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Settling in…

14 Oct

1:26 am

The past two days have been…difficult. However, I’m strong, must move forward, and must hit the return key on the autopilot program if necessary. I am not drinking, period.

I drank on the plane and then with dinner on Thursday night, and while Thursday and Friday were productive and great (it’s really nice to see my boyfriend again!), today felt ROUGH. After spending most of the day shopping for new household items, food, and general stuff, we came home and had a quiet night here. I went for a short run and saw the most stunning “shooting star.” It looked like a ball of fire slowly streaking across the northern sky, slow enough that I thought it was an aircraft. Please don’t abduct me, I thought to myself. Even though I’m only on Day 2 (Day 3 today), I still want to win this game called sobriety.

I feel happy to be here in [beautiful island where I now live] — I feel at home, for the most part. Yet, I’ve also got this just-went-off-to-college feeling, which is strange, since I correlate this with leaving family, the nest. Isn’t this my family now, my nest? Apparently, it’s going to take time. I think giving up my place, my “single life,” my independence in a way, well, it’s left me feeling a bit uncertain. Apprehensive. Scared, even! I know it takes a while to settle in somewhere, and even longer to make friends. I just have to have patience and not let my brain get the better of me.

Tonight, I really wanted to shut it down with wine. The “it” is not the anxiety, per se; I feel like I just can’t think. Like, all the grey matter has been sucked out of my brain by a medium-sized vacuum cleaner. Even my writing is stilted. ARG. Maybe I simply need to stop putting so much pressure on myself and treat this next few months like I’ve been treating my time here, as a “temporary vacation” (during which I freelance)?

Anyway, I’m sad about not being able to medicate this feeling away, as it’s very uncomfortable. Little puffs of anxiety, a gloomy sense of lack of direction, a looming fear of what-now and what’s-next. Shit! However, I know intellectually that booze is the last thing I need. So, I resisted a very strong urge tonight, and while it still hasn’t subsided along with this feeling of having no neuronal activity, I’m committing again to 100 percent abstinence. I GOT THIS.

Looking forward to sharing more soon re: the stuff I mentioned the other night.

Day 3 today! (And unfortunately, I have the feeling that the canvas color will be long and tedious, with small pockets of mania, welcome splashes of pure joy, and speckled dots of certainty. Such is life.)

Day 7…AGAIN…and zero desire to drink

9 Oct

11:38 am

For real! And, considering the fact that I’ve been doing the family thing AND dealing with my brother and his cuckoo bird of a girlfriend…I feel pretty strong!

BRING IT!

Actually, what I think it is — and I don’t want to knock abstinence, because I’m closer than EVER to believing in it — is that I caved, tried my drinking shoes on again (and again), and they were so very, horribly uncomfortable. In fact, I couldn’t even walk in them. So, now that I’ve found that out, I can move forward, knowing that the cravings will lead to no good.

I am, however, the type of personality that needs to see for myself. Experiment. I’m curious, a scientist. I don’t think that falling off the wagon oh, six or seven times in the past 90 days is necessary for everyone to succeed at abstinence.

Anyhoo, I’m here, seeing family and feeling pretty solid. My favorite aunt is in town, and she surprised us by being at my grandma’s when my dad and I popped over for a visit yesterday! AWESOME. She’s just one of those aunts who was always cool, young, hip, a friend. NORMAL. (My brothers and I needed normal back in the day.) She’d come over and give us kids massive hugs (her 5-foot, 100-pound frame doing little to belie her huge heart) when we were growing up within a very dysfunctional household. She and her sister don’t really get along with my dad, and my step-mom doesn’t really get along with either of them, and my dad has never really gotten over his own mother leaving them when they were kids and committing suicide… And now, my brother has basically condoned his girlfriend’s hate-mail to me the other day (more on that later, re: making amends and what you do when someone responds viciously to your attempt at that), and he and his girlfriend hate my father, but everyone, it seems, ranges from extreme dislike to extreme disappointment at my brother’s choice of partner…

Like I said, I’m feeling strong! LOL All I can do is make my way, remain standing tall, smile, and continue to express myself such that everyone knows that I care, I’m still doin’ my thing, and once I leave Breederville again, I’ll neither hate nor look back. I’ll just love. Everyone. For everything they gave me. Even all the dysfunctional, bad stuff.

Off the box. Must write/work now, get some sort of cardio in (ugh, feels like my heart is beating out of my chest from lack of exercise), and then off on another awkward lunch with my dad. Do I bring up his depression (we’re pretty sure he is an actual case of bipolar disorder), and his choices/future, what he’s doing about it? Ugh. I don’t know. It’d be SO much easier to just let it go, just be there for him. Yet…I feel like that would be letting it sit, fester. I don’t know.

At least the farm is peaceful and calm.

You’re ALL supposed to be on my blogroll…

5 Oct

2:32 pm

…but, you’re not! Must fix this tonight.

(For some reason — maybe I should tweak my widgets? — some of the AWESOME blogs by all of my AWESOME, ROCK-SOLID, INSPIRING sober bloggers aren’t showing up in my blogroll. This will change soon!)

On that note, I made it through one dinner sober while others were drinking, have to make it through another big one tonight, and then possibly one tomorrow night (which may not include booze, I’m not sure yet). THEN, I get to spend a LONG three whole days with my dad and step-mom in [Corn Belt state], where I must admit, the white wine in a box will definitely be calling my name.

BUT, hey, cravings come and cravings go. This is a fact. One that I really, well, approve of. (Yes, there are facts in life I don’t particularly approve of.) AND, I can do this. I really can. Last night, the whiff of wine made me feel sick, so I’m hoping even the IDEA of box wine makes me go, Oh, HELLS NO.

I have so many new insights I’d like to share re: this sobriety thing, but I must get outside today. It snowed here in [western state] last night, but it’s not too cold out right now. And, I really need to walk out some of the tension in my back. Good news is that the leg pain is subsiding = whew. Pretty soon, I think I’ll be able to start running again and get some of the harder-core detoxing and endorphins-releasing going on again! Thank God(dess).

See y’all soon!

And, I’m back…

27 Sep

11:26 pm

I had to take a little break from blogging the past two days, mainly because I’ve been feeling a bit…overexposed. (And busy selling off the rest of my furniture, booking flights, running last-minute errands, working here and there as it goes). Oh, and I also drank. TWICE.

Blarg! IT’S 100% NOT FUN ANYMORE.

I guess I don’t really know how to explain my choice to drink twice this week except for one, I’ve already broken my count so why not, and two, I wanted to “see how it felt.” Usually when I drink, it’s in response to feeling horrible, depressed, and/or desperate! Actually, I can’t remember the last time I drank when I didn’t feel like that. Anyway, I didn’t feel that way Tuesday night or Wednesday night; I felt more or less like I could take it or leave it. (If I’m honest, I think I just WANTED to. BUT, I wasn’t desperate for it.) I haven’t drunk for so long in that mindset that I was like, Well, I wonder how it — drinking — would feel if I actually didn’t go overboard? (I had absolutely no intention of inducing the same kind of hangover I had last week, that I knew.)

Well? It didn’t feel good. In fact, it’s reinforced more my desire to not drink, and to build on what I’ve accomplished both mentally and physically over the past three months. I’m feeling the worst about breaking down, slowly but surely, what I’ve built; I work hard, and I hate to see good work go to waste. KEEP THE FAITH, I keep telling myself. THINK BACK, I say, to all those nights in [cold east coast city], all those days when you were detoxing and feeling shiteous, all those moments you had to fight so hard to not run out and get a bottle. THOSE DAYS ARE GONE. However, I can see them returning if I sneak behind my back and drink once, twice, now three, then four times a week… You can see where it’s headed; so can I.

The first night I ordered Indian food and had three glasses. I was REALLY drunky drunk after just those three, so much so that I could barely think clearly enough to book flights. It was weird; I felt more or less mentally compromised to the point of having no functioning thought process. Not fun. AND, I felt so gross that night. One of those nights where you don’t drink enough to pass out, but you drink enough to feel totally gross, toss and turn, and feel every single ounce of ethanol pass through every single cell of your liver…for hours and hours. AND, I was hung over before I even went to bed. Bleh!

The next night, same thing (with the spicy Indian food), but I downed a whole bottle. I was hung over today, and it was not fun. Not as bad as the other day, but yeah. What stopped me from overdoing it beyond a bottle was the conditioning after last week’s bender (where I blacked out and broke my glasses) — I am literally AFRAID of having a hangover like that again.

So, no, thanks.

I’m not that disappointed, as it’s just another step forward in further convincing myself — and strengthening my resolve — to not drink. If it doesn’t work anymore, there really is zero point in doing it. It’s almost like caffeinated coffee, which for me has become a distant (albeit sweet) memory: back when I had my first panic attack in 2005, I had to stop drinking coffee altogether. The panic attack seemed to have “rewired” my brain, is all I can say. I used to be a coffee FIEND, but now, it just feels like someone turned a radio station to static in my brain. I haven’t had a cup of coffee since that day in November, going on 7 years ago. I would love to, but it just doesn’t work the way it used to. I’d never go back, though, let me tell you. No more ups and downs; no more sour stomach; no more extreme hunger pangs. Sure, I don’t get to get buzzed, but that’s OK, too, especially when it comes to sounding NOT like a total meth-head when I’m talking, interviewing, and/or writing. 😉

So, moving along. Starting over. Realizing that there are big things that need to be passed over and MUCH bigger things that lie in wait. This little hamster-depression-wheel can only whir for so long before LIFE, in all its actual glory, shines through and makes drinking grape water so…boring. (Although, there IS still a small(ish) pocket of brain cells whining in the background, But, maybe… Maybe it was this one time, or maybe it’s PMS fucking with the way it works, or maybe I just need to drink with people, or, I know, maybe I need to drink in a geographical location where the fog particles aren’t messing with the alcohol content…Huh?)

SHUT UP! 😉

(What am I, Gollum? My PRECIOUS. Jesus, get ahold of yourself, woman!)

Post-it note in my “wolf” voice

22 Sep

10:24 pm

Good. Enuf.
Drank 9/20
on Day 34
FUCK. THIS. ABSTINENCE. BULLSHIT.

I wrote this on a post-it note (what, was I going to read it the next morning alongside my list of what to get at the hardware store?) to myself during the peak of my craving and right before I caved and downed a bottle and a half of wine.

HAHAHA. Oh, my. I’m SUCH a ‘tard.

Wolf, shut the fuck up! Craving, witch, demon, master of none, be gone!

AA found me last night…

22 Sep

9:22 pm

Literally. As you know, I was HUNG ovah, so decided, at 7 pm, to take a walk. And, I don’t know why, I just walked up Market to the “gay” Safeway on Church. I guess it’s got a familiarity, that ‘hood, that draws me to it; I used to live right around the corner for most of 2011. Anyway, for some reason (maybe I subconsciously thought, I wonder if there’s a meeting going on in that church? — I went to one there last year, but it SUCKED), I wandered across the street and stopped in front of the gate. A guy was smoking outside, and before I knew it or could stop myself, I walked right up to him.

“Is there a meeting going on?” I whispered. He said yes, and that I should go in. “They’re sharing now. COME ON, just go in.” So, I did.

The meeting found me, I must say. And, I really don’t believe that the speakers and people who shared could have said anything MORE that pertained to me. It was like, they were literally talking to ME, replying to the thoughts that have been raging through my head the past few days: I want to not obsess anymore, I want this craving to be gone, I want it all just out of my head, forever, for good.

I sat my arse down in one of those chairs and told myself, I am not fucking leaving this meeting without talking to people and getting numbers. So, like a good journalist, I went straight up to the front of the room after people started shuffling out and/or hugging (I HATE this, I feel like a newcomer, an outsiderget OVER it, I scolded myself) and waited my turn.

I selected the two “people I want to be like.” They were both men, but very outgoing and gracious. Long story short, I got a sponsor, got three numbers, and made a date to meet up with my sponsor on Monday. I didn’t tell her that I’ll likely be leaving the area soon, but I figured that wasn’t the important thing. What was important is that I finally felt READY to say yes, I am an alcoholic and yes, I am, I think, ready and willing to try anything.

One of the most outstanding things I learned last night was that, no, I am not alone. If I am truly ready to quit drinking, the only thing that stands between me and that is my craving and my obsessing. AND, one of the speakers said something that made total sense to me: you don’t have to be alone in this, and it will go away. If I’ve got more than myself on my side, fighting the cravings, then maybe possibly it WILL GET EASIER to not have them. Or, at the very least, live through them and come out winning (not losing and drinking up a storm again).

It felt a lot like my childhood days going to mass. I was a good little believer, and really, earnestly believed in Jesus, God, the Biblical stories, etc. It felt sort of like that, religious, but in a good way. I felt earnest, and that mattered. I wasn’t cynical (though, I’m still not sure it’ll “work” for me), and I did actually think, Man, if that guy can sit up there and tell me that his craving to drink went away…maybe it isn’t so unrealistic after all?

I also realized that I have been wrong so many times, have made so many erroneous assumptions in my life that it’s hard to imagine that everything I think I know about this disease/obsession/problem is true. Scientists thrive — the world thrives — on proving their assumptions wrong. I mean, the basic building blocks of life are quantum entities? The universe is based on string theory? WHO WOULD HAVE THOUGHT? Who would have imagined this reality, let alone didn’t discredit it based on the simple idea that everything is as it appears. As one of the speakers said, “You know, you guys’ll smoke ANYTHING, right? Why not smoke this?” He thrust the Big Book into the air. I was like, uh, yeah, that’s true! Why not give sobriety (and AA) and what may come a chance?

The meeting was one step forward, which felt good. Another was the letter — two pages — I hurriedly wrote this morning and mailed off to my brother’s girlfriend. I don’t care if some of my somewhat overblown compliments in said letter are sort of white lies — if I want access to my brother, I have to go through her. I’m not fixing them, they seem to think they’re fine, and well, so be it. Anyway, it was I who offended her, bigtime, and never apologized. Sure, I wrote to my brother, but I felt weird and awkward contacting her directly. Anyway, that was another step forward, a necessary step. I don’t know why I’m only now seeing the necessary steps forward, but they are part of getting sober, in a more meaningful way than just blogging in my bedroom and not drinking myself into a coma anymore. I’m relieved, I said exactly what I wanted in that letter; I hope she takes it the right way. If she doesn’t, I feel OK with her one, telling my family about the whole ordeal, and two, not forgiving and/or forgetting. At least I have taken the first step, a mature and necessary one. But, man, that was NINE months ago. I’m one stubborn bitch. 😉

I”m pretty tired and still feeling the hangover, so I’ll sign off. No, I didn’t go to a meeting tonight, but once I get back to the [beautiful island where I now live], I’m actually thinking of doing the steps. Yes, there ya have it. A convert in the making. 😉

Falling off the wagon..so YOU DON’T HAVE TO

21 Sep

2:31 pm

For real. The only good that can come of falling off (where art thou, sparkle-toothed unicorn?) the wagon A THIRD TIME is so that you, my dear readers and friends, don’t have to.

DON’T GO THERE. DRINKING SOLVES NOTHING. IT IS A TRICK OF THE MIND. IT IS A WASTE OF TIME. YOU DON’T NEED IT AND IT TASTES LIKE MOUTHWASH.

I think I just felt overwhelmed by my cravings, the voice in my head, and the resisting. I felt tired of resisting. So, I hurriedly uncorked a bottle and drank it. All of it. I was barely remembering things (didn’t take much, which is scary — what is wrong with my brain if it only takes three (huge) glasses of red wine to black me out?) when I ran (literally, I’m guessing) to the corner store to buy another. I did not finish that one, mainly because I must have passed out. I don’t remember.

Ahh. LOVELY hangover. Yes, I remember this feeling. Oh, yes. Drinking two Diet Cokes and weeping about my upcoming death. I remember this feeling. Stumbling around, finding a demolished pair of (expensive) glasses on the floor, checking my wallet to make sure that nothing’s missing, seeing wine stains on my floor and table. Yes, I remember this! Crawling to the bathroom only to heave myself back to bed. Yes. Ringing bells? Oh, yes. Crouching over my stove as I make ramen, forcing it down because I know I need something in there but nothing fills the hole and nothing will the entire day. Check. Crying some more and whining and wailing on the phone to my boyfriend who, thankfully, thinks nothing less of me and even thinks I deserve better. Yup. MISSING my fucking deadline because I can barely think, let alone write what I need to write. Done and done.

Do you remember that feeling? Is it coming back? Oh, yes.

I don’t even care about the fact that I missed my second 5 weeks (would have been 35 days today) again. What bothers me most is that my brain is simply depressed — not even sad, just void of feeling or thoughts. And, all I want is for the day — and hangover — to be over with. Waiting it out is all and will be all I’ll be doing today.

Wow, drinking really fucks up my mental landscape. What was a lovely painting with serene (pink) clouds has now become a grey wash of confusion, suicidal ideation, and nonsense. ? WTF, drinking?

(And, why do I have a memory of the corner store owner standing next to me, helping me pick out my wine? Was I standing there, in my druken stupor, unable to do it myself? Or, was he just being friendly and helpful? NO IDEA.)

Key points of this latest round?

I realize now that I don’t need to go it alone, that I DO NEED HELP, and that I need to ask for it.

I realize now that I shouldn’t isolate myself to the point of mental breakdown.

I realize now that what I wanted last night was escape — from the obsession to drink, I think, more than the overwhelming thoughts and feelings about life and people, in general.

I realize now that I USE WINE to escape and that one, I need new coping mechanisms, two, wine is my vehicle/tool, and three, there really shouldn’t be anything to “escape from,” if I’m doing it right.

I need help. But first, I need to get through this hangover.

Readers, if you’re thinking of falling off, just come here and read this. I have done it for you so that you don’t have to! It’s like riding a bike — no, it’s like falling off. It hurts every time and the feeling is never different! FUCK THAT BIKE! STAY ON THE WAGON.

Another Day 28…FINALLY.

15 Sep

12:45 am

Well, friends, here I am, at 4 weeks. AGAIN. And this time around, I definitely feel like I’ve Worked My Ass Off every single day to get here. I think there is a lot of truth to it being harder and requiring more resolve to get back on that horse…or wagon — especially in early (pre-90 days?) sobriety. (What’s up with the metaphors for sobriety anyway? Do I have to drink all that water in the wagon? Is it safe? Is the horse pulling the water wagon? I want to be ON the horse, then. No, I want to BE the horse. NO! I want to be a unicorn! With sparkly teeth! For sure, my wagon is being pulled by a unicorn! Sorry, been feeling a bit cheeky lately.)

I have a LOT to cover in this post, so I’ll start by yanking my mind back to my 4 weeks. Yes, 4 weeks again. Lots of days in the past 4 weeks I’ve had the “Oh, why NOT?” feeling toward breaking down and drinking. I already fell off, what’s the big deal? It’s not like the world is going to end. I fell off twice and got back on. What has helped is that falling off sucked, I didn’t stop after one glass or even one bottle, and I had terrible (read: angry and confused) blackouts both times. So, the incentive to “try it and see” is no longer there. At least for now, and that’s good enough.

It’s also become quite…boring, actually, getting through the days. The first month of my first attempt at sobriety was like, fireworks (and unicorns! With sparkly teeth!) every night — wow, I got through another day sober! Sound the trumpets! Now, I’m practiced, my cravings are significantly less, and I’ve come a long way in discovering how to be sober again and live within sobriety (like, doing things that need to be done sober, and then doing them the next day and the next day and the next, without the “reward” of wine). The incentive to “beat my record” is not there, simply because my record is longer than 14 or 28 or even 30 days. Finally, when I do reach 60 again, and then that elusive 90, I already know that counting days is not going to be cutting it as the sole reason for staying sober — I have to start accomplishing REAL goals; I have to be building my life and not simply repairing the damage that I’ve done. Does that make sense? Who knows.

I’ve been somewhat manic (not just restless, I’ve discovered) the past few days, and I’m trying to remember, was I always manic? Or, do I just have extra, unfocused energy because I’m newly sober? I was literally buzzing yesterday both during and after my acupuncture treatment, my heart was beating faster, I continue to eat like a horse (and become hungry again hours after I eat), and I can’t really focus. Reading all that I need to read feels difficult because I keep getting ahead of myself. I have all these ideas, dreams and schemes — then again, I always have. I think I’m just EXTRA my “old” self, and I’m not quite used to the physical aspects of being that “old” self AND not having booze in my system to maybe depress or calm it down. I mean, I really cannot remember the last time I was more or less sober AND working/writing/dreaming/traveling/doing. Maybe…my early 20s? And, it’s been years, literally, since I haven’t been probably clinically depressed due to my work, my circumstances, and my drinking.

Anyway, lots to write about and I don’t want to make this post too long. Needless to say, I want to drink want to drink want to drink tonight…but, I won’t. I’ll finish this post, drink my extra-large seltzer, do some back stretches (the burning has subsided, but the knife-stuck-into-lower-back feeling persists), and read. And research Hawaii — my latest (expensive) obsession. And plan tomorrow. 😉

Another day, another day sober. Meh.

7 Sep

11:29 pm

I’m probably going to bring y’all down, but so be it.

I’m bored. And lonely. And, well, kind of feeling like I always did before I drank. Which makes me huff and puff to myself, What’s the point of this sobriety thing if I feel the same as when I was drinking?

Like I said in a previous post, the improved mood is subtle. VERY subtle. I want to feel BETTER, awesome, amazing. It’s been almost 90 days (minus 2), and honestly, I don’t feel that much different. I feel sober. ALL THE TIME. 😦

Sure, I’m not hung over and overall, I feel a lot healthier and calmer. The problem I have is, I still think about drinking all day, every day. I still think, Can I drink today, what if I drank today, can I, huh, huh, huh? Please, just one glass? Even if I KNOW I’m not going to drink, have committed to not drinking, these obsessive and incessant thoughts are like the wash on the canvas of my brain. And, I feel restless — not as much, but still restless. Frustrated. Something’s missing. Something HUGE is missing, is how I feel all day, every day. Wine used to quench that fire, which was burning for nothing. Now the fire burns for nothing all day, every day.

It could be that I haven’t truly changed my life. At all. Before, I was going to work at a job I hated, a job that didn’t provide me with any personal satisfaction or sense of creative or professional accomplishment. It ate my soul. Now? I still do the same kind of work, albeit a little less aggravating and a little more fun (science editing instead of technical writing), just from home.

Maybe what I need is a new project, something that I can finally dig my teeth into (like, a book, or a fast-paced reporting job)? Sometimes I think I need a career change. A complete 180 from writing and editing. Something to do with my day that doesn’t seem like just a way to avoid drinking, or pass the time, or strive to improve myself. Pretty much every hobby I have revolves around self-improvement: running, yoga, playing guitar, reading, watching movies that expand my mind. ARG. I need something bigger and different from what I’ve known for 15 years, something that drives me, makes me actually WANT to get out of bed and go to sleep so I can get up and get out of bed to do it again tomorrow. I don’t have that anymore. And, I really have no idea what to do to get it back.

THIS has been a huge part of my descent into becoming a wino: I don’t have a sense of purpose that makes sense to ME, that fills me, so therefore, I have nothing. And, I drink to fill that hole. I panic in trying to find it. I drink to subdue that fear. Maybe I won’t find it? Maybe nothing ever will be as fulfilling — or exciting — as it used to be in my 20s and early 30s? Maybe this is just life?

I often have a feeling of been there, done that these days. Well, it’s been growing since about 33 or 34. And, I HAVE BEEN around and done a lot. I feel like I’ve seriously hit a plateau; there is nothing new under the sun. Ultimately, I’m not sure I have anything left to truly look forward to. That’s not to say that I don’t love life; of course, I do. Deep down, we all do because it’s all we know, life. Yet, the things I think I might really (of course, it’s always got to be “really”) look forward to — volunteering in Africa is one that pops into my head — scare me. Does it have to be such an all-or-nothing life, though? Stay here and rot, or scare myself to death? I need new goals, sure, but I also need to find new ways to enjoy life here and now. This can’t be how it’s going to be forever, otherwise I will drink again.

On top of it all, I flipped a homeless dude off today. It’s downright upsetting living here sometimes. I get so tired of walking around this town, shoulders clenched against the wind, gut protected from the homeless hot messes around EVERY CORNER. Upsetting is an understatement. Traumatizing is more like it! I’ve been called everything from bitch, to whore, slut, cunt, and you-should-be-raped…by complete strangers just walking down the street. Granted, they’re all addicts and/or mental cases, but still…it GETS TO YOU. Yup, it was my mistake to move downtown, but I had no other choice at the time. It’s really hard for me to feel empowered in my own sobriety when I am cowering, in a sense, protecting myself against the mental and emotional drain that is what seems an ENTIRE FUCKING CITY IN RECOVERY.

Yep, I really want to drink tonight.

Another day, another day sober. Meh. I hate to say it, but at least I’m not them, or in their shoes. I mean, most of the addicts I run into here — crack, coke, oxy, heroin, all of the above — are beyond help. Like, I used to think that everyone could be helped, but…these people are like the walking dead. So, I really hate to think this, but I do: I’m glad I’m turning my addiction around before I end up spending entire days, and not just nights, wandering around in the cold, talking to myself in an altered state of stupor.

Peace and love, y’all.

Who’s going to get hammered on day 90? This girl.

5 Sep

2:50 am

When I finally stopped drinking this past June, I had a HUGE many reasons: blacking out and doing all sorts of shit, most of which I’ve come to realize, is WAY outside the norm. Yet, I somehow managed to keep some semblance of control over my life… Anyway, I was driven in June to simply quit. I kept my head down, endured the pretty strong physical and psychological cravings, and ran and did bikram yoga and kept myself insanely busy and focused. Eye on the prize. Fuck this and fuck them and fuck fuck fuck All y’all can go fuck yourselves if YOU THINK I’M GOING TO CAVE.

Well, I did cave. At day 60. And I got back on the horse. And I caved a week later…and got back on that same horse. And now, approaching my second round toward day 21 (today is day 19), I feel…like I need incentive to not drink. Like, maybe, being sober is just temporary and after which, things will be different and I can go back to drinking. Non-alcoholically, that is.

Like, once I do this fixer-upper of a “90-day detox” from the sauce, my mind will be reset and I can have my wine back. If I give it my best shot, a perfect score, a real good one-two, then…I’ll be able to successfully return to a place I was before I started binge drinking a decade ago. Maybe?

The question is, is it possible to rehabilitate your drinking? I used to binge eat — more on that soon, as it definitely relates to the way I came to drink — and I remember the early days of literally, re-learning how to relate to food. It was really tough, I remember, rehabilitating my binge eating habits — eating and emotions are deeply connected, based on my experience. With wine, it’s similar in that I’m re-learning how to relate to incentives — what gives me pleasure and why. It’s like building back up the muscles and tendons around a broken bone, and re-teaching them how to work again.

Rehabilitation. I LOVE this word, and I truly do believe that some people CAN re-learn how to relate to drinking alcohol. It’s not black-and-white for everyone, most certainly. Circumstances — and people — are all different. Anyway, to make a long story short, for the first time since getting sober, I allowed myself to think that perhaps I will be one of these people. I feel like there may be something to look forward to, that this getting-sober thing doesn’t necessarily have to be about AA’s dogmatic (and possibly erroneous) “once a drunk, always a drunk/you cannot be fixed, EVER” philosophy.

This, however, begs the question, why would you drink alcohol if you don’t really need it? If the buzz is fun only to the extent that you don’t need it to have fun or be happy or feel good, then…why would you drink?

In any case, I hate to say it, but some days the only thing that gets me through the day, past the lone bottle of “it’s me against you, bitch, and I’m winning” red wine on my kitchen counter is the thought that I’ll allow myself to drink it one day. Not today. Not tomorrow. Probably not before a month. Or 60 days. BUT, maybe at 90…? Alone. With all the doors locked from the inside and all my electronics equipment safely hidden in a steel safe.

(Whatever it takes, right? Or, maybe this is what they call “dry drinking.” I have no idea, but I can’t help but think it’s pretty normal and well, pretty damn OK if it’s what gets me through my witching-hour cravings.)

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