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Going through the motions/new directions

25 Sep

8:27 pm

Yesterday and today, I basically took one big break from my freelance writing stuff to actually look for other work down here. And, I’m mostly OK with that. Yeah, I feel like I’ve given up too soon (and, I haven’t even given up, I’ve just decided to pursue a few new, non-writing-related things–oh, me), but if you don’t have the story ideas, or the editorial connections, or, worse, the ambition to go out and get both; then, you have to accept what is. Which is this, right here.

Don’t get me wrong: I am full, and glad, and relatively content. I have gotten through some things, over some major hurdles, professionally. Yet, if I had more drive, I could have done SO much more by now. I just could have. I haven’t, and it’s a daily struggle for me not to beat myself up, get down, or become anxious about “squandered opportunities,” blah blah blah. It’s a daily game I have to play, massaging my thoughts and redirecting them into a positive direction (look at what you HAVE gotten done, it’s going to take a LOT more work so just keep plugging, baby steps, one thing at a time, etc.).

I will bounce back, it’s just going to take some time. And more patience than I ever thought myself capable of, toward myself. What a novelty, having patience with myself! What a novelty, congratulating her for the little victories, even allowing her a treat after those seemingly-miniscule wins! (Yesterday’s was a big bowl of chocolate-covered pretzels, raisins, and walnuts–something I never allowed myself due to expense and well, fat content. Oh, me.)

So while yesterday was about (painfully) going through the motions, today was about new directions. Somehow I snapped out of my funk, mustered some old enthusiasm, and got out there. I went to a bakery (assistant), a hotel, a restaurant association (server), and a private school (substitute teacher/teaching assistant). We’ll see where I land. It’s different–MUCH different–from what I’m used to (white collar, information-age jobs), but c’est la vie, right? It also just makes me realize how few actual skills I have! Sure, I can surf the interwebs with the best of them and type 60 words per minute–and write about scientific research from the (dis)comfort of my office chair–but…what do I actually KNOW HOW TO DO? It’s a wake-up call, for sure.

I’m ambivalent, to say the least. Or, maybe just indifferent. At this point, I need to start making more money. Not to mention, I need a break from sitting in front of my monitor, spinning my wheels all day.

Today, I felt pretty good. Like, my old, confident self. On my walk tonight (I have cut out all running and any activity that will unnecessarily contract my butt and groin muscles, as part of the sciatica healing process–talk about patience…Grrrrr), I thought, and with some clarity: maybe this whole getting “sober” thing has been a huge mindfuck? I mean, sometimes I really do think that the sheer act of thinking about all this shit, of unnecessarily pathologizing my drinking problem, has caused me a whole lot of counterproductive navel-gazing and personal stalling. I can’t help but think, Enough already. So I drank. So I did stupid shit while drunk. Remind me again why I had to spend the past 16 months thinking about it all? Honestly, a part of me believes that it’s the pathologizing that sets us back. It’s made me feel broken, unable, incapable, weak. It made me doubt myself down to the very fiber of my being. Was that the intention? Did it have to be the case? Was it something that I did to myself, me alone? Or, is it normal when you quit drinking?

In any case, I’m kind of over this recovery shit. Sorry to say, but that’s the way I feel about it right now. Will I drink again? I don’t know. It’s a passing thought. I don’t have the urge, but a part of me continues to wonder: would I get some of that focus and fire and drive and passion back, if I did?

Like I said, just a passing thought–oops, there it goes. Buh-bye.

Happiness is a choice

24 Sep

10:47 am

Good morning. Or, is it?

I woke up to some fierce lower back pain and immediately took 4 Advil. It’s a bummer, knowing that at 39, all I can do is work with the pain and not–maybe never–remove it. It’s weird; I feel handicapped. It makes me sad, angry, and worn out. It is constant, and I feel like I’ve tried everything to fix it. I have, for the most part, given up.

And, this is all before I commence to sit right back down on my ass, spine crunching nerves, and get to work. THIS is what I do; I can’t seem to figure out another way.

Yet, the day is bright, and I have my plans, and I’m not thinking of drinking, and, well: happiness is a choice. I’m not sure why it’s a hard one to make sometimes, and why is should take effort (as in, maybe I’m doing it wrong), but, happiness is a constantly-being-made choice, isn’t it? Happiness is a choice. And, I can do this. If there is one thing I can do now, it’s this. I can usher the bad thoughts out, or sequester them, or filter them out gradually through some deep breaths. I’m still left with the pain, yes, but I can see my choice, facing me, and it is simple: happy or not?

I choose happy. But, mostly, I know now that I GET to choose. How black is that? (SNL reference!)

All quiet on the western (well, equatorial) front

19 Sep

10:54 pm

Whew. Busy week. We got back from our trip (we went to Disney World!), and I just spent the past few days working on two projects. Lo and behold, I submitted my first (well, except for that piece I wrote for The Fix, which sadly shut down) “serious” freelance piece!

She’s baaaaaack…!

It really did feel like getting back on the bike. You know, the one I crashed in a blackout and left on the side of the road a couple years ago. It was still there in the ditch, a bit rusty, waiting for me to hoist myself back into the seat. I’m surprised I found it; then again, I’ve learned to start giving myself more credit. (At the very least, I did what I set out to do, and I can “officially” call myself a freelance journalist.)

And, my 180 days came and went. I barely noticed it, to be honest. There was NO WAY I was giving myself the option of getting drunk within a thousand miles of my boyfriend’s parents. And, truth be told, these days I’m not thinking of “when can I drink again” without having an entire ARMY of thoughts rationalizing myself out of it.

180 days. I’m still here. I’m still not drinking. I’m still not really having the time to revisit what has become, in my mind, much more of a practical necessity than some profound lifestyle choice.

Or is it? Profound, that is?

Things are normalizing. Which, I guess, is why the “profundity” of the sober lifestyle is being lost a little bit on me. Like, I find myself getting annoyed whenever I think or talk or read or write about not drinking. Am I still sick, or can I believe that I’m healed? I feel like things are getting back to normal. I really feel it to be true. The “normal” before I got sucked into the drinking vortex–the obsession, then the need to drink in order to get excited about doing just about anything.

Yes, being sober is GOOD, but, well, good like a grilled cheese sandwich is good on any continent and in any language. What I’m saying is, I remember not drinking as being normal, and this, this sober thing is simply the new normal. Not profound, not really a big deal. Just my new normal.

A hard-won new normal, that is.

I’ve already told you that I believe “alcoholism” is a mental *disorder*–this implies, of course, that I also believe that I can take away the “dis” and be left with the “order”. In the real world, I’m not so sure how this will pan out. I feel like I could drink and not go overboard, but…feelings aren’t facts! I sort of believe that I could probably stop after two glasses, but I’m definitely not sure I would want to. Would I throw caution to the wind and get shitfaced, with all the resulting drama that comes with blacking out? Or, would I be able to “control” that urge? Or, would that urge simply not be there, and I’d realize after two glasses that I’m drunk and I “should” stop?

Technically speaking, I could drink. I have my own permission, in a sense. I made it to 180 days, which was my goal. Healed or no, I can technically drink. The past few times when I actually had a craving–and, let me say, I never imagined that they would subside to almost nothing, but my cravings pretty much don’t exist the way they used to–I dismissed it. I thought, Eh, I don’t want to feel drunk. I don’t want to feel that wave of acid rush down my stomach. I don’t really have a reason to drink–I don’t need to drink, so why bother? I’m happy without the booze, how would it make things better? Like, I actually THOUGHT THESE THINGS.

Granted, I’ve been at this for a little over 15 months. Still, it’s almost like I don’t have the energy to drink. Or, I don’t want to blow it, and I could, I guess, if I drank. Even if I didn’t get that drunk, it might put me back a day, or two; or, I’d feel guilty, or like I’d lost momentum/self-reliance. Sobriety guarantees certain outcomes, like, waking up and being able to try to get work done/get work done. I’m making incremental steps forward in the freelancing, and this is good. I wish I was doing more, and going faster, but lately I’ve realized that for whatever reason, I have to take things slow. And that includes work. Baby steps, and don’t overdo it, and turn it off at a certain hour–these, along with not drinking, are my new normal.

I also am beginning to enjoy working to live instead of living to work. On the other hand, my energy is coming back, SLOWLY but surely, and I’m actually looking forward to getting out more, picking up some part-time volunteer work, trying (at least one) new things that don’t involve what I’ve always done (intellectual reading/writing-oriented work). These are my goals, specific to me and my own personal neuroses. Just like my drinking “triggers” are specific to me. It’s dawned on me once again just how personal a sober journey can be.

I know that most people outside of this sobersphere (and AA) simply don’t GET the significance of getting sober. Of choosing a sober lifestyle. And, eventually, I might forget why I’m doing this. Every day so far since I quit, though, I wake up and look at my life through my sober glasses–maybe I’m not doing this or that because I got sober, but I’m definitely doing it with more purpose and more gratitude. So, we cling to it, this sober lifestyle choice, and celebrate it, and throw unicorn parades with our glitter balls and sober cars. Because it works!

It’s working! Something has clicked, has shifted. Maybe it’s simply the cravings fucking-finally-god-DAMN-it subsiding, maybe it’s me becoming my “old” self, maybe it’s me accepting my “new” self? Whatever it is, it’s working!

And that, my friends, is why it’s all quiet on the equatorial front.

I can imagine myself setting a new goal, another 180 days–we’ll see. I’m not thinking about drinking, things are quiet, and I have a lot of work to do. If the next six months are like the past six months, they’re going to blaze by, me in the saddle trying to hold onto my to-do list as the wind rips it to shreds!

180 days: check

15 Sep

12:16 am

Well, folks, I made it. 180 days as of yesterday (September 14th), which was about 16 minutes ago. And, you know what? I didn’t even think about it or remember what day it was until I was well into my shower this morning (which happened early because, you got it, I didn’t drink last night and I wasn’t hung over!)!

I am good and fine and thinking about so much besides drinking, or not drinking. My boyfriend and I are in Florida, and we just spent the past three days hitting Disney World and visiting his parents. Tomorrow will be another EASY SOBER DAY with thoughts of, well, things that come naturally and freely to think about that do not involve an ounce of obsessing over wine.

YES, at one point I thought, Ooh, it’d be nice to have a glass of red right about now, when my boyfriend’s mother offered me one and then fixed one for herself–it’s the first time I’m meeting them, actually–but, it came and went and the evening continued on. All I could think was how calm I felt, how different I feel–I mean, really, I feel like I don’t even know that crazy drunk girl that I used to be–how normal it seems to just take events as they come and deal with the irritations, the laughter, the everything sober. There’s so much more out there. Oh, right, that’s called Life. Why, hello there, I remember you!

On that note, I’m going to hit the sack. I can’t wait to share more insights when I get back (Tuesday).

Thank you, friends, for being there every step of the way.

A bug in my eye

8 Sep

11:55 pm

So, I realize I haven’t written for a while, and mainly it’s because I’ve been progressing through that “confusion”, aka, Life, I was talking about in my last post. I guess, looking back on the week, there’ve been ups, and downs, but overall, I’ve realized that it’s truly all small stuff, you know? Maybe if I had a full-time job in a big city, I’d see everything that creates stress or concern as “important?” Nah, I don’t think so. Nothing seems that important anymore! Maybe I’m just getting old, approaching that “don’t give a shit” age? No, I don’t think that’s it.

I think it’s getting sober that’s changing me. I’m beginning to see that I can work through things, even if they’re hard. And, I’m beginning to understand that I create the reality I live in. I can make it good, or I can make it bad. I can let it go, or I can hold onto it. Right now, I’m losing the desire to hold on because I see that it’s not a choice I have to make. I can make the other one, and it’s better for me. It’s one thing, for us “users of alcohol as a means to escape,” to understand this concept intellectually; it’s another to practice it and witness how hard it is, to go against our grain and do things differently than we’re used to (like, not arguing pointlessly with someone when we want to, or not getting nervous/anxious when we did before).

I’ve also come to see just how–and I don’t want to sound ungrateful, or like I’m thinking of drinking again–“over-concerned/uber-focused” I’ve been with and about my sobriety. I think it’s time to stop dwelling, to put on my big-girl pants and get on with things. Time to let go of the reins, to redirect my focus to like, anything BUT not drinking.

What are some of the small stuff that happened this week? I had a little “sober tantrum” last night, which is one of those seemingly instantaneous woe-is-me shifts-in-focus that just comes out of nowhere. Like, you’re riding along, you got this sober thing so handled, and then, BAM! EVERYTHING SUCKS IN THIS WORLD AND I WANT TO DRINK. Like, at 11:55 pm on your way home after a great day of cleaning, of not working, of seeing a cool play–BAM! It’s all collapsing in on me, I might as well suffocate myself with my own big frontal cortex, everything is bad and it’s because I can’t drink, I can’t drink, I can’t drink. Waaaaaaaah!

I got a bug in my eye on Thursday night, during the two hours of 96 percent humidity between the sheets of rain that fell for three days straight (hello, tropical storm). Like, a literal bug from a swarm that I must’ve run through while jogging. My left eye swelled up, got bloodshot, and teared with actual pus for about 72 hours. I cried a little, and then was like, OMG, you’re so ridiculous, Drunky Drunk Girl, retied my laces, and ran a mile until I had to pack it up because a park ranger yelled at me (Do you see what that sign says? Actually, I couldn’t, because my eye was swelling shut. Anyway, it was 6:30 and the sign said “Park closes at 5.” Um, yes, but why are you closing the gate at 6:30 when the sign says it closes at 5? I think he was too distracted by my grotesque left orb to notice the irony.).

And, yeah, my sciatica has been flaring incessantly, and this time, it’s on the right side. While it’s reduced me to long sessions of floor exercises and utterly bizarre self-massage techniques–I know it’ll eventually subside. It always does.

We cleaned the house and realized that the War Against Fur cannot be won; my tomato plants are towering over five feet; we’re set to take off on Wednesday for a five-day trip to the States.

I don’t know, I just lived, and did, and sometimes I felt like I was just doing it out of “I have to” and other times I realized just how much I have and that I get to choose how I perceive my world, as either a challenge or a chore. I’ve think I’m embracing more that I have to move on with life, and the ups and downs are always going to be a part of it.

Anyway, one more week until I hit 180 days! And, you know what? I’ve already started making a list of reasons NOT to drink. I mean, why fix what’s not broken? Drinking wouldn’t add much, except Bad Things. A part of me wants to drink again, but it’s a small part. The bigger part says, get your story done, and pitch another one, *before* you drink and mess something up. It says, obviously, if you start drinking, you’re not going to be able to write that book (in your mind, that is), or make some other professional choices–it’s either drink or have some sort of modicum of professional success, and I’m not being overly dramatic. I can’t imagine going to work anymore hung over. Why don’t you wait it out, get it all set *before* you drink and mess something up?

The thing is, I’m not sure I won’t “mess shit up” if I drink again–whether that’s one glass or ten, one time or 20. It just seems to be a whole lot easier to keep doing what I’ve been doing, to not throw the possibility of drinking into the mix; to put off making that HUGE choice as to whether or when or why I want to start treating myself like a bag of shit again, you know? 😉

Making my way through the confusion…

5 Sep

11:42 am

…sans The Grape. Without wine. Who would have thought it possible?

Lately, I’ve been feeling confused, torn, drawn in multiple directions, with too many and then, too few options. I want to do everything at once, and then, a few minutes later, nothing at all. I have mood swings, but they usually surface after a day sitting on my ass (which is starting to really hurt due to a stubborn sciatica flare–time to hit the gym), in front of my monitor, realizing that I spend 90 percent of my freelancing time LOOKING for work and only 10 percent actually DOING anything. So it goes. I’ve acquired enough assignments (two) and have enough money owed me, plus my savings, to get me through the next few months without too much financial stress. BUT, it’s only possible because my cost of living is so cheap–I moved from a big city to a small island, which, as you all know, adds even more new (confusing) possibilities to the mix.

Like, I might consider working the season down here as a server at one of the restaurants; maybe I could earn some extra money to pay down my graduate student loans while also–and this is funny–confront my HUGE FEAR of dealing with people on that level again? I KNOW, it’s not like I’d be flying an airplane, or reporting a story from Syria, but yet…it scares me to work as a server. I’m also sending out unsolicited letters to law firms, web design firms, and other “offshore”-type companies to see if someone, at some point, might need my services. I’m also, of course, sending out applications to science reporting jobs here and there in the States, mainly because why the hell not? It’s a familiar puzzle piece, and I am sort of having a seizure feeling like there is nothing familiar about my life anymore.

Like I mentioned in a comment to someone the other day, I just feel like nothing is familiar. NOTHING. Like, maybe I changed too much while getting sober! Duh. Of course, I did. But, I needed the changes. I needed to move, I needed to give my current relationship a chance, I needed to stop working full-time, I needed to focus on freelancing, I needed to apply for and then reject a graduate school program/move back to the Big Apple. I just needed to do all of these things, and now, well, after having been in a rut the past 4-6 weeks, overthinking everything–I feel confused.

I’m beginning to think this is life, this confusion. This confrontation of hard choices, all the time. It’s not that I want to drink to avoid the panic and/or confusion-induced lethargia–the opposite. I want to stay on point and keep moving forward, making choices with the best of my knowledge. So, in that regard, I do not want to drink. What makes me want to drink these days, mainly, is a desire for familiarity. I KNOW drinking, and I KNOW how it works (doesn’t) for me. I know where it fits in my life, and I know who I am (a crazy bitch) as a drinker. I don’t know how better to explain it, but sometimes I just blame sobriety, as if it were a shitty friend, having taking me away from my life, from me. Sobriety stole me from myself, and I don’t know who I am anymore. Correction: I know more who I am, but I don’t know how to work with that as easily as I know how to be Drunk Me. I know what Drunk Me would do, and how Drunk Me would react, and prioritize goals and activities. I’m not so sure how Sober Me does things, and I feel like I’m sort of flailing to organize my life, and my feelings, and my reactions.

All that being said, I know the best course of action is to simply keep doing what feels like plodding forward: make that to-do list, do what needs to be done, get as much done as possible (which always seems to be 2/10 things on the stupid list), and keep feeling my way forward. It brings to mind how I used to find my car, back in the day when I was just getting started being a blackout drunk, was living in a foggy (ahem) West Coast city, and had to street park my car every night, usually no less than a 15-minute walk from my apartment. Some mornings after a night of drinking (of course, I drove to and from the bar), I had a vague recollection of where I parked, and sometimes, I could conjure a flashback or two to give me enough of a trail to follow. But some days, I had NO conscious ability to remember–no flashes, no imprints whatsoever on my brain of where or how or when or with whom I had parked my car. So, I would relax my body, my mind, and just…walk. It was like I was willing my subconscious to remember by moving my legs, hoping that my motor memory would somehow guide me to my car. It usually worked; I always found my green Honda Civic.

That’s what I’m doing here, albeit with a little less guesswork. And, I’m going to give myself credit for a LOT more self-love in the process. Tick tock, tick tock, nine days on the clock (until my 180-day mark)!

Inspiration to others

2 Sep

8:25 am

Well, it’s now the second day of September–can’t seem to hold onto the days! Happy Labor Day, all.

I’m up early, mainly because it’s so stinking hot here in the mornings, but also, I seem to have recovered some of my lagging (depressed) energy! Thank Jesus to that. I was starting to wonder, am I going to simply be down forever? I’ve been down before, but not really severely, I guess, and not for over a month; my depressive episodes are more low-grade and last a long time. This felt severe, but it seems to have literally lifted.

I’m tired this morning, but you know what? The simple fact remains: I am sober. Wow. Here I am, like it or not, sober. What a great feeling. Being sober is a given, a known. And, I like this given, this known, this certainty, this…solid ground…more than, well, getting to drink. I can’t have both, and I’m becoming OK with that.

I meditated yesterday, and it helped. It was good in that I got to “somewhere else,” which I’m relieved about because sometimes, it takes a lot longer than simply one time. I mean, that someplace else lasted for about less than 10 minutes, but it was enough to make me really want to do it again. I’m actually thinking of taking a “soul vacation,” as coined by one of my friends down here: one month at a meditation retreat, one month volunteering somewhere (like, another country). I can’t wait to move on from “this phase,” which is basically me having no enthusiasm.

I got an email the other day from a friend of mine who says she’s tired of embarrassing (and dangerous, I’d say, if she asked me) things happening when she drinks too much. And, I think she is starting to, you know, exhibit “me”-like drinking behavior, which includes things like drinking for 2.5 days straight and doing alternately wildly inappropriate and bizarre things while out on a date (well, multiple dates with multiple men).

Anyway, she’s going for a Sober September. To “get her shit together.” This is the same girl who, well, I wouldn’t say wasn’t supportive of my getting sober, but I think it put her in a really weird place, questioning her own habits. I also felt like she secretly wanted me to fail, and actively dissed me a little bit at first for the reason(s) behind this. In any case, that’s all in the past, I haven’t looked back, and it’s interesting to see that maybe, just maybe, she’s SEEN the benefits in my life of me getting sober and is using it as inspiration to make some changes in her own that might have a broader effect. I hope it works, and I’m rooting for her!

Well, I think it might be time for a nap. It’s a little past 9, and I’ve already made coffee, showered, threw a load of laundry in, did half my bills, wrote this, and opened a few browser windows to look up Vipassana retreats! Cool beans, eh? Thank you, sober me. You did it. You’re doing it, I should say.

(And, man, did I really, really, really want to drink on Saturday night, but the few tears I did cry made me laugh at how silly I was being. The music didn’t hold sway over my feelings, I got dressed, I did my errands, and I came home, feeling for once (in a long time) peaceful and creative-I-don’t-care-what-happens kind of creative. I read, I listened to a The Decemberists Pandora station (do they play any Decemberists anymore on a Decemberists station?), and went to bed feeling like I was 19 instead of 39, like the world was ahead of me, like I was ageless and free. It’s these moments, when you tackle the craving and actually GET SOMETHING of wonder, and peace, in the end; it’s these moments that make it worth the effort, that offer a glimpse of–gasp!–the liberation ahead.)

The problem with achievement

30 Aug

7:18 pm

I know I should (want to) be posting more often, but with titles like “Sigh” (yes, there’s a draft post in my list titled “Sigh”) I haven’t been able to hit send on any of my drafts, as it were.

Lately, I have to admit, I’m starting to feel like the only one who’s not really having fun at the (sober) party. I’ve also been thinking about drinking again. You know, when I get to 180 days. I’m not jones’ing for a drink, but I can’t help but wonder, Would I feel more like myself again if I inserted that habit back into my life? Would it help to orient me? More importantly, could it help boost my motivation back to some level of normalcy?

I don’t want to say that life sucks right now. For the most part, all is well, and I’m glad for all the things that I get to have by being sober: a clear head, no hangovers, never doing or saying anything destructive. OK, I got it. Good. Thank you.

What isn’t good is my lingering lack of…oomph. I just don’t feel excited about anything. Not the way I used to. The fire feels out, and I don’t know how to re-light it!

It’s hard to explain. It’s not that I don’t have work or hobbies, it’s just that I don’t really *feel* like doing any of them. The way I used to. I don’t feel any sense of achievement after doing almost everything, honestly. Yeah, yeah, it’s done. Can I go back to staring out at the water now? Maybe I don’t have the “huge” sense of accomplishment I once had because I was always hung over, and doing anything with a hangover seems like a Herculean feat. Back then, brushing my teeth felt like I climbed a mountain. And, getting through my work day? Well, I might as well have flown (with my own wings) to the moon. Now, everything I used to do just makes me feel sort of impatient and empty–is this it?

I realize that I used drinking to fill the void of not knowing how to spend my free time. I became reliant on using it when I’d feel that pull I just mentioned, feeling burnt out and “been there-done that.” However, as I was thinking about what to write for today’s post (which included a lot of procrastinating), I realized something: my addiction goes beyond the using of wine. My “core” addiction centers around not knowing how to spend my my time, period, without having something to achieve or accomplish. Which stems from an addiction to achievement.

Whenever I think and believe I haven’t accomplished much, I feel depressed. I feel sad. I feel frustrated. And, I want to drink. Wanted. Want. I want to make those feelings go away, to escape from those thoughts. I can’t just “be.” I need–and that’s the key word–to always be doing something “exciting” or “new.” I need–key word–to always be having something, or acquiring something, and in this scenario, that something is experience. I am, in essence, addicted to getting new things–knowledge, experiences, and maybe sometimes even things, but I’m much less addicted to consuming things as I am experiences. So, I drink to both ease the pain of not getting what I want, what I have come to need; and I drink to get an artificial version of that high.

This is both enlightening and saddening. While it’s good to know that wine is not the be-all, end-all of my addiction, it’s not so good to know that now, I honestly don’t know what’s healthy and what’s not. How much do I don’t do? If I was living my “old” life right now, I’d still be at work. I’d be just as unhappy there, “doing shit,” as I am now, “not doing shit.” And there, my friends, is the essence of the conundrum: there is no solution, at least no fast one, to this so-called problem. I know plenty of people who simply solve this and other existential conundrums with a drink–give it a rest, they’d say. Don’t think too hard on it. Others work harder, have more kids, get involved in others’ lives–you know, live life. My stumbling block is that these thoughts are in my head 98 percent of the time instead of the what I maybe erroneously believe is the “normal” 2 percent.

On that note, I’m not drowning and I still have (a little) hope that I’ll start to feel more excited about doing shit soon. I have found that just continuing to set daily goals and complete them helps. Ignoring the bad thoughts and feelings helps. Going for walks, doing yoga, and running or swimming helps. I have to smirk, in an ironic, God damn it, sort of way, when I think about drinking again. Even if I DID start drinking again, I know that it would not at all help me solve this problem. Other things might, like taking a trip, getting a different job, or moving (at least temporarily). But not drinking. I know too much now. DAMN IT.

Two more weeks until my 6-month mark. Woot woot. (insert sarcastic-wink emoticon here)

It takes all kinds, even drunk people

26 Aug

7:31 pm

I went to a day-long “party” yesterday–started with a late lunch and ended with a dip in the hot tub, a home-cooked pasta dinner, a night swim in the pool, and watching the MTV music awards. All kinds of people were there: normal drinkers, non-drinkers, and drunks (at least for the night). And, after all this time, I’m starting to both know and respect my limits–and surprisingly enough, others’!

It was so ordinary for me to not drink that I didn’t feel any of the usual weirdness. I wasn’t drinking–normal. I wasn’t engaging in loud chitchat–these people have never seen me do that. I wasn’t stumbling around, being overly emotional or obtuse or offensive–not even in the realm of possibility when I’m my sober (contained) self. I also wasn’t thinking, Oh, I wonder if everyone thinks I’m as lame as I feel?…because I wasn’t feeling lame. I was feeling calm, proud, self-possessed. I was feeling perfectly fine being sober, as if, being sober was just one of the infinite variations on being. Being sober simply doesn’t matter anymore. It doesn’t separate me from others. It doesn’t distinguish me as something else. You’re drinking, I’m not. Carry on.

Am I glad I wasn’t babbling on and embarrassing myself through an acidic, blurry haze? YES. Am I glad I was able to get up at 11:30 and say, Welp, it’s time for me to go, I’ve got ‘Breaking Bad’ to watch at midnight? Fuck yeah. Am I glad to not be hung over? Uh, that NEVER gets old!

What’s different, I guess, is that I really wasn’t paying all that much attention to what and how much everyone else was drinking. Most people, I’ve realized, don’t even GET the concept of sobriety, let alone have it in themselves to judge anyone for being sober–especially in a setting where they’re getting their fix. I think most people are just too busy having a lot of fun, having a little fun, or not having fun to worry about what anyone else is doing at a party.

Sure, I noticed there was champagne, but I felt too bloated to really care. I might have said no anyway had I not been sober (I have a short fuse on champagne). I was actually really thirsty toward the end of the night, and as I was drinking my bottled water, I did notice one person cracking open beer after beer; and what I thought foremost was, Wow, that looks SO like the opposite of what I want right now (which was water), not, Wow, she’s drinking a lot and really fast, maybe I should waste two brain cells contemplating HER choices?.

One thing I do when I start to feel “thoughtful” about my not drinking (like, wondering what others are thinking of me, if they’re thinking anything) is I relax. I literally make my body go slack, take a deep inner breath, and try to project this feeling of inner calm to the outside. I KNOW from experience that when most people are drinking, they’re not thinking AT ALL about those sober folks in the room. And, if there is a split-second thought of, Oh, what a wet blanket, it fades in the next instant and is replaced by the all-consuming, Where’s the wine (or beer, or vodka, or weed, or whatever)? Projecting a sense of calm to those who have been reduced to lower-brained mammals seems to me the best way to say, I am doing fine, thanks, and get them to back down and think it was their idea. 😉

While I didn’t necessarily want to drink, I had one familiar moment of, Aww, this is SO not going to be fun/Aww, this would be SO much more fun and I’d feel SO much more a part of it if I was drinking. It was fleeting, a minor blip. What a relief, after over 14 months from my initial sober date, to finally be at a point where it feels practically normal–and good–to be sober in social settings? Let me be the first (not) to tell you: it gets better. It does, it does, it does. Your mind recovers, literally. You BECOME sober, which means that it doesn’t happen overnight. But happen, it DOES. I mean, I NEVER would have thought I could socialize sober and enjoy it– and here I am, beginning to do so.

What am I trying to say? I guess that both drinking and not drinking has become almost a non-issue these days. Within a matter of weeks, actually, that table has turned. There is a point–at least for some people, including myself, who maybe USED wine but wasn’t ultimately DEPENDENT on it–where the cravings and obsession and thoughts of drinking die down enough to be replaced by thoughts of what to do with your career, and what to do in your relationship, and everything else that’s important. I don’t want to say that I’ll be drinking again–most likely, no. However, nothing in life is black and white–a personal mantra that gets stronger and stronger with every single passing day of sobriety.

(Maybe my “dip”-turned-month-long depression finally lifted? Like someone smart once said, and I’ll say it again, Carry the fuck on!)

Brussels sprouts and Saturday night!

24 Aug

11:58 pm

I never used to like cooking for people. It made me feel really uncomfortable–almost more uncomfortable than eating in front of people. To me, cooking for someone was like me taking a megaphone and putting it next to the collective ear, blaring “I never eat so how could I know how to cook!” And it’s true: a lot of my bulimic tendencies can be traced back along a winding thread to core issues. I never felt safe expressing my feelings, and I somehow felt very strongly that eating was a form of self-expression. Cooking, too. If I was afraid to let you in on my feelings, of COURSE you couldn’t watch me eat, I used to think. And, if I couldn’t show love and affection, of COURSE I couldn’t cook for you either.

Before drinking, I had food issues. Not exactly of the eating kind, though I did binge (compulsively overeat, I think is the technical term that matches most closely what “afflicted” me from about 17 to 21 or so). It was more an emotional block surrounding food: when I ate in front of people (not when I binged, then I felt release), and when I cooked, I felt emotionally exposed. And, it was a horrible feeling.

When it comes to cooking for others, the first thing that usually comes to mind for many women is cooking for “our manz.” You know, you’re supposed to be this mother Earth (sex and food) goddess, who just so happens to know how to keep her manz by making his belly feel good and round and full. (Yeah, the concept made me want to throw up a little in my mouth, too–literally.) I never had a manz until later (my first boyfriend showed up when I was 22), and by that time, my cooking “skills” consisted of being able to feed myself semi-regularly. Which, as a diagnosed bulimic, wasn’t going so well.

I feared being judged. Of COURSE, I can’t do this right, my self-esteem issues willed me to believe. And, believe I did. It wasn’t like I was a klutz, I just had no practice at opening up and sharing how I felt. And, this somehow transmuted into me being unable to serve people. I was afraid of what they might think of not just my food, by of my expression–was I easy-going or uptight, warm or cold, abundant or sparing? I believed I was all the bad, an uptight, frigid, pared-down “nervous ninny” who had NO business trying to feed anyone, let alone a crowd.

Looking back, I feel sorry for how harshly I judged myself.

Anyway, it took me YEARS to be able to feel safe enough to begin cooking with a boyfriend, let alone serve him food and be able to simply enjoy him enjoying it–and not take it personally, like he was rejecting my entire emotional being if he didn’t like it. I HAVE cooked for a group, mostly with family members (they don’t count, in my book) and my current boyfriend. I made a pie once for an ex, and by the time I was done, I was so shitfaced I can’t remember much except that the dough was a lumpy, uncooked mess when I took it out of the oven. I don’t remember if I cooked it more or not, but I knew in my heart that he thought it was almost as shameful as the way I drank (to quell my nerves throughout the entire process). What an ass, for not telling me to quit–both drinking and making pies while drunk.

Fast forward to now, 159 days sober and having just spent the evening working on my latest creation: pureed brussels sprouts! I know, weird, right? My host mother in Paris (I studied abroad during my junior year in college) would make it all the time, so I think I just felt like going back. WAY back, as almost 20 years have passed since I was there.

It turned out well, I must say. What I truly love about cooking is the “art project” nature of it. It’s like my form of art project; and the best part is, it’s completely not intellectual and the product is kind of WAY better than like, a poem or a painting. I mean, you can fucking EAT IT! I love using the ingredients that I have, and guessing what I should substitute in for a missing one by aroma. I love smelling things, and I love imagining how two or three different ingredients could, combined, amount to an approximate texture or taste of something else.

What the FUCK does this have to do with being sober? Well, foremost, I wouldn’t be doing this on a Saturday night if I was out at the bar, drinkin’–the entire process was a three-part one, starting with steaming, followed by food processing and then blending. If I wanted to look on the dark side, I’d tell myself that I *should* be out, socializing instead of holing myself up, making fucking brussels sprouts puree. For God’s sake, it’s not even a main dish! (And, even worse, I just made that, nothing else.) Or, I *should* at least have attempted to subvert the old ways of thinking, invited a few peeps over, and we could’ve, you know, made dinner together–including but not necessarily limited to pureed brussels sprouts.

But, I’m NOT going to look on the dark side. All in due time, or, baby steps. I like cooking, so why not? And I’ve come a long way toward not only cooking, but being able to enjoy the process of sharing food. I also feel like cooking is an art project, something that I can do that doesn’t resemble thinking-based, improvement-oriented hobbies (reading, writing, playing an instrument, etc.)–good for someone like me.

And the best part? I never once thought that drinking would have made tonight better. If I had been drinking, I’d probably have ruined my taste buds, oversalted, eaten WAY too much and woken up the next morning wondering where the hell all my puree went (not to mention, brussels sprouts are not something one wants to binge on, believe me), and/or passed out before I finished. Instead, I’m enjoying the memory of sipping a few hot, savory spoonfuls as I type this blog post to my friends in the good, old “sobersphere.” Now, that’s something to toast my fourth (oops) Diet Coke-on-ice to!

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