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Drunky drunk girl says, I’m too tired to drink!

17 Jun

10:30 pm

I figured it out:  exhaust yourself mentally and physically, and even looking for booze is tiring, let alone drinking it.

I spent the whole day moving around, so to speak, first working on editing a piece for a potential client and then jogging in the park.  Mind you, jogging in Prospect Park entails a 30-minute walk/run to the actual park, so I spent almost three hours running away from my cravings.

Actually, the cravings were nonexistent until right after my jog, when my thoughts swayed toward the dark side of the moon and I felt like no one cares or even KNOWS how well I’m doing over here, and even if they did, it wouldn’t matter anyway.  So…might as well drink!  It’s not their problem, and what’s the matter anyway if I’m not hurting anyone else?

Anyhoo, I DID look for booze, first at the grocery store (where I also picked up cupcake mix — hey, a girl’s gotta have something to look forward to) and then at a local bodega.  Neither place sold wine and, even though I did contemplate a beer, I convinced myself that one, I don’t really like beer, and two, I KNOW that once I’ve downed the first, I’m going to want a second, third, fourth, fifth.  Which means having to either sit in my apartment and wrestle with that compulsive urge to drink more OR trek my ass to the bodega at midnight and get more beer.  Quite frankly, both sounded exhausting, and since I’m already tired, I just let it go.

It feels good.  Granted, I’ve got a big next few days/weeks and I KNOW I’m going to want to drink one or all of those days and weeks, but I literally can’t afford to be hung over, at all.  Hence, stare at my monitor knowing that I was spared — barely — one more night, I shall.

(I still don’t know what to make of the lack of true cravings, but hey, I’ll take it.)

(Soon, I’ll post some real stories; I have the feeling that remembering the awful stories of some of the things I did and that happened to me while drunk will have just the, let’s say, cooling-down effect that I may need in the coming weeks, especially as one of my best friend’s weddings approaches — there will be booze there and I will want to drink copious amounts of it.)

Question answered

16 Jun

10:36 pm

Aaaaaaand I won’t be going out tonight.  Neither of us felt up to it, is the short answer.  The long is that I’m pretty sure my friend either still associates me with LATE nights or she wants to make me feel bad so that it undermines my efforts at real sobriety.  I can’t tell.

In any case, I’m bummed/slightly pissed off.  NOW WHAT?  Even though I had convinced myself that I for sure wasn’t going to drink, a part of me was hoping for the chance to have that just one.  Ugh.  See?  THIS is how my fucked up brain works!  And, I probably would have drunk tonight, despite expressly stating in my text back to my friend that I wasn’t going to!  Not to mention, didn’t I just get through telling myself, rationalizing my thought process OUT of the whole, I can have just one and it’ll be fine, mentality that makes me a drunk in the first place?

I’m anxious, though, and would love to take the edge off.  I’ve got a big day tomorrow of editing (for a possible job, which really puts the pressure on), reading, doing yoga, and having dinner with a friend in the evening, for which I DEFINITELY do not want to be hung ovah.  I have to call my Dad.  I also have to research some shit.  Is that trip to S. America actually going to happen next month?  Where will I be working?  Where, pray tell, will I be living?  (My sublease is through the end of June.)  It all just makes me want to drink!

Oh, well.  Deal, I must.  Wait for it to pass, I shall.

Drunky drunk girl asks, To drink or not to drink?

16 Jun

9:05 pm

To my utter surprise, I’ve had practically no cravings today.  And I’m going on the end of day four.  Maybe it’s because I had so much to do and simply didn’t have the time.  I’m grateful, is all I can say.

The only craving I had today was on my walk home from my run.  Thankfully it was light and lasted only about 15 minutes and concluded with me resigning myself to the fact that no, I can’t get buzzed and yes, I have to be sad.  Done.  Over.  Kaput.  There is no changing this fact and there is nothing I can do about it, so just accept being sad for tonight.  Now, however, I feel good, distanced from this feeling that physically resembles being unable to breathe and simultaneously wanting to literally inhale wine; I feel an itch, a flutter at the base of my pelvis that circles up like flames, touching my stomach, sending plumes through my chest cavity all the way to the back of my throat.  Today, I feel like I actually accomplished not only getting through the urge, but also a bunch of stuff on my to-do list.

I’m a to-do lister at heart.  And, really, at this point, after putting getting drunk first and everything else second for the past 8 years, give and/or take all the times I was “functioning,” it’s the little things that I can check off my to-do list that SHOULD, I think, make me happy.  Or, rather, scratch my itch?  In fact, I think sometimes I’d prefer getting shit done to having a real life, a real relationship, a real craft.  But, I do have a real craft, don’t I?  Ugh.  It’s these types of thoughts that make me crave the acidic blend of stimulation and sedation that wine always seems to provide, at least for the first few glasses:  that burning sensation going down, the immediately sour stomach, a precise lightness to my blood, the adrenaline, that surge of LOVE, of “at-ease-ness” in the world; the excitement over the mundane, and the idea that it all really DOES matter, it’s all part of some overarching plan, some spectacular journey — this is how wine makes me feel.  For the first two or three glasses.  Then all goes to hell, I can’t stop, and I end up downing two bottles and feeling like absolute ass the next day, effectively ruining the entire buzz (not to mention, ruining the night in some way, shape, or form).  Anyway, I’m hoping that my ability to listen to the voice of reason (my good angel) is part of an improved discipline to abstain and not simply the effect of having gotten shit done today.

So, what did I do that made me so happy?  Well, I got up early.  At 8.  Lately I’ve been barely able to peel my eyes open and force myself to fall out of bed before noon, taking into account the fact of having gone to bed at 3 am and needing a full nine hours sleep.  Maybe I’m finally getting over the flu?  In any case, it all added up to me feeling GOOD about myself.  I went to the PO and mailed some shit.  I came home and actually WORKED.  Yes!  I sent some emails and did some networking, reaching out to a handful of people I know to inquire if they need any freelance writing/editing help.  I went for a jog, which happened to be about five miles.  (An important fact to note is that I’ve been unable to jog for years due to minor injuries all over my legs and feet, which in turn made me think I’d never be able to run again, which in turn made me feel sad and frustrated and want to drink, which I did.  Over and over.)  I shaved.  I exfoliated.  I hard-boiled some eggs.  See?  The little things.

Moreover, I think it’s the feeling of actually maybe possibly making progress on my dream — the goal of which is to line up enough freelance clients, both technical and journalistic, such that I can work from home/ANYWHERE.  (I know, sounds fab, and who wouldn’t want to oh, I dunno, write from an island?)  To put these plans into motion, to ACT on them, to prove to myself that yes, I can do it, I am good enough (or at least as good as my colleagues) — it makes me feel like I got shit done today.

Which brings me to the question:  After such a good day, and so little craving to drink, should I risk it and go out tonight to a bar with my friend?  Ugh.  I haven’t tried going out and not drinking for a long time, it seems; when I have, I’ve recently ALWAYS caved.  It’s so easy to say, Oh, just one.  Then, when you’re not feeling the one, Oh, just one more.  And when two hits — cuz you’ve downed both in about 15 minutes — you can’t stop yourself from ordering number three and by that time, all you want to do is drink to blackout (at least that’s how it goes for me) as soon as humanly possible.  And, let me tell you, my blackouts are consistently ALL BAD, ALL THE TIME.  We’ll get to those in another post.

(Btw, I’m going to start time-stamping these on my own.  Apparently, this design template doesn’t do that and it seems relevant to the concept of a drinking journal, since you always want to drink and you feel different about that fact as every minute passes, it seems.)

It’s gonna be a bright, sunshine-y day!

15 Jun

Well, sort of.  I mean, it *is* sunny, and warm, and well, I’m not hung over anymore, but…  😉

Usually I feel extremely elated to not be hung over, but today I simply feel at ease.  No pounding “full body gross” to impede happiness, thought, ambition.  Drinking does, in fact, prevent you from doing what you should, what you want, but what you’re too afraid to do.  After looking at my meager freelance portfolio and realizing that I “should have done so much more by now,” I cringe.  And the more days you move forward into detox, the harder you cringe because the clearer you see the fruits of your labor — or in my case, oftentimes, the non-fruits of my avoidance — rotting on the vines.

Oh, well. Luckily for me, I’ve faced this countless times and so am not frozen by despair over my “lost years,” so to speak. And, perhaps all this happened for a reason?  Perhaps all my drinking, thinking, avoidance, and then fastidious journaling about the drinking, thinking, and avoidance *will* put me ahead?  Has already proven to be worthwhile?  Was unavoidable anyway, was my path…and now, well, at least I’m still here, somehow making the best of it and learning from the situation?

The burning question in my mind at the moment, however, is, Can two liters of Coke Zero a day really be better for me than a bottle or two (or three) of red wine? Really?

Tick tock, tick tock, what’s in the fridge tonight?

14 Jun

Nothing.  There is absolutely no booze in the place that I can drink.  (The girl I’m subleasing my place from has a few bottles, but I’ve already downed four of hers, which totals *at least* 50 bucks, so I’m considering the remaining stash off limits).  Really, though, it’s OK.  I don’t have the energy to drink.  In fact, I almost feel…*too depressed* to drink.  Huh?, say you.  Like, even I’m not sure how that’s possible.

For me, drinking after a day of work *or* play, especially if I feel tired, sad, or excited, even, has felt for the past several years almost…a necessary end, or piece, or part of a “complete” day.  It’s habitual, ritual, my way of making a concerted effort to “make the best” of the day.  If I skip the wine, then somehow, I’ve given up on making things better when I feel sad and anxious *or* celebrating when I feel happy or glad for my day’s accomplishments.  It’s all so fucked up that even I wonder which end is up most of the time.

Tonight, I’m depressed.  I feel spun, I feel unwound.  Drinking would definitely fix one or the other or both.

Tonight, I’m thinking again about my own mortality.  Isn’t it better to contemplate your death, in stark reality (not just something that might happen, but the honest-to-goodness cessation of your heart, your lungs, your brain), *now* rather than 35 years from now?  And, by God, in 20 or so years I’ll be 60 years old!?  How could I *not* feel anxious, or at least mentally vexed, by this…concept that will, day by day and year by year, become an absolute reality?  How could I *not* feel sad, truly mournful, of my friends’ certain passing, of my parents’, my brothers’, my own?  How little time we have, and what happens after?  What happens not only after we die but to the living, the remaining, who have become so attached that it’s literally unbearable to live without these people?

See.  This is fucking why I drink.  And, I’m not sure if it’ll get better, as in, I’ll gravitate more toward positive thoughts than negative the further on I get in sobriety, but I sure to fuck hope so.  Right now, all I want to do is take a deep breath, sigh, and go to sleep for a long time.  Which makes me feel even more depressed.

Sit, I must.  Wait, I shall.  What else is there to do?

Drunky drunk girl says, I’m still drunk!

14 Jun

This isn’t a blog about drinking.  I’m not going to list my top ten rock bottoms for you — crashed a car, went to jail, lost my job — in fact, I’ve done all of those already.  This is a blog about a *drinking life* and ultimately, the struggle to let go of that former life in being both a city dweller and woman.  So, a drinking life, then:  drinking and not drinking, getting shitfaced and drinking the promised “two glasses,” blacking out and feeling remorse beyond what even your closest friends/mother can empathize with.  It’s about staying sober *and* staying drunk.

Right now, I’m trying to quit.  For what seems like the millionth time, and which may very well be.  What I hope is that this blog will help both drinkers and their concerned friends alike feel less lonely and less alone in the process.  Because right now — well, for years, actually — I feel pretty much on my own.  Straight-up *alone*.  Dead-solo on this journey that feels like a desert trudge with a long lost beginning and no end in sight.

I woke up today hung over.  And it’s going on oh, about 48 hours or so since I had my “last” drink and I still feel like ass.  My belly is swollen and my liver hurts, which, this morning makes it hard to fit into my interview clothes.  My pants are too tight and my underwire bra is pressed so tightly against my aching liver that it makes me cry.  So now I am crying and I’ve got less than 10 minutes to pull it together and all I can think is, Fuck, I wish to Jesus on the Cross that I hadn’t poured out the last third of that “last” bottle of red that I had stored in the fridge two nights ago when I binge drank.

I also woke up feeling depressed.  Uninterested.  No glee, no glitter, no sparkle.  Just grey.  This, however, is not unusual.  The first few days of sobriety go like this (at least for me):  six hours after waking up from my two-bottles-of-red-induced blackout, I’m still drunk…and will continue to be for the next at least six to 12 hours.  Yes, it normally takes me *12 fucking hours* after my last sip to process the alcohol to the point where I don’t feel drunk.  During this time, I endure a plethora of awesome wine hangover goodness, which I affectionately call “full body gross.”  Lately, and this has made me take pause, I’ve felt rather…anesthetized, I guess is the right word.  I can’t think, can’t do math, can’t really make plans or remember things clearly.  I also sometimes feel depressed to the point of contemplating suicide (it really does seem OK to think that there is nothing to live for and no reason to be alive when I’m having these dark thoughts) and anxious to the point of having a panic attack.  If I’ve said or done something horrible, I’ll feel utterly remorseful for the next, oh, at least 12 to 24 hours, before my mind allows itself to ease up and move on.  Cuz, really, a functioning alcoholic *has* to move on, otherwise she’d be able to say, God damn it, I’ve had enough, when the urge to binge drink strikes again.  And it will.  It always does.

But, on day two, it’s easy not to drink because you’re still hung.  Easy to pass by the hundred bars on every street and think, Nah, I’m *so* over it.  However, I do feel anxious as a result, I guess, of coming off the booze, and instead of letting my mind discover what *likely won’t happen* if I just take a deep breath and wade through, I just want to shut the whole thing down with a drink.

But I’m getting sober, so I won’t, right?  I’ve had enough, haven’t I?  I’m sick of my weakness, sick of others’ judgments and quite frankly, sick of failing in their and my own eyes.  I’z gonna prove all y’all wrong, I think to myself as I go back and forth, amidst the puffs of unwelcome anxiety sneaking up from my stomach to my heart, wondering if I can’t just have *one little glass* to make it go away.

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