!) What a liberating revelation! Am I still bitter that some people haven’t forgiven or forgotten, despite my “amends” and apologies? Hell’s, yes! Am I trying to let that–and them–go? You bet. There are SO many people in this world to get to know–that I get the chance to know–to share myself with, to love. And to be loved by. Why would I waste time and effort on those who are still defining me–and our relationship–by my nonexistent drinking? I wouldn’t. And that’s much easier to accept now than it was even a month ago.

I’m looking forward–finally–to most everything. Finally, it’s not an effort to get excited about a trip, a job application, a road race. I can almost look forward to dinners out sans wine–well, let’s not go THAT far. I don’t know if that’s part of the warped-by-wine leaving me, but I think it is. Why? Because it feels effortless, familiar–I remember all the stuff I USED to do that got me excited, wine or no wine. Somewhere along the way, none of it alone could make me feel excited anymore; the only thing I looked forward to, that truly motivated me, was wine. Getting buzzed. Doubly disappointing was that the by-product became mass confusion and destruction.

Anyway, things are rolling along: I’m *this* close to registering for a half-marathon somewhere; I’m heading to Miami this weekend for a solo “big city” adventure; and well, other stuff that’s too personal or boring to share here. Slowly, but surely, things are coming together. I just have to remember to take it easy on myself when I need to, breathe, and ENJOY the silence–wolfie (the voice of craving, that growls, Drink drink drink drink!) has finally shut up, and is cowering in his dog bed over in the far corner. Yes, I gave him a *dog* bed to rub in his now SO-not-alpha status.

147 days tomorrow, which means 33 days until my 6-month goal! Unicorns, set…and GO!!!

Here’s to the 12-to-20-weeks window closing!

21 Feb

1:09 am

Almost, that is. I’m at 19 weeks today, and it keeps hitting me how FAST weeks go. Even though I’m still counting days, weeks are flying by! UGH! I have so much to do, but as I’ve moaned before, I just can’t seem to do things with as much speed, efficiency, and/or oomph as I used to. I still do as much as I can, but…it takes longer. I feel like my brain AND body are going in slow motion. S…L…O…W. M…O…T…I…O…N.

Weeks are going faster than ever before, yet… I still have cravings. I’d say they’re there, all day, every day. I’m still wondering, OK, so when can I drink again? Not loud, barely a whisper, but there. All the time.

Today, though, I felt a shift. Very slight, but I felt it. Like, a breath released. A giving in. Or maybe, a newfound perseverance to keep going. I mean, I’ve had major pangs since I hit 90 days. Yet, I know I HAVE to stay sober through the weekend, which puts me at likely standing my ground through the end of the month. Which will put me at 20 weeks… And, I see that 20 weeks is 140 days, which is ONLY about a month from the next big goal, 6 months. And really, I quit drinkin’ on June 13th last year (with, of course, a few times falling off the water wagon, but if I count them, less than 10-15 days of actual drinking during those weeks), so…only 2 more months after that until my “year” anniversary.

I can do this, sure. I know I can. But today, I kind of felt a shift, a giving in–like, resting my head on the shoulder instead of pushing it away, craning my neck in fear that I might get cooties or worse, like it.

I WANT to do this. Say what?

What I know now is that I want to not have hangovers more than I want to drink. Period. Hangovers, for me at 38, equal a bad, bad time. BAAAAD. They are unbearable, mentally and physically. AND, most importantly to my point here, I get fuck all done on those days. Right now, and since last summer, I haven’t had time to be hung over. Literally. I haven’t had the time as I can’t afford to jeopardize my goals. Like, I can’t afford to not get my shit done. So, the choice isn’t actually there anymore for me. Or, rather, it is: drink and jeopardize everything you have going for you now, and everything you want to have going for you; or, don’t. The difference now is, it’s MUCH easier to resist the “wolf voice” with rational thought than it was even last week, let alone months ago. Thank God(dess).

I win, YOU LOSE, said the self-righteous “dry drunk”

16 Feb

2:03 pm

I feel like I’m always bitching on my blog, but dudes, that’s what this is for, right? If you don’t want to read, you would’ve unsubscribed by now, I’m guessing.

Lately, I’ve been feeling angry. Self-righteous, I guess might be the right word. I can say with absolute certainty that a significant part of my NOT succumbing to my cravings is the fact that by not drinking, I win. I WIN! And, more than that, they lose. THEY LOSE. In this mindset, it becomes a zero sum game; and, admittedly, it does help me say to myself, No, Drunky Drunk Girl, you’re SO not drinking over them. You’re SO not letting them win.

Who is this “them?” Well, it’s all the folks who thought I couldn’t do it, who hated (and continue to hate and semi-hate) on me for actually doing it (it’s the whole “If I have zero, at least it’s more than you have if you’re drinking away what you don’t have; so keep drinking and make me feel better about having nothing”); friends, family, employers (former). It’s everyone who’s made me feel like I was a shitfuck, someone not worth helping or saving, someone who even though she did most everything right, somehow doesn’t deserve ANY of her success for doing this one fucking thing wrong.

Making amends? Shit. There are people whom I don’t think I can forgive–let back in, I should say–for not having forgiven me! Shut me out? Well, when you open that door, don’t expect me to be there. That’s family stuff, but it boils down to the same for everyone: I win when I don’t drink, and you lose. You lose your bets against me. You lose your justification for holding a grudge. You lose your smug smirk and false sense of pride–the only things protecting you from your truth(s) are your pride and my drinking, because both allow you to continue lying to yourself.

Yeah, it’s twisted. But, it’s really, really hard for me to NOT feel this way. And, when I stop the OBVIOUSLY negative self-righteous rising, when I stop indulging that bitter and angry side, I can see that good things have come my way. I have my sobriety. I have my life. I have my work. I am getting paid to do what I’m (relatively) good at. I have great friends who love me. I have a LOT. I must have done something right, right?

All I can say is, at 4.5 months, I feel this way every time I seriously think about throwing in the towel. And, it’s a factor in resisting the urge…along with a bunch of other “better” reasons, of course. The anger passes, and I move on to feeling and being grateful–glowing with contentment, happy with myself for my steadfastness (for once) re: not drinking, and at peace with how things are between me and “them”–time heals all wounds, right? What I usually do is go for a long walk with the dogs, or a run. Both those things dissipate the anger…until it boils up again the next time I start to head into one of my “thought ditches.”

I hope I’m not the “dry drunk” that AAers are talking about. It takes what it takes, I guess.

18 weeks and 4 months should NOT be equal, right?

15 Feb

3:37 pm

It’s been a while since I’ve posted, but with draft posts titled “Feeling like crap,” “Pangs heard around the world,” and “Where am I?,” I figured I would let whatever this is pass, continue to solider on, and spare you my annoying diatribe(s).

I’m still sober, going on a day after 18 weeks today. But, the other day when I looked at the calendar and it read February 12th, I thought, Wait, I’m ONLY at 4 months? So, how can I also be at 18 weeks, which would be 4 months…PLUS 2 weeks. Um, hello? That PLUS 2 weeks is kind of huge. Le sigh.

I’ve really wanted to drink the past several weeks, but I haven’t. I feel quite practiced at saying no through most of my pangs, cravings, and “thought ditches”…until PMS rears its ugly head. The past week has been bad–sometimes I wonder if it isn’t something in my new environment that is messing up my hormones. I literally felt hung over the other morning, as if I was coming down WAY TOO FAST off a “good” drug–crashing. However, it wasn’t a drug, it was my own internal chemical fluctuations which were off schedule and which, instead of letting me down easy, came to a screeching halt a week early. Hmm. I know it sounds a bit melodramatic, but when I was drinking, I really hit the wine hard when I was PMSing; and, I know it’s difficult to believe, more often than not I never connected the two until after the fact. Duh. Every month it became, Oh, shit, no WONDER I felt so horrible, drank so much, and could SO not even deal with the booze (I always blacked out hard when I was PMSing). Now, I’m hyper-aware of the fluctuations because I can feel every single one of them.

It’s not that life has been bad, at all; I’m grateful that work and dinners and walks, days and nights and everything, well, has been passing smoothly. Sure, there are moments (nightly, lately) when I find myself saying to myself, Do I really need to stay sober, like Sober Sober, anymore? Aren’t I healed? Hasn’t this 24-7 sobriety shit gone on long enough?! I need a BREAK! Just one glass…

I had major pangs last night, which sort of took me off guard. I felt a little bit like crying inside when I looked at the menu and realized that once again–even at a nice restaurant on a nice Valentine’s Day date with my nice manz–I can’t have wine. Not even one glass. And to make it worse? I end up ordering yet another Diet Coke, which I have to say, did not go so well with the pasta. The good news is that I did muster the sense to realize that I wouldn’t really enjoy the wine because I’d be thinking of the next glass, and the next, and the next. It’d be more of an annoyance than…whatever I’m imagining it’s going to be.

What’s the point? The point is, I’ve learned that even IF I want to drink, NO GOOD CAN COME if I do it when I really want to. Because, when I really want to is always when I’m feeling really bad. My strategy is to wait: until tomorrow, until the next project, until the race, until this or that or the other. And, if I wait–even a night–most likely I’m going to feel both happier and less desperate the next day, at which point, even if I drank it’d much likely be a better outcome than if I drank when I was in that desperate state of mind.

Anyway, it’s Friday! And I haven’t even started my work. Wah wah. Catch y’all later!

Top 10 reasons not to drink, or how I stopped worrying and learned to love Weird and Awkward

1 Feb

5:40 pm

I went out last night. Since getting sober, I haven’t actually been “out out,” as in, out to a bar where other people were drinking and I had to fend for my poor, little, 38-year-old self. I mean, I’ve been to dinner parties, brunches, beach outings, and even bars, but it wasn’t to “go out” (we went to see a band last night).

And, well… I felt so insecure! So uncomfortable! So awkward! Dare I say, Weird and Awkward! And, without booze to hold onto, I felt vulnerable. I felt like I was in college again. GAH. NO!?!? And, I was so far up in my own head that at times, it was really hard to fake that I was having fun.

BUT, I learned something about myself. I’ve known it for a long time–my whole life. Sometimes–like when I was learning calculus–you just need to see it from a different angle to actually GET IT. I got it last night: I create entire realities in my head when it comes to what others are thinking of and about me, and one, probably none of it is true, and two, who gives a shit if it is?

I have to imagine that we all feel insecure sometimes, introverts moreso than extroverts. A mere sampling of my thought “process” during these times:

I wonder if they think I’m boring/I bet they do, I bet they think I’m boring/OH, GOD, why am I being so awkward, what with all these pauses and looking away/I have to look away, but now, oh, fuck, now I bet they think I’m being rude or disinterested when really/you’re standing too close to me and I really don’t know what to say and for some reason, I feel like I’m 18 again and not 38/it hurts I want out it hurts I want out/I want to curl up in a ball and roll on OUT OF HERE

Yup. That’s me. ME. That’s what’s going on inside MY HEAD. However, being sober and having to simply deal with it, I had the opportunity last night to observe these thoughts–not only look at these thoughts, but look at them from a different perspective, namely, not my own.

I glanced at the person I was talking to and told myself, Y’know, he’s probably faking it, too, has no idea what to say, might even be feeling more awkward and shy than I am! I had a quick conversation with a former, let’s just say, drinking buddy in front of the restroom; he got sober last year and we chatted very briefly about how he’s drinking again (and having no luck moderating) and how I’m not. “I feel really good where I’m at right now,” I said, breezily (it’s not like I’m falling apart on the outside, just in one corner of my brain). He was noticeably impressed, and congratulated me. Someone else did, too, when I told him that I had 16 weeks. What I’m saying is, other people are not just NOT thinking I’m weird and awkward in my sobriety, but they’re happy for me, even maybe envious! People are rooting for me. And what am I doing? Creating an entire universe in my head that does not exist, based upon my own self-conscious insecurities.

Almost more importantly, I realized that 85 percent of the peeps in the room were in their own, drunken worlds. Who’s going to even remember me, let alone remember that I was sober?

Hence, my sparkling (the glitter rained down, too, I swear) revelation: I don’t need to drink. In fact, I prefer to be sober. IN SPITE OF HOW AWKWARD I felt, and even in spite of the pangs. The pangs were just my body saying, I want to get the fuck out of here because *I feel uncomfortable.* Somehow, my higher brain pulled through and was like, You need to do this to learn/grow, and honey, you know you really don’t want to drink, right? I wanted to use wine to momentarily allow me to feel protected from my raging thoughts. How sadly ironic, seeing how the point of going out and socializing is to be with others, right?

YET, I didn’t drink. Why?

1. I would be sick the next day. (Do I even have to go into 2-10? Who wants to feel sick the next day?)
2. I would get fuck all done the next day, and then I would hate on myself.
3. I would have a horrible hangover, complete with anxiety/panic, depression/suicidal ideation, and general existential angst. (Shit’s not 19 anymore, peeps! It happens.)
4. I would have stupid conversations that I don’t remember, instead of attempts–give yourself a high five for trying–at meaningful ones that I do!
5. I would act like a fucking idiot, dancing and singing and swaying and in general, being WAY too out there. I’ve been out there; I want to coil myself back in. I’m MINE, not yours.
6. I would say shit I don’t mean, or might regret.
7. I would spend too much money.
8. I would consume too many calories. (Hey, y’all, that belly weight is tough to shed; I’m tired of one step forward, two steps back!)
9. I would fuck up my training body and schedule. (I’m finally getting my running legs (and core strength) back, and I’m on a workout schedule now.)
10. I won’t find out what happens AFTER 16 weeks.

I’d say that number 10 is playing a huge role in keeping me from giving in to my pangs. My “fuck it” moments seem to last not moments, but days–I have time to ruminate over the consequences, and they ultimately end up pointing my face toward the door that says, “Don’t Even THINK About Knocking.” More and more, I see how far I’ve come and I think, Well, if you stop now, you’ll probably NEVER get to 17 weeks, or 6 months, or a year. Could things be monumentally different than they were at day 1, than they are now? Maybe… I’ll just have to keep going to find out.

16 weeks and…I have the choice to drink

30 Jan

9:23 pm

I do. I have the choice.

I would say this: AA wants you to believe that you don’t have a choice; I contend that you do. It’s just HARDER to not drink/be sober if you allow yourself that choice, daily. It forces you to confront your reasons (well, rationale) for thinking about drinking; why you “want” to drink; and then, allows you, if you’ve practiced bringing it to the forefront and not burying it under the guise of disease, to once again see for yourself that you don’t really want to drink…

you want to escape.

That’s it. You want to escape in order to feel better. You’re not out for cocktails with the girls, you’re out for blood. (Well, I never really even WANT to drink unless I’m feeling sad, depressed, anxious, or like my existential crises are making my head feel like it’s going to cave in. But, that’s just me, and that’s just me NOW. Back in the day, I remember going out, I just don’t remember drinking beer while out or even caring that I was drinking beer. That’s why they call it a progressive disorder–it progresses, and it changes the way your brain works.)

The problem is, drinking gets you drunk, and then hung over; nothing changes. These days, I keep having to remind myself: the side effect of drinking (too much) is getting drunky drunk–I don’t want that.

I like having the choice to drink. It makes it harder, for sure. I wouldn’t recommend it. But for me, burying the urge–shutting it down, turning it off–is like being a “dry drunk.” Relying on a “higher power” is also externalizing it–someone somewhere will do the mental work for you, is how I see it (for now, anyway). That’s not how it works, at least for me. By allowing myself the choice, it’s like I’m working my “sober mind” muscle out every day, as it really needs to be. I’m present, and while it’s not enjoyable, I come full circle instead of taking the detour. And I’m stronger in the face of tomorrow’s craving. (Unlike some people, I haven’t lost my desire to get buzzed; I don’t have the obsession to drink anymore, though.)

I think that I’m much more apt to call substance abuse a “disorder.” Alcohol use disorder. And, while it might be the case that you “broke” your brain when it comes to booze, disorder implies the ability to rewire; disease implies frayed or short-circuited beyond any further use.

I’m in a “terse” mood tonight, whatever that means! I’ve been working, and walking the dogs, and getting through my runs (with shooting pains all over my legs and a lower back that feels like two hot knives are stuck in it most of the time!), and well, living. Life. My latest editorial project was on quantum physics, and it took me back to my college days, a time that seemed so…fecund. Full of magical unknowns. A time when reading about that kind of stuff could excite me beyond anything I had or even knew I wanted. Now? Well…I’m not sure where wine fits into this tangent, but I remember using wine to put me back in that state of mind–excitement for the magical unknowns out there, waiting for me. I guess, to escape being cynical, knowing too much. I have to work at cultivating this level of excitement almost constantly. Maybe that’s why it’s so hard to stop using wine, too: I expect so much, and when I don’t get it, I feel anxious, unnerved, sad, restless. I can’t always be “high on life.” I have to sleep. Some days will be crummy, or boring, or tedious. This, I do not like. I don’t want to accept it! And you know what, I probably NEVER WILL. 😉

Anyway, happy sober days, friends! 16 weeks and counting…

What a relief to be sober!

28 Jan

1:32 am

Ahh. Whew. What a relief to be sober!

Holy Christ, I’m SO glad to be *contained.* In containment. Maybe even stilted, as in, I’m not sure I could have had a conversation with a stranger tonight (up and down today, mainly due to my usual existential “drama” that seems to prohibit me, absolutely, from simply enjoying the moments). BUT, after seeing a few drunks doing what drunken people do, all I feel is relief: I have nothing to fear, I’m not in that place tonight, and, I DON’T EVER HAVE TO BE IN THAT PLACE AGAIN.

I wanted to drink today, but I knew I wouldn’t. I would get through the night. And, maybe it was a “God shot”: we went to a bar for dinner and there were several things that just made me cringe. One was a guy talking WAY too loudly, sharing WAY too much, touching WAY too frequently. I remember doing that, and watching it at 108 days sober made me feel…uncomfortable. From a distance, watching him, I felt edgy. Nervous, as if his state of mind was contagious and even after all my 108 days of work, I might catch the “drunk as shit” bug and start, well, acting like HIM. Like ME, when I was drunky drunk: out of control, embarrassing, invasive, and, about to get more of all three before too long. Ugh.

Then, we took off, and as we were heading out of the parking lot, I turned my head toward flashing lights. Two cops were pointing their flashlights on a dude who had either fallen or gotten into a fight; he was sitting on the curb smoking a cigarette, and blood was everywhere–on his legs and arms and face, on the ground, on his clothes, on his bare (were they bare?) feet. I’m guessing he was drunk (it’s the place to go out here, so lots of bars and lots of drunken people) and got into some drunken nonsense. Typically when I refer to “nonsense” and “shenanigans,” I’m sort of doing it tongue in cheek. This was not a joke to me tonight; it just made me feel even more nervous, and well, tired. TIRED. Drama, repercussions, head in hands, sighs all around. Apologies, things you can’t take back, waking up with that sinking feeling of dread at the base of your being, knowing that there had been simply, a lot of fucking bullshit. A whole lot of shit.

I’m so glad I’m outside that tangle, at least for now. I felt fearful for a while tonight, but I know that there is nothing to fear. I am not drinking, I will not be getting drunk, and there will be no drunken nonsense or shenanigans. I am going to watch part of a movie on quantum physics with my earbuds in, stay very still (safe) in my bed in the dark, and set my alarm; I am going to get up, brush my teeth, make coffee, and take the dogs for a walk, before starting on a bunch of editing I have to do for this week. I have an interview lined up with a marine biologist for tomorrow (maybe the real reason I’m edgy), and I will call him at the scheduled time. He already has the questions, so there is nothing to fear. And, all this will go down as planned–plus, without the extra TON of weight to carry by being hung over–because I did not drink wine tonight. Thank you, me. Thank you thank you thank you, higher me.

PAWS, WAA, disorder, and, well, sleep

15 Jan

12:59 am

The last is what I’m going to be doing ASAP, so, y’all’ll have to wait until tomorrow to hear about:
1. Post-acute withdrawal syndrome (PAWS)
2. Weird and Awkward (WAA) moments (i.e., real life), and my how-to tips on how to get through them sans alcohol
3. MOST IMPORTANTLY, my germinating hypothesis (I’m sure it’s been proposed, and I’ll be the first to admit that I have not read any addiction literature but plan to get on PubMed soon and start Finding Out): Addiction is not a disease, it’s a disorder–of thought, yes, but of memory and similarly, neuronal circuitry. Yes, there is a huge difference (in my mind at least) between a disease and a disorder. Drinking causes disease, but addiction is a disorder, a dysfunctional set of behaviors.

However, I hiked my arse off today on a somewhat impromptu trip to [beautiful island], so I’m beat. I guess it’ll have to wait until tomorrow.

And while I’m here, if I’m honest, I DO want to drink. I said I didn’t, but…I want the release, I want the buzz. Yet, when I re-think it, as I must do over and over, again and again, day in and day out–I really don’t want it THAT MUCH, or, at all. What would it do for me, at one in the morning? Nada. To boot, I’d have a hangover tomorrow, calories to burn, and well, I’d have LOST. Lost the game, the fight, my righteous edge, my newly reclaimed power (will blog about that soon, too), whatever. I’d have lost.

So much to share, friends, but I’ll see you tomorrow–calm, sober, and well-rested. (At 90-some days, I can’t really imagine putting up with being sick and fuzzy-headed en route to the sack. Eww. I’m glad I stuck it out, simply, and that I worked through the shit to get here. This is nicer, way nicer. The wolf voice screaming in my head at night to “drink drink drink” is finally gone; and perchance do I see my sparkle-toothed unicorn, smiling my way? YES! She’s hanging out with a baby giraffe, fluffing glitter out of her mane every time she turns her head to smile at me. (A sparkle-toothed unicorn pulls my water wagon, as she has been doing since my “first” first day of sobriety back in June. Well, why not?) 😉 )

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