Booze - Me = Still Me

I was sick again for the past few days. Strep throat this time. My dearest pen pal extraordinaire Belle reminded me to be extra patient with my sad sick ol' self. And I wasn't. I was mad. World? Do you see that pissed off person? It's me. And I'm mad at you.

In one of life's little "the joke's on me" ever since I quit drinking I have been sick pretty much the entire time. Very funny universe. I mean WTF? Dear, sweet, noble me has decided to get it together and now I feel like shit all the time? Ahem. How DARE you?

Here's the thing: wasn't I sick and feeling cruddy all the time before? This should feel like normal, not like a slap in the face. I realized I'm carrying around all these secret resentments I thought would magically go away because I got sober. Could you move please? My unicorn can't get through.

I thought I was going to lose weight since I quit drinking. I thought my face would be glowing and blemish-less. I thought all my money problems would melt away. My marriage would be the stuff of songs. Life would be...better. Easier. I wouldn't have to deal with so much emotional junk. I would be a better mom. I would be able to concentrate. I would take up sewing and the guitar. I would have so much extra time since I wasn't dedicating it all to either being hungover or getting drunk. There would be space in my brain for new stuff since the broken record finally actually broke. 

Part of the reason I drank was to get away from me and my "hard" life. Because I didn't like who I was, my life would never mold into what I thought it should be. I was never good enough just because I was me. 

Take away the booze and guess what's left? Still me. 

Me and my crazycakes belief that life is supposed to be easy. I really thought that at some point you get there. Sometimes I still do. Like you're on a rafting trip. Just around this next bend and over this waterfall and then I'm thinner, richer, and more beautiful than ever. Just around this next one I guess. Or this next one. OK, maybe one more.

When you are never satisfied there is always another bend. You never ever feel content. There, finished, and easy are when you're dead.

Oh.

One of the great things about sobriety is that you're aware of it all. One of the suckiest things about sobriety is that you're aware of it all.  

There's a way to find the balance of seeking and satisfied. To let the old stories in your head go, for good. For real. To stop wishing for not impossible things, just the wrong things. To put all that wasted energy into things that actually work. To change not only that inner voice that shamed you daily for drinking, but to change the chorus behind it.

Lead singer: "You suck because you drink..." 

Chorus: "And you're an unsuccessful fat ass too!" 

Change to:

Lead singer: "You rock because you're sober..."

Chorus: "And you made fresh lemonade too!"

Change the stories in your head that just aren't true. Change the lies you've been telling yourself. Be brave enough to see the truth. The real truth. Even if it makes you out to be a pretty decent sort. It's OK to be you, and be proud too. Right now. 

I thought getting sober was going to 'fix' it all. Since that didn't work I'm pretty sure having a number six in the waistband of my jeans and more zeros at the end of my bank balance won't do it either. Looks like I'm just going to have to keep going around the bend. Again. And again. And again. 

p.s. Life IS better. Tons. Boatloads!

One Thing and Another

ONE THING:


I didn't realize how much of my time was devoted to thinking about my drinking. That shit was a full time job. With overtime. My whole life was my drinking habit. Morning: "Oh god, why did I drink last night. I hate myself." Noon: "I feel pretty awful. Why did I drink so much last night?" Night: "I feel a little better. How much can I drink tonight?"

When you get sober, after a while you stop thinking so much about not drinking and start trying out this person you are. At first all you can do is just keep praying. "Please don't let me drink. Please don't let me drive to the wine store. Please don't let me wreck it. Please don't make me start over again." All you are is not drinking. And relieved.

Then after a few weeks it gets different.

The choices you make in other parts of your life start to change. I am realizing that I checked out of everything because I was always aware that I might have a hangover in the morning and I learned not to promise myself to people.

This really hit home the other day when I called my doctor to squeeze in an appointment because I was sick. On the phone with the nurse at 7:30 AM:

"Can you be here at 8:30?"

Me: "Ummm.....yes." (OK, I did have to call and change the appointment to 9:15- the kids have to get to school first. Duh.)

I still went to that place in my head where I had to check in to see how hungover I was, could I squeeze in a nap before the appointment? And then I remembered I wasn't hungover, no need to check that. I don't have to arrange my life around my hangovers anymore. It floored me how much I maneuvered my life around making it easy for me to be hungover. How much I missed because I'd be too busy taking a nap trying to feel well enough to finish up the day.

I answer the phone now. I respond to emails and texts. I make plans instead of excuses. I keep those plans. And make more of them. I'm getting better.

AND ANOTHER:


There's something else I've noticed. I am clenched tense ready for fight or flight at all times. Last week at the dentist (look at me! Getting cavities filled! Taking care of myself!) she told me my gum line is receding in front not because I've been to the dentist only a handful of times in the past twenty years, but because I clench my jaw. So I started noticing. I am a clencher! But not just my jaw- my whole body! I am almost constantly in a state of what I'll call pre-action. A state of at-the-ready. Never relaxed. Never at ease.

I am always ready for the attack. Not TO attack, but ready to defend myself. At all times. Even while lounging watching Downton Abbey I had to consciously un-clench four different times. I have this misconceived notion that I'm a laid-back person. I've always thought of myself as easy-going. Affable. Approachable. This may not be true at all! I'm not sure what to do with that. It's not upsetting, it's just...interesting.

Sobriety certainly is entertaining. :)

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.

Free Booze

Last night we went to my husband's Christmas party.

I prepped him and myself for my first event as a card carrying sober person. (Well, I guess I could make myself a card. Maybe I should. And I would make one for you too. Just let me know if you need one.) I told him it might be hard for me, and we might have to leave really early. I made it a point to bring the kiddos as a "Mommy-can't-party-down-look-here's-the-kids" shield. Thoughts of sparkly soda water danced in my head. I promised myself I would eat food. Some of everything. More than one dessert if I wanted to.

(sidenote: I never really noticed this before but at other parties over the years I never ate the food. I was too busy hopping back in line for another drink. Which could be why I wound up so drunk.)

The bar was beautiful. The house was beautiful. The kitchen.Was.Incredible. But the bar was too. Scotches glowing amber in the festive lights, giant bottle of Grey Goose vodka, thousands ( I am exaggerating a little here) of beers on ice,  champagne chilling and looking so fine in the bucket and in everyone's hands.

(another sidenote: Champagne/sparkling was my favorite. Towards the end of my drinking era I latched on to a particular brand of Prosecco and I could finish the bottle by the kids' bedtime.)

We got there around 6 o'clock, and a few people were already sort of hammered. There were loads of people, the house was huge, and I knew about three people. (One being the woman my husband introduced me to on the way up to the house.) I'm not the greatest at small talk, and I can be a little shy. Until I've had a few glasses of wine. Then it's easier. Then after five or six you've latched on to your new very best friend, or they've latched on to you. Without that I'm not quite certain who to talk to or how to be. I'm not so sure a drink-y social event full of strangers was the best idea on my tenth day of sobriety.

BUT.

Y'all, I did it.

I drank a lot (A LOT) of Pellegrino. I ate pimento cheese and biscuits, guacamole, tasty chicken wings. The kiddos and I tried all the desserts, and then a maple bacon donut when they arrived. My husband sort of fussed around me like a mother hen while trying to be social. I stayed downstairs in the playroom with all the kids. I made awkward conversation with a few mothers who came down to check on their children. I hooted and hollered at a few rousing games of table top Foosball. I scared a little girl into laughter several times who was playing with what looked like a Whitesnake band member wearing a cape with an action Incredible Hulk. I remember all of it. Every bit. And by 7:15 I had had enough. I don't think I've ever thought that at a party before.

I told my husband we had to go. He went up to pass out goodbyes while we found our coats. I knew he didn't want to leave, but he did without so much as a dirty look. (damn sober wife.) The children talked in excited voices about how much fun they had. I stumbled around in my brain trying to wrap my head around the fact that I just went to a party with delicious free booze and I didn't have any.

But, that booze wasn't free. The cost for me is huge. It would have cost me a good night's sleep. It would have robbed me of sitting here, right now, writing for me and for you. It would have put me right back to day one, to starting all the fuck over again. It would have taken this day, and more days, and then my whole life away from me. So I will remain booze free.

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.