A Sober Friend

I've had the blues lately- and from what I'm reading I haven't been alone. What is it about this spring that makes it all so bittersweet? I've been going through the motions, but I swear if I didn't have to work and take care of my family I would have been buried under the covers with yogurt pretzels and cookies watching Bravo for days now. So thank god for them.

It's hard to explain. This is one reason why I wish I had a sober friend- a friend I can see, or call. Who can hug me and cry with me and make me laugh. But, like Belle and Fern I bristle at the thought of AA. It is not me. If it were I would have been there by now. (And, it should go without saying but maybe it needs saying so here's this: I'm not against AA. I don't know much about it, but I just get that feeling that it isn't what I'd like. I believe in whatever keeps you sober. So AA it up if that's your thing and I will high five you all day. Deep breath.)

But this post is not about AA.

I think I've mentioned before that I kind of thought that by getting sober the world would sort of hug me back. A lot. Kind of like "I see all your effort, you just won the lottery!" Well, not that drastic, but maybe just make things a little easier.

In my early sobriety (like early early- when days weren't even months) I felt more purposed. Now I feel very flail-y and disconnected. Like I am making all this effort to be sober but I need to be plugged in to other outlets besides running, blogging, and thinking about being sober.

I think I need a sober friend.

Where the heck do you get one of those? I'm reading this book called MWF Seeking BFF. It's about making friends, and it's pretty interesting. Here's the rub: You can't (or you can, I can't) just blurt out things about drinking and problems and getting sober to just anybody. (Unless you're at an AA meeting: see above) It's not like you are in conversation and you're all: "Oh! I love to read and cook and run too! We have so much in common! Were you a horrid black out drunk too?" The silence might be deafening. And also embarrassing. And then as you watch the other person run away you might think you've over shared.

Plus, I have requirements. You have to be funny. And trustworthy. I don't like gossip. I do like food. I am sarcastic. Shy-ish. I do not give a shit about shoes, or shopping. I like to be outside. I cannot stand women who are nice in person and then get all snarky and behind your back-ish when you aren't around. No religious fanatics need apply: God knows the deal. Be on time, and don't be a waffler. (you know, someone who makes plans and then flakes. Over and over.) You have to like children. And dogs. You should be a little crazy and/or weird. And you MUST BE SOBER.

Did I really just say that?

It used to be that one of my biggest requirements for a friend was: MUST LOVE DRINKING. A LOT.

Meaning: please don't raise your eyebrows when I'm on my fifth glass of wine- we're just getting warmed up. Meaning: don't get all judgmental because I don't remember what we talked about. Meaning: don't be mad because I said some things I shouldn't have- I was drunk.

Lord.

A sober friend search. I'll keep you posted.

Middle of the Road

Ahhhh, life and curveballs. Just when I start cruising along feeling all in charge...zing! And me, being me, I get all wound up and start thinking and trying to manipulate things into the way I think they should go and waking up in the middle of the night just so I can think some more.

Yesterday I had a lovely walk and talk with a friend who is also a manager at the company where I work. She's suggested I apply to be her right hand woman, although I have no experience with her department and she's having a baby in six months so I would be in charge of things at the busiest time of the year. The challenge would be amazing, and hard, and the schedule totally does not work for my family. Seeing as how I want to be part of it. 

Taking this position would also mean I wouldn't go back to school. Which I still may not do anyway. Trying to decide on what I want to be when I grow up is a complicated tangle. 

Yesterday I was feeling anxious about the talk, and then we had it, and then I came home and ate all the rest of the children's Valentine's candy. Well, not all, I did leave them both one piece. And they didn't know about the two caramels in the mailbox from a neighbor. And then I broke off a chunk of the candy bar husband bought me (My favorite 85% kind- the kind that is so NOT the" I'm stewing on something and need to feed the beast" kind.) and ate that. All while I was making dinner. 

I should have stopped, and fixed myself a nice ginger seltzer. I should have sat down on the couch for a minute and said a real hello to the kiddos. Taken a breath. 

Not built in a day.

One of the cool things about early sobriety is that you start to realize that things take time. And that THAT'S OK. And that eating nine pieces of chocolate may not be the smartest thing to do, but it won't make me black out or feel like a miserable wreck all the next day. It did make my eight year old cry when I fessed up (I didn't tell the four year old- I'm not completely nuts) but he forgave me. "It was my candy Mom. MINE. And YOU ATE IT. But, if you let me use my Nexus before bed I'll forgive you." And then we played Crazy Eights, and read stories, and life rolled along. And I was forgiven.

Sometimes you have to forgive yourself when you don't know the answer. When you don't know which way to turn. When that road looks good, but this path is cool too....and look there! Sometimes maybe I just need to sit down in the middle of the road and look around. People will beep, wag fingers, yell at me to move. Oh, people. Always trying to tell people what to do. 

I will make myself a ginger seltzer. Sit down. Take a breath. Think it through. Put on a seatbelt and a turn signal when the time is right. Press the gas and move when it feels right. Move right along. 

Caring Isn't Punishment

For the past few days I've felt like this child in the corner. I know that's what made me give up my Whole30- it started to feel like punishment, like I'd done something wrong and deserved to do without. Hold up.

I realized this morning that I carry this notion that nurturing myself has negative connotations. That it's a bad thing. A selfish, self-centered, greedy thing. Well, dang. Where did that come from? If you wrote to me and said you were doing something nice for yourself I would be all for it. Hell, I even have a whole day of this blog devoted to cheering for myself and y'all.

So why does my inner bully start tapping the bat when I'm starting to feel pretty good about things?

And when did I stop believing that I was a worthy person? Because I cannot remember a time when I didn't feel that way. Whoa.

Getting sober uncovers all these simple truths about me. It's like I'm meeting a whole new person. It's pretty damn cool, and pretty unsettling at times too. If you'd asked me three months ago if I liked myself I would have said flippantly, "Sure, I guess I do." And I really wouldn't have known the answer, I didn't even know who I was. I was a shell.

If you asked me that today? Right now? I would say with my head, "Hmmmmm. I think so. I'm still figuring this one out." and with my heart I would say, "I would die for this woman. She is brave, and kind, and strong. I love her."

As I would say to my oldest, Jack (he's eight):

"It's OK to think your self is cool."

I think it's time to learn that lesson for myself.

My First Beer Dream

I had my first "I drank a beer" dream last night. I was sitting at a long table with lots of other people eating food. I got up to leave, looked down, and there was a full pint sitting at my place at the table. Without a thought I reached for it and drank it right down. Then I had that "oh, wait. oh...no!" feeling and realized "I don't drink anymore! What did I just do!" moment. Which was quickly followed by that "Weelllll, you've had that one, might as well have more!" moment.

And then I woke up. Phew!

Thirteen days in and I'm finally dreaming again. I'm slowly starting to sleep through the night. I'm like a new baby, waking up every three or four hours and being awake from 1 AM to 4 AM tossing and turning, just thinking and thinking and thinking every which thought, every which-a-way. Yelling at myself in my head "Shut up! Go to sleep! Huh, I wonder what I should do on Thursday, and I wonder if they need for post it notes for Jack's class. I should have checked on that earlier. Now his teacher probably thinks I'm a slacker mom. I am a slacker mom. Why do I suck as a mom?..." This can go on for hours.

But last night I woke up, fell back to sleep. Woke up again, fell back to sleep again. I like that. All that midnight worrying is exhausting!

I have been more anxious about drinking this week. I'm feeling stronger, but more fragile. I started crying listening to a Nick Drake song in the car. Washing the kids hair. While running. It's like I'm feeling more, turning up emotions like turning up dirt. I have these moments where I feel like "oh! I feel like me." And then I check in, and sure enough. Just me. Not hungover me. Not drunk me. Just...me.

Sober Like Sunday Morning

Back in the Drinking Days:

7 AM    I'm huddled under the covers. The bedroom is dark, dark. My breath reeks of booze and cigarettes. I'm fuzzy and on the surface of sleep. I can hear one of the children stirring. Ugh. Why do they have to get up sooooo early? (As if this is some sort of new thing. Like they normally sleep 'til noon, what's this sudden waking up around 7 o'clock thing?) I send them down to watch TV or play Wii. That will give me another hour (or three depending how hungover I am). I finally get out of bed around 10 o'clock, glare at the overflowing laundry basket, overwhelmed by all the things I think I need to do. I'm already thinking about naptime.

I used to try to tell myself that those hungover mornings were ok because it wasn't every morning. I cringe at the excuses I often offered myself to make the way I drank seem kosher. I feel so desperately sad for that woman. I want to gather her into my arms and lead her out of it, wrap her in a warm sweater and make her whole again. Make her unafraid to be alive again, let her know that she is just fine, just the way she is.

Here in the Sober Days:

7AM      I woke up a little after 5 o'clock. I checked on the boys, came downstairs and made a cup of tea. I've been thinking, writing my daily email to my sober pen pal, and working on my blog. I've got plans to make a grocery list and head out for a run. I feel amazing. Clear, and here. Not wrapped in the smog of a guilt laden hangover. HERE. Available to do things like start laundry, and make breakfast. I don't feel bewildered, I feel like a million bucks. I feel like I am alive. This rocks.

Ten days into my sobriety and I feel like a totally different person. I can actually see, in my mind's eye, my old sad self: a whole separate woman from who I am now. The biggest relief comes from not having to hide anymore, not having to pretend I feel fine when I don't. Not having to act like I didn't have too much to drink last night. Not faking remembering a conversation or something I said or did because in truth I have no idea what you're talking about.

Being sober isn't easy. Hard things never are. But on days like this it's the easiest thing in the world. Just like Sunday morning.

No Deal

There are these deals you make with yourself when you want to quit drinking. There are the promises, the white knuckling through just one more minute. Then the fast trip to the store for wine etc. all the while telling yourself, "Turn the car around. Go home. Go home. Go home. If you don't buy it you can't drink it." But all you can hear is the need. The need to check out, to turn off, to get out of here while you are sitting right here.

My deals would always go something like this: On a hangover day I would decide that I was not going to drink anymore, or if I did I would limit myself to two or three at the most. That would soothe for a few sober days and then it would just feel like time to have some wine. At the store I would buy two bottles and a six or twelve pack of beer. I would have to share with my husband after all, and we wouldn't want to be irresponsible and have to drive to get more if we ran out. (ah, booze logic) I would tell myself it was OK, lots of people drink, lots of people drink too much, and lots of people drink waaaayyyyy more than me. And I wasn't drinking before 5 o'clock or so, and I didn't drink every day. It was fine.

So I would break my deal with myself. I would have not just two or three but seven or eight by the end of the night. And in the morning, hungover and tired and broken again I would make more deals. But it didn't matter what I promised, I was always back at the store.

I've been waking up desperately early excited to start my day. I've been writing this blog and doing yoga every morning. Maybe that's all it takes, maybe it's as simple as finding something else to do that fills you up instead of filling up your cup. It's having a purpose, lifting yourself up to something with tangible soul-full meaning. Being able to face each day proud of the day before instead of cringing when you wake up trying to remember if you made an ass out of yourself last night.

I can't say for sure why this time is different. I know I just got to a point and something clicked inside my soul and I can't undo that now. I know I'm through making deals, I'm ready to walk the walk, talk the talk, do anything it takes to keep this new fragile peace with myself.

House of Straw, House of Sticks, House of Bricks, House of Bone

I am so grateful to be here on day six of being sober. I had an awful time sleeping last night, and the title of this post (almost made the typo "past" hmmmm) came to me. 

For years I have sworn to myself I was going to stop drinking. Always scared to stop for good. I thought I could never give up the promise of a glass (ok, really bottle or two) with my husband on our nights off together. Or the reward of a hard week's work. Or what do I do at New Year's? How do I eat out? Good intentions, terrible results. That's my house of straw. Built out of and around empty promises to myself. It wouldn't stand, wouldn't last. I built the same one in my heart for years thinking it, faking it, lying to myself that I was sincere. I meant it. I wanted to quit. But when a powerful urge comes along, straw is no contest for the will to get drunk. In an arm wrestling match between straw and wine the straw loses every fucking time. I should know, I put money on that silly bastard for years. At least 20 of them. 

Every once in a while I would change my blueprint and find some sticks.Shore those intentions up right! I wasn't lying to myself, that straw just wasn't what I was needing all along. Here was what I needed! This house of sticks. Now I can hide in here, cringing and wailing my way through almost a week beating the intentions away until I beat too hard and broke the stick and I was hungover again. And again. And again. 

Lately I started making houses from bricks. From big ideas and big intentions. Tentatively reaching out and saying to my husband and myself out loud "I think I might be an alcoholic. I have a drinking problem. I need to stop." I felt it too, felt those bricks crushing my heart when my good intentions again got flooded by too much wine, too much guilt. I felt myself drawing that soft part of me back, back behind the bricks where there were no mirrors to show my aging face, my tired eyes, my defeated heart and soul. 

Last Friday I built a house of bone. A house strong and pure. A house where I can open my heart and lay it all on the line and not care if it hurts or embarrasses me because being honest means I don't have to feel like a liar anymore. I don't have to be ashamed of who I really am anymore because I don't have to hide the way I drink, and I don't have to act like I feel fine when I'm really dying inside from being hungover and a loser. A house where I can be just me, and be safe, and not worry about being judged or forgetting conversations, or blacking out. In this house there is always enough even when there isn't any, there is always plenty, plenty, plenty. This house is made of bone: sturdy, strong, bona fide, honorable, unburdened backbone. In this house the door is wide open, and I always know the way to get there.

Most Deserving

I discovered a pen pal from reading online blogs about women who are sober. I was writing to her this morning and had a CGM- what I've dubbed a "Clear Genius Moment" These are the truths you discover when you've realized that you just drink differently than everyone else and that this time you really, really have to follow through and quit. Really quit. Forever (gasp!) quit. 

It amazes me how fucked up my logic got when I was making excuses to pardon my out of control drinking. One of the best ones was, "I deserve it." Then it meant: I deserve to relax. I am owed a chance to let my hair down, to be free of the responsibilities of being a parent/wife/in charge of something. This feels good, and I love it!

 Now it means: I deserved to treat myself like shit. I deserved to drink until I was physically sick and exhausted all the next day (and as I got older into the next). I deserved to check out of my life because it was too damn hard. 

But mostly it meant I was getting what I thought I deserved. 

That really makes me take a step back and say WHOA! I mean, I thought I liked myself a lot more than that. By giving myself the freedom to drink wine from dinner until midnight a few days a week-wasn't that love? Isn't that what I deserved? Even though it was a struggle to get out of bed (and if I didn't have to work I didn't-just park the kids in front of the TV for a few hours) and I would feel mostly awful all day I told myself that wine was a reward. It was just what I needed.

How on Earth could I have thought that was OK? 

I'm going into day five of my sobriety. And I'm scared. And optimistic. I'm scared of going back to who I used to be. After all she is only five short days ago. But today I know that even as short as it is now, my sobriety is precious. And I deserve it.

Different From You, Same As Me

I might drink just like you- always watching for the last bit, making sure that doesn't happen (unless there's particularly drink-y company over who out drink me and don't know the rule about saving enough for the end of the night since running out before passing out is never a good thing and then my husband then has to go just up the street for overpriced beer). 

You might drink like me- a few in quick succession to start while you cook dinner, sneak outside for a cigarette or two while the kids are parked in front of the TV. Delaying dinner by ten more minutes so you can sneak outside one more time before the whole dinner/bath/stories saga starts and you know you can't just leave in the middle of all that. 

Or you might be a person who has one glass of wine with dinner, or maybe two and not finish the second. I have always wanted to be that person, but that idea fades quickly after I've had the first glass. Mmmmmm. MORE! My head announces, not even pretending to pay attention to logic. Or the children.

I'm starting my fourth day sober today. Last night I told my husband the news that I MUST quit drinking, that I am scared, that I don't want to be this person trapped in a time warp any fucking more. And he was scared, and said "OK" a lot which just pissed me off because I wanted a whole big unnecessary conversation filled with drama and "oh no" and "you don't mean it". He knows me well, and so the conversation was short and sweet, right to the point. He: "Yes, I can see why you think you have a problem. I will support you one hundred percent." Me: "Waaaaa, waaaaa, all you say is OK. Waaaaaaa, waaaaaa." Learning to listen to the other side of conversations will be one benefit of pulling my head from my ass. 

I was thinking this morning that I am a liar, and also an attention junkie. But by liar I mean to myself- I make up all these elaborate excuses and reasons for things to be acceptable to others in my head, although it is totally not necessary. My dramatic behavior (random passionate outbursts, random passionate suggestions for changing things around the house, random fits of anger at the children or my husband- pent up frustration that penetrates days of my life) all to get some kind of attention, anything! To get someone to really notice me and listen to me. (a ha!) Except I'm only me in fits and starts, just someone trying to hide who I am and what I'm doing with some moments of authenticity ever now and again.

Looking forward to today. And scared fucking shitless of it too.  

Gasping for Air

I woke up hungover again Friday, December 7, 2012. I woke up a few times, barely reaching consciousness when the kids brought up the french toast I'd promised to make, mumbling some sort of goodbye when my husband took them to school. I'd had who knows how many beers and cigarettes the night before. I finally woke up enough to get out of bed at 12:40 PM. My day off mostly gone. Sad because I didn't get up to practice spelling words with my oldest who had his classroom spelling bee that day. Suffocating because the truth was big and huge and staring me right in the puffy face. "You must quit drinking or you will lose it all."

I've been promising myself I was going to quit drinking for as long as I can remember. Journals from my early twenties until now all declare my intent to give up booze and start living. My most fervent wish in all these writings is to give up alcohol. And why, why it clicked on that day? And did it? Or am I on day 3 of sobriety again only to cave at day 5 because I feel OK again, OK enough to drink, to smoke cigarettes- because I deserve it, that's why. And everyone isn't perfect, certainly not me. And it's not every day, only one or three times a week. Big deal. So why the fuck not? Who cares anyway? The kids don't notice I'm half drunk during bath time and stories, and I'm sure my husband doesn't notice that by the time he gets home I am a few drinks away from blacking out. And I manage to get up and go to work, or save these binges for nights when I have the next day off and the kids are either in school or can play video games and watch TV all day while I sleep it off, unable to come down and play with them because I feel like total shit. I tell myself they'd rather be playing video games anyway, and the dogs like laying around all day, and that lazy days are what everyone needs, right? Right.

I did something different this time. I called in sick to work two days in a row, not hungover, but as a tender gesture to myself that playing "life is normal life is normal" isn't going to work anymore. I am terrified- TERRIFIED that I cannot remain sober and will have to trip and roll in my own homemade gutter hundreds of more times before I die from loneliness and shame. My broken self hunched over in front of my two glorious children who grow up to become glorious in spite of me not because me. 

I have been reading blogs written by people JUST LIKE ME. This helps immensely, and I always do better when I have some words to read, to balm my crazy mind with a layer of clear-coat healing. I emailed an author of one of these blogs, and she emailed me back. 

I am tired of being afraid to admit that I have a problem with alcohol. A big one. I cannot drink if I want my life to shine. Period. 

I have a drinking problem. And I want to be sober. And alive. And free.