I miss you. Goodbye.

img_7706

Yesterday was eight weeks without alcohol and I feel alright. Not spectacular, but alright.

Something’s been nagging at me for a while, and that something is a man. He hasn’t been nagging me on purpose, but it’s the thought of him and the last time we were together that has been tightening its grip a bit. Scratching at me like the tag on the back of my t-shirt, suddenly driving me ape shit and forcing me to pay attention.

The last time we were together just over eight weeks ago. He came over to my apartment and noticed the calendar on the wall that counted off the days in big pink numbers, 1, 2, 3…all the way to 19, before starting over again. 1,2,1,1,1 2,1… When he arrived at my apartment at midnight, I had already drunk a bottle of wine. I’m sure he could barely tell — a bottle of wine over the course of a few hours would have hardly been noticeable on me then — and he’d had a few beers of his own, I think.

We didn’t sleep together, if that’s where you think this is going, but we talked a lot and laughed a lot, and I fed him a late dinner, and after he ate that bowl of pasta he moved over to sit next to me and hold my hand.

He’s wicked smart — well-known for how smart he is, in fact — and he laughed especially hard once when he made an obscure reference I understood. He said he loved it that I got it and he didn’t have to explain. I loved it that he loved it.  That he appreciated me that way. And I loved that he was holding my hand.

We’ve known each other more than 20 years and we’ve both been through a couple of marriages in that time. We’ve both been through plenty of brutal heartache. We’ve hooked up a few times over the years, but only now are we really both single at the same time.

But single isn’t the same thing as available.

I’ve been focused on me. I’ve been consumed by quitting drinking and staying quit. And as anyone who has been through this process knows, in the early days it takes pretty much every bit of extra energy one has. Extra energy, which includes all the energy it also takes from one’s work, social life, mental capacity, diet… all of it. Quitting drinking is so much harder than anyone thinks it’s going to be, and it’s all-consuming for a good while.

He’s focused on him. He’s going through a messy, contemptuous divorce with a woman who keeps saying she’s changed her mind. He’s having to sell his house and parent his kids and work through his own massive life transition, which leaves him racked more days that not.

And, he wonders if we have known each other too long. If what he really needs is a fresh start. Despite the fact that he says he trusts me like he trusts very few people, he wonders.

So. I’ve stayed away.

I made a promise to myself after my last really big relationship blew up in a spectacular fireball of hell that I would never again invest myself emotionally in someone who can’t meet me in an equal place. Who is ambivalent. Who isn’t emotionally available. I promised. And I know it was the right promise to make.

And in the more than two months since last seeing him, he hasn’t reached out. He hasn’t inquired. He hasn’t asked about how I’m doing or tried to connect. He has a lot going on, but that’s no excuse. We all know that. I know that.

And so I’ve stayed away…until today. It felt like it was time to get my answer (because sometimes I need to force my own hand and kill any sprouts of hope I might be harboring by taking a machete to the ambiguity) and I finally decided to reach out to him. I would give him the opening he didn’t actually need. I would say hello.

I got my answer. He promptly responded and nicely answered my questions but still didn’t ask about me. He didn’t inquire. He didn’t keep the conversation going. He didn’t wonder.

And tonight I want to drink. I’m not going to drink, but I want to. I guzzled a couple of fizzy drinks and stuffed my belly with enough food to give me that full feeling that would slow down my drinker’s voice. I breathed and said out loud

Ouch. This hurts. I need to feel my feelings but this fucking hurts. I hurt. 

I’m not going to drink about it, but I want to. And I’m excruciatingly clear why: I want to squish these feelings and at the same time I want to feel loved. Desired. Worthy. I want to blot out this pain and sadness, and at the same time I want to feel held and comforted and included. I want to forget, and leave for a while, and fucking let go and not care. And I want to feel deeply and care with all my heart. I want to feel so much.

I know alcohol only makes it worse. All of it. I know it does’t fix anything. And I believe I won’t move forward if I drink. I won’t heal. I know.

So.

Fuck.

I’m feeling my fucking feelings. I’m going to go for a walk with Bub and then I’m going to get in bed early and read. And sleep. And I’m going to pray and hope the Universe has big plans for me. HUGE FUCKING PLANS. And those HUGE plans include bringing my partner to me. Someone who will do all the things this guy isn’t doing and then some. Someone who wants me and more importantly, deserves me. Someone who is my champion and makes me feel like I’m amazing when I’m with him — because I am.

I know, I know, I’m supposed to fill up my own damn hole, but goddammit, tonight I just want to be loved, and desired, and held. And that’s okay.

Tonight I will let myself feel this shit and mourn the hope I had that this rare amazing man and I might try something new and cool. That we might be just what the other needs and we were there all along. That it would be a new season for us.

I will mourn that and accept that it isn’t going to happen.

My coach might advise me to ask myself and the Universe, So, who else? Who else is out there?

So, yeah, okay, I’ll try that, but not tonight. Tonight I will hurt and miss him. And tonight I will let him go.

Rachel. Day 57.

 

Busting out of prison (Don’t quit before the miracle!)

Don’t worry, I’m here. I’m alright. I’m sober.

I just had an intense weekend and sort of lost my buzz (pun only partially intended) for blogging every day. When “blog every night no matter what” went head-to-head with “avoid overwhelm,” the latter won.

It was a really intense weekend and maybe I’ll recount some of it in the coming days. Need to get back on the proverbial blogging horse somehow, so here we go. Baby steps. Tonight was another intense evening with the person who shall go unnamed for the time being, so here I am, still up way past my bedtime.

Not good. I’ll try to sleep a little longer tomorrow to catch up, ’cause Lord Knows I need my sleep.

Anyhow, today a woman on another private FB group I follow posted the most amazing thing. I won’t say her name as I want to protect her anonymity, but I do want to give her credit, so I’ll use her initials, C.C.

I just loved it, and it really has me thinking about things in a new way again. Like I’ve been peeling the damn onion on this non-drinking thing since last fall, layer-by-layer, getting to the root core of what I really think and need, and changing in layers too. Morphing. Coming to terms with what alcohol means in my life on my own terms, and by listening and learning to so many others who have come before me. It sometimes feels like a bit of an Escher painting, spirals and spirals that appear to be going inward — but look again, they are moving outward. The learning, the growing, the morphing…the learning some more…

Here is what C.C. said today:

Hello my friends! I am noticing a lot of folks struggling in recent weeks. Spring is here, weather is warmer, the allure of seasonal drinking and memories of alcohol drenched summers will be calling to us. I just wanted to share some thoughts I’ve been having lately.
I just passed the 6 month mark last Sunday. How do I explain how different my life is? Everything is different. Everything. I never realized what a prison I had built for myself with alcohol. Alcohol governed my entire life. It was the Donald Trump of my soul. It was the center of my universe. I woke every morning and my eyes were on the clock for when I could open my wine. And if I had a concert to play that night, I was in a shitty mood all day because I wouldn’t be able to drink. And if I couldn’t drink, then I had nothing to look forward to. It controlled my life. It stole favor from my husband and children. From my job, that isn’t even a job, (I mean for crying out loud, I play the cello and I’m lucky enough to get paid for it). And I resented my amazing career, because it was an impediment to my drinking. I guess what I want all the newbies to know is how much BETTER life is to be out of that prison. So many of you are thinking, as I did, that “I’m not that bad. I’ve never gotten a DUI. I’ve never spent a night in jail.” But you are wrong. That’s a bunch of crap. You spend every night in jail, in a prison. Alcohol is your warden. There is a whole giant life out there waiting for you. There is a huge part of your brain and heart that awaken in the months after you take your last drink. And you realize that you have been operating on half power for years. You’ve been living life with the dimmer switch on. And I’m not going to lie, it’s not always awesome. Life doesn’t always look perfect when the lights are on full power, but by God at least you can see what the damage is and have half a shot at making it better. And the good stuff? The good stuff is still there, but bigger and brighter than you’ve ever seen it before. Take off your shackles. One day at a time. One hour at a time. Don’t quit before the miracle!!!!!!! Trust that the discomfort will dissipate. At six months I rarely even think about alcohol. But at six days, I thought I would literally die if I had to make dinner without my glass of wine, or do laundry without my glass of wine, or watch a stupid animated movie with my kids without my glass of wine. I thought I was being punished. But then slowly, the changes started happening. I slept like I have never slept before. Deep, thick sleep. I had energy in the morning to have a good attitude for my kids as we did the frantic “get out the door, dammit, why don’t you have your shoes on, what do you mean you haven’t brushed your teeth” routine. I started telling my husband when things bothered me. I was more direct. I wasn’t drinking at my feelings anymore. I wasn’t drinking “at” people when I was angry. So, that shit had to get out, and when it did, real conversations started happening. And guess what else? I’m a better cellist now than I was six months ago. My brain is clicking faster, clearer. My reaction time is faster. Yes, I still have an occasional bad day, when I fantasize about being a normal drinker. But then I remember that I was NEVER a normal drinker. Alcohol always came with a C.C. sized penitentiary attached to it. And I never want to live in those four walls again. So what am I calling for? Nothing short of a massive prison break. Bust out of there and join us. The world is a big beautiful place and life is short. I love you all and thank you so much for supporting me through my escape. And in gratitude, I will be here idling the get away car as you rappel down the walls of your Alcatraz.

LOVE.

I have a wedding all weekend starting Friday in Portland, and then I leave next Friday for my 2.5-week trip to Europe for work. I’m going to keep this and other favorites in my pocket. I’m newly inspired to not “quit before the miracle!” and I will keep on pushing until I stop caring about booze. I do feel it coming, bit-by-bit, layer-by-pungent layer. 🙂 I’m closing in on it.

(and I will write again tomorrow…)

xo Rachel. Day 18.

 

…It’s a thinking problem

If there’s one thing I’ve learned in this process of quitting drinking, it is this:

Avoid overwhelm.

Because especially now, after more than 5 months since I began the serious process of quitting drinking, I am amazed to say that I have broken the habit of coming home to a bottle of wine every night.

Since I made it over the big hump — I’m not sure when it happened exactly, because for me this has been such an iterative process, but probably after the first 30 days continuous — I’ve been really embracing being alcohol-free and all of the super great things that come with it. I never would have imagined it, ME, not drinking red wine every day, let alone going weeks or months without a drink, but it’s true. It’s pretty easy now, and the benefits have been more than I could have imagined.

These benefits become especially clear when I do have a drink again.

I’m sure this is a necessary part of my process. It was the same way when I quit eating meat. Every once in a while I would test out eating meat to see how I felt about it, but then I’d see another horrific farm animal abuse video and my resolve would be set again. Of course I wasn’t addicted to bacon, but our culture is every bit as saturated with messages about eating meat as it is about drinking alcohol, not to mention being raised on meat being a part of virtually every meal, and yet I was able to stop finally. I don’t “test” it anymore, or wonder if someday I might start eating meat again “in moderation.” No. Eating meat is something I just don’t do. Even if a thought flits through my head about having a taste of something, it just as quickly is ushered right on through and out again. Nope. Pass. No thanks.

So all of that build up to say that this week I had a date that I had built up so much in my head that by the time I finally was about to meet the guy, I was so incredibly, beyond rationally nervous, that I couldn’t imagine layering the added awkwardness of saying I didn’t drink on top of it. I was completely worked up. I skipped rowing(!), and I tossed my own self-care aside and made this date the top priority.

Of course, I set myself up. I didn’t mean to, but I did. And so, I had a couple of glasses of wine and all I accomplished was making myself tired. That was it. I had something in my hand (which I could have accomplished in other ways) and it made it actually more difficult to engage with him.

And insult to injury, it wasn’t even a good date and I’ll not see him again! Jaysus.

Now, this isn’t tragedy (except blowing off rowing and breaking my AF streak, that’s a bummer). I’m not back to drinking and I’m completely in control. I don’t know what that means, but it’s true. I’m OK and not drinking today. But I am back to DAY 1. I can’t deny it. If counting days of continuous sobriety is what is important to me (and I’ve decided now that it is, and I’ll tell you why), then I have to start the clock again. This isn’t back to the beginning, but it is back to Day 1.

Here is what I’ve learned:

  • In the last month or so, I found myself questioning whether I might just be able to drink every once in a while. You know, being one of those people who hardly ever drinks, but does on rare occasion. I know some people like that; you probably do too. I was thinking, maybe I could choose that. (ha!) But while I *might* be able to manage that (maybe, not sure, questionable, doubtful), I realize now, I DON’T WANT TO. It has never been so clear as it was in the moments when I was actually drinking the glass of wine. I didn’t like it and it didn’t like me either.
  • I didn’t enjoy it (I’ve said this before, but it just doesn’t taste good anymore…I’ve UNacquired the taste), and while I’m not exactly feeling compulsion to drink today, I am noticing the chatter is a LOT louder in my head again. I think this is what I forget and is one of the most important lessons to remember moving forward. I had begun to get used to and really savor the peace in my head. The freedom from the chatter. I have begun to really look forward to my evenings with tea and a book or a project, without any of the mental conflict, and with all the time! While I’m OK and not feeling like I need/want a drink, I am uncomfortable that the volume of irrational background noise has increased a bit. I know it’s the wine goblin, who I clearly poked and gave some nourishment. Shit. The only way to kill him is to suffocate the fecking life out of him. I knew it, but I REALLY get it now. I do. The only way to kill that MoFo is by not having a single drink. Ever.
  • When I don’t drink I just feel happier and lighter and more free. It’s hard to explain and I would never have expected it, but I feel an old familiar sad angst in the pit of my gut today that I haven’t felt in a long time, and I’m convinced (not to get woo woo) it’s the demon that is alcohol. The poison is not just of the body, but it is of the spirit as well. There’s a heaviness of my spirit today that I realize now is the scrim that alcohol layers over our lives.
  • Remember: **Avoid overwhelm** and if I find that I am super stressed or freaked out or WAY too worked up about something, I need to do whatever I have to do to defuse the situation — and protect my sobriety. I choose this now, and it is just taking some time to adjust my mind to my new lifestyle. This also happened when I quit drinking caffeinated coffee. For months, part of my brain still felt like I wanted to “try” caffeine, even though rationally I knew I was better off without it and I was actually fine with that. It’s like my neuro-pathways of habit and emotional attachment need time to be rewired, and they are just always behind my rational mind. I guess that’s the definition of addiction. Normal.
  • When I drink, my eating habits go out the window, in the present and for the next day at least. This makes me feel bad and goes against my priority of self-care. I’ve been feeling great and eating well. Drinking is out of line with my values for self-care there as well. No bueno!
  • I will practice and accept sitting in the occasional discomfort of not drinking (which has become easier and easier, especially in social situations), because I’ve decided that alcohol doesn’t work for me anymore. I am almost allergic to it in the way it makes my body and my mind feel terrible. That’s a pretty simple message to get one’s head around. “No thanks, I don’t drink. It doesn’t agree with me.”

So, I did this to myself. I threw caution to the wind and lost my way. Belle even told me: “Sobriety first, dating second.” I think hormones got the better of me. 🙂 (What am I, 15?)

Like I said, this isn’t a tragedy and I’m not loading shame on myself, which is a risk as a person who has been blogging about my sobriety journey. It’s easy to want to hide and not admit when the journey includes a couple of drinks, as I continuously work on the landscape of how I want to live my life. I so admire those of you who have (finally) been able to get months and years under your belt alcohol-free. It’s something to be so very proud of.

Some day I will have had my last drink. Maybe it was yesterday. I hope so. I can only promise today and tomorrow, but I am newly committed to the next 100 days as an accomplishment in and of itself.

Because another thing I’ve learned is that for me, counting days is motivating and feels great, and is something that I’ve been really proud of, also to a degree I didn’t expect. Part of it is how happy I’ve felt lately, and attributing that to having gone weeks and weeks without a drink — something that I never would have believed I could do.

AND…I finally caught glimpses of the BLISS everyone has talked about, and the mental freedom, and it was incredible.

I want more of that.

And I can have it.

Here’s to the next 100 days without alcohol. It feels so much easier than ever before. It’s not without its challenges (obviously), but I’m not bored anymore (yay!) and it’s truly not a struggle anymore the majority of the time. And that’s awesome.

Oh, and I’m going to make sure I don’t wander too far from all of my supports, like the blogging community. We’re all in this together, and it matters.

xo Rachel.

Day 1.

ps., I still plan to get my first tattoo at my 1-year mark. That just may have to be end of January, 2017. That’s all.

NA beer and internalizing being a non-drinker takes time

After my whiny whiny post on Jan 1, it got me wondering why I was having so much a sense of loss of fun. Pleasure. I really didn’t think I was feeling deprived — I mean, I’ve intellectualized the fact that it’s “poison,” all the harm it has caused in my life, and all I’m not getting done because I spent the bulk of every day when I wasn’t at work, drinking.

Maybe this was a normal part of the evolution? Maybe I just needed an attitude adjustment? Take a look around and be grateful for all the amazing things in my life? Maybe.

But I’ve really been starting to wonder if the AF beer I’ve been drinking from time-to-time has been causing this nagging flatness, or at least making it worse than it might have been. That maybe, the AF beer has been a low-grade trigger I didn’t realize.

I’m sure there are lots of articles on this — to drink AF drinks or not to drink them — and I hear that AA is so against AF beer that it considers drinking it a lapse. (If that’s true, another strike against me attending AA… Because, c’mon…) But this article was interesting about a test on rats that showed that even the smell of alcohol was a trigger for them. I wasn’t much of a beer drinker before, but I can understand it intuitively. It really does smell and taste like beer. You just don’t git no buzz on.

But better than that one, this article really articulates how I feel about not drinking now, and how the “slips” over the last several months since I really (seriously) started quitting back in August, have contributed to killing what she calls the “scratchy curiosity” of whether or not I can or want to drink ever again. (Yes! THAT I relate to!) She accidentally drank an AF beer that had .5% alcohol, and she says she felt a bit drunk from it. But instead of experiencing a pleasing euphoria, she felt an unpleasant “mechanical and empty” buzz, which she couldn’t wait to wear off. That was my experience exactly, not with the AF beer (mine is 0.0% alcohol), but with the wine in the last few months. And for me, not only was there no euphoria, but it didn’t even taste good anymore.

“After my Schneider Weisse experience, I was completely surprised by my reaction, or lack thereof. Maybe it was a lucky break; maybe I’ve simply lost the ability to get buzzed off alcohol. In any case, this experience added more to my toolset than probably anything thus far. My two slips (once at two months, another at six months) helped me to fully commit to abstinence, for instance, while this near-beer episode gave me an incentive to drink that goes beyond craving, triggers, and self-talk/Higher Power: I don’t drink because it doesn’t make me feel good. I can’t drink, not because I’m afraid of losing control, but because it doesn’t work. I choose to not drink because I know I don’t want to,instead of, I can’t drink even though I want to.

I am not saying that experimenting is safe, or advisable. Know thyself. Be mindful. Many drunks—myself included—find that abstinence is the only way to heal. I drank that small beer feeling strong and happy in my skin. Every time I drank in the past five years, however, I drank when I was feeling down; I drank to numb, to mask depression and anxiety. Now that I know it doesn’t work—when I’m feeling up, at least—I’m more firmly committed to finding another way to deal.

I am also not saying I’d go out and try this again. I know all too well the thoughts that lead to the “fuck it” mentality—the rationalizations that go from one-sip-here to two-bottles-a-night-there. It’s a slippery slope.

What I am saying is that I appreciate having taken a calculated risk—even if it was accidental. I appreciate knowing more about how my mind is working these days in response to alcohol. I appreciate not having to live within this scratchy curiosity. In fact, I appreciate not having to live in fear.

I used to think the whole point of getting sober was to be able to drink “normally” again. These days, I’ve come to believe the point of getting sober is to not want to drink—in essence, to thrive without alcohol, and not just find workarounds. For me, this is what sober living is about, and I think my near-beer accident might have been the best “mistake” I ever made.”

— Jenny Oliver

My “slips” in the last several months have been completely necessary for the larger question and answer for me, which is being sober on purpose, as a choice, and alternative to feeling shitty. And as an alternative to not reaching my full potential in so so many ways.

And I know for a fact that alcohol was keeping me down. Still, killing that “scratchy curiosity” of whether I could still get a euphoric pleasure from wine was a critical step in the process.

I’ll probably still feel a bit awkward for a while on dates, or with friends when they are all drinking. (I was recently on a date and told him I was doing a “100-day challenge” and it started to get awkward before I managed to change the subject. I’m going to try a different tack next time, saying it impacts my sleep and makes me feel lousy. ‘Maybe I’m just getting old,’ yuck yuck… and see if that works better. I suspect it will.)

And there may be rough patches in the future when I lose the plot again and wonder why I’m not drinking like everyone else. The wine goblin (addiction) is insidious, and I understand he’ll never ever be completely gone. That’s when I’ll really need to lean more on my tools and supports, my community, and remember why I chose to drop alcohol from my life.

But it’s already getting better. Getting easier dealing in those situations. I really do feel like I’ve turned a corner, and just like I don’t eat meat and a date eating meat isn’t going to make me suddenly cave to eating a big steak, the same will go for alcohol. If my friends or my date don’t like the fact that I basically have an allergic reaction to alcohol so I avoid it (“it makes me feel bad, messes with my sleep” etc.), then that’s on them, not me.

And all the free time I have to read books and walk in the sun with Bub is so amazing. Why would I regret that? Certainly it’s worth figuring out what to do with my hands at an occasional dinner.

I’m starting Brene Brown’s Courage Works semester tomorrow. It’s all part of the journey I’m on to be the best me I can be. I’m excited to start.

Day 42  – technically, but I really started not drinking for bigger and bigger gaps of time sometime in August. I’d like credit for those too, thank you. 🙂 All a necessary part of getting me to this place.

Happy sober Sunday, everyone!

xo Rachel.

 

Star light, Star bright…

the-starry-night-1889It was a busy week with long days, and it’s Friday night again — the weekend begins — and I’m still sober.

Wednesday night felt like a real milestone. My rowing club had a caroling party, where rowers showed up and decorated the 8-person boats with lights, then we rowed out to a couple of destinations across the lake and sang for them…

…then those people gave the boats snacks and pitchers of alcohol to take away as the reward.

Our coach retrieved the first pitcher and handed it to my boat’s coxswain. I was in the “stroke” seat, the first seat in the row. The cox’n handed me the pitcher just after I heard my coach say, “I don’t know if it’s leaded or not!”

I wondered about that. I took a whiff and the high octane rum was undeniable. I said, “There’s rum in this!” (a LOT of it) and handed it to the rower behind me. Without hesitating, he handed it straight back to the rower behind him. I wasn’t the only one not drinking, that THAT was awesome. I wasn’t the odd-man out. The rest of our boat partied with rum punch and Bailey’s, and seats 7 & 8 (my seat pair and I) abstained.

There was a moment when I had a flash of an alternate Universe, where I was a drinker and I would have been thrilled to have the punch, and the Bailey’s, Because that’s part of the fun, right? I would have been keenly aware of where the pitcher and bottle were, who had them last and when they were coming back to me. Distraction. Mild agitation. Was I getting as much as them? Why were these little cups so small (what’s the point?) and could I just drink straight out of the pitcher and get more? More punch, more Bailey’s, whatever else came my way, and surely a bottle of wine when I got home.

But instead, I told myself very consciously: Be Present

I looked up at the stars, and the spectacular lights of the city and the neighborhoods reflecting on the water, which was calm as glass. Colored Christmas lights accented the houses, building rooftops, construction cranes, radio towers, sailboat masts and yacht cabins around the lake, adding color to the flickering whites of every day.

I looked into the houseboats as we floated past and imagined the lives happening inside. I felt the crisp air on my cheeks, and warmed my numbing fingers with handwarmers in my pockets.

Be Present. And Breathe. Stay in this moment.

I was very clear that alcohol would not have made the evening more fun, and as the rest of the boat was getting a bit silly and their rowing was becoming progressively worse, I felt clear and strong. And, when we started rowing hard again to get back to the boathouse, I was also sure that had I been drinking, I would have been weakened. I would have surely felt sick from it all. There would have been that downside that always arrived, sooner or later, and it would have taken what it had given — and then some.

No, what would have once been, in the very recent past, an absolute given — that the evening should include alcohol to enhance the fun — was now made so very much better without it.

And on top of it all, indeed the cherry on top, Seat 7 was a really cool guy I hadn’t met before (he’s a competitive rower and so we never practice at the same time) and quite handsome. So I rowed the whole night setting the pace for the boat, particularly this guy who spent the night looking at the back of my head. 🙂 No pressure.

After we returned to the boathouse and we were all hanging around a little by the fireplace, Mr. 7 made a point of saying it was really nice to meet me and that he was leaving. He said goodbye.

I’m convinced that had I been buzzed from a silly night of tipsy rowing and caroling, that wouldn’t have happened either. Instead, I was grounded and serene, and there was an energy there that alcohol would have corrupted. I’m sure of it.

Sure, I’m a hopeless romantic, but it was a beautiful night.

Yesterday was the last day at work for a lot of people until after Christmas. One of my indirect bosses came to my office to say goodbye and handed me a “Holiday Survival Kit,” which I could tell immediately contained a bottle of something.

My stomach twisted a little. This would have been a typical scenario where I would have brought that bottle home and drunk it straight away. I looked at it and it was a brand I don’t like and I thought – Phew… Upon closer inspection, I realized it was champagne. I would have drunk that too, but it didn’t have the same powerful pull as it would have had it been red wine. Thank goodness.

I was out late last night rowing (again) and went straight to bed, but today that bottle nagged me on the counter. I wasn’t worried about it, but I didn’t like that it was distracting some part of me. It was bothersome.

So, I put some holiday ribbon on it and walked it down to the manager of my apartment building, thanking him for all he does. Problem solved! And the whispering inside my head went quiet.

Tonight, Friday night, I’m really tired and the strange thing is, I don’t want to drink, but I still feel that powerful craving to find relief. Release. I guess this is progress.

Once again, I told myself, thou SHALT not drink — I’m just really tired and a little sick (I have a horrible cold) and I need to just get to bed. In the old days I would have drunk a lot of red wine when I was sick because of course that would make me feel better!

But not anymore.

Today my Not Today bracelet arrived. It’s a silver bracelet with Not Today inscribed on the inside, sitting against my skin.

Today it is 8:45pm and I’m in bed on a Friday night with my best bud, Bub, and a great book.

And I’m not drinking. Not today.

xo Rachel.

Day 19.

New milestones, new breakthroughs

Just checking in to say it’s been several days since I’ve written, but no worries: I’M STILL SOBER.

Today I passed a new milestone: 14 days. Officially 2 weeks.

SONY DSC

Baby Giraffe

Man, it seems like a whole LOT longer than that, since I’ve really been AF for most of the last 3 months, but 14 days is still 14 days — and the longest I’ve ever gone without a drink. On the one hand it seems like nothing (especially when I think about it in the context of so many of you who have so many more days/months/years under your belts), and on the other hand it’s bizarre to me that it has been two weeks since I’ve had any alcohol.

To be perfectly honest, it seems like much, much longer. I guess this is the double-edged sword of having a terrible memory: I am already forgetting what life was like for me just a short while ago when I came home every single night from work (and was starting earlier and earlier on the weekends) and drank bottles of red wine. One of the biggest contrasts is how much money I was spending on wine. Holy shit. A lot.

Friday was tough for about 15 minutes. Fridays were always such a huge drinking day. I had about 15 minutes of wanting that “release,” but this time, I have more tools and I’m using them. I used tools like AF beer which oddly hits the spot sometimes, then dinner in front of the TV (I know, terrible, but I’m letting myself), and the urge passed pretty quickly. I was just glad to be home with my dog after a long week and I give myself a LOT of leeway right now when it comes to doing stuff that just feels good and passes the time.

Saturday I predicted it to be tougher. Saturdays have been my drinking/relapse days historically. But it really wasn’t too bad. Yeah, I went on a long walk with my dog, and watched a movie, then had a long nap, and then WENT to a movie at the theater, and bought some adult coloring books and came home and colored a while, then read, then slept. Really, I did very little productive, but that’s OK.

I didn’t drink. 

Then today, Sunday. This morning I had to take my phone to the Genius Bar because I was a GENIUS and threw it on the ground and broke the screen. I waited next door at THE RAM, a sports bar, because I really wanted a greasy breakfast. It never even occurred to me that it might be a risky scene, and it wasn’t at all. I even ordered a virgin bloody mary to drink with my egg scramble and it was great. No problemo. It was actually kind of weird to look around the room at 10:30 in the morning and see most of the room drinking beers and other drinks at 10:30 in the morning while we watched the Seahawks football game. I’m especially shocked that I didn’t feel the urge to drink because I’ve been fighting a cold all weekend and historically I would DRINK when I felt sick. Always. Because drinking at 9 in the morning on a Sunday made me feel better, right?

Oh me oh my.

In fact, I’m going to add that to my AA rip-off: SHALT. Rachel, thou SHALT not drink when feeling Sad/Sick, Hungry, Angry/Agitated, Lonely or Tired. 

It wasn’t until later that I actually had the strongest urges of the weekend. Nordstrom has a really great new cafe/bar and I went to return some jeans and try to find new ones, which is always stressful. I hate shopping. I said to myself outloud, “beware of overwhelm,” because I was beginning to feel overwhelmed and I really wanted to head to that bar and have a drink, just like my best friend and I have done more than once. So, I got my butt out of there and headed home. I exercised for a while in the gym in my building and then I ate dinner and binged on a bit of Netflix while I colored pretty holiday images. Time sure flies when you’re doing two completely unproductive things simultaneously.

Anyway, it’s time for bed now and I spent the entire weekend alone with my dog entertaining myself, but it was a lot easier than it has been in the past. Sure, it’s only 14 days, but it was a good weekend, and that counts for a lot. I made sure I had lots of sleep and sober treats, and didn’t let myself get overwhelmed, and I did a lot of mindful things like coloring and reading. Yeah, I’m a ton of fun. 🙂

As I get more space on my last drink, I find myself having to go over in my mind all of the reasons why I quit and why I am choosing an alcohol-free life. Why it is better. Why it will get even better in the long run. Repeat, repeat. I know that’s a combination of the natural tendency we have to forget horrible things as time passes AND the wine goblin trying to get in my head and tell me Aw, it wasn’t so bad. You can drink again after you take a break and prove to yourself you can. 

Sure, I could try that. But I’m pretty sure that’s all bullshit and I’d end up right back where I started in a very short period of time. I just want to be free of the control wine/alcohol has had over me for so many years. And I want to be free of SO MUCH STUPID SHIT I’VE SAID AND DONE when I’d been drinking.

Blech.

I would also like to make an appeal to the sober gods to PLEASE take a few pounds off in the middle of the night and THAT would make it all even BETTER. 🙂 I’ve started making a more concerted effort now to eat better and exercise more again, so that should help. In the past, it would NOT have been unusual for me to drink five bottles of wine in a weekend, not to mention the bottle every night, so those calories have to be going somewhere! Right? WTF?? I haven’t been eating THAT much mac-n-cheese and ice cream. Really!

And soon, very soon, I’m going to start doing a lot more hard thinking about what I want to accomplish in my life with all this spare time. And lack of anxiety. And clarity. It isn’t going to be Olympic-level, competitive coloring, that’s for sure.

This is a good 2016 conversation to have with myself (and maybe my life coach).

Anyway, tonight I’m feeling quiet and a little dull (read: boring), but that’s a hell of a lot better than being drunk on a Sunday night. There’s time to build some excitement back into my life again, and in the meantime, I’m going to protect my little baby giraffe sobriety until she is walking a lot more sturdy on her wobbly little legs.

Have a great week, y’all.

xo Rachel.

Day 14.

Bored in Los Angeles with a chock-full mini bar

IMG_6875I flew to Los Angeles this morning for a 3-day work “off-site.” I’ve been a little nervous about this with respect to quitting drinking, not because I was really worried about drinking, but because I was anxious about having to answer questions about not drinking.

Today has been a day full of more triggers than I even expected:
  • First time to the airport since I stopped drinking. I had developed quite a habit of drinking when I fly, yes, even if I got to the airport for a 9:30 am flight, like I did today. I walked straight past Vino Volo at 8:30 am, even though it was open. No I don’t have anxiety about flying. It was always just an excuse to drink at 8:30 in the morning. Because why not?
  • First time to L.A. since I got divorced 3.5 years ago. My ex is from here and, well, duh. Trigger. But I have so say, getting off the plane at LAX today and seeing the hills and the palm trees kind of made me sad. HALT – Hungry, Angry, Lonely, Tired. and Sad. I’d like to call it SHALT! And I SHALT not drink when I’m Sad, Hungry, Angry, Lonely or Tired!
  • A work “off-site” — and indeed, we landed and went straight to “have beers” where we also ended up eating. I ordered iced tea and a salad.
  • My room has a minibar FULL of booze, I mean, more booze than I’ve seen in a mini-bar in YEARS. I actually considered asking them to come get all the booze, but it’s been ok. I studied all of the booze on top of and inside the fridge for about 10 minutes, and then it was over. I wasn’t tempted. Not really. I’m steady that I’m not breaking my 100 days. BUT is has exacerbated my next point which is…
  • I like the people I work with just fine, but I’M BORED. I’m so bored. I realize that at things like this, I would just drink a lot of wine because then I was having my own fun and it didn’t matter that I’m actually kind of an introvert and I’d rather be home with my dog or in my hotel room watching my favorite show most times than be chit-chatting with a bunch of people from work. Gone gone gone are the days (like in my 20s) when my social life WAS work, and I could party with those people for hours and hours. Days. And drink through all of it.

I ended the evening at “cocktails” ordering cranberry and soda. No one seemed to notice or care. When I got to the bottom, I ordered another one and our VP said it sounded good and she switched to cranberry and soda. I slipped out before 8 and came back to my room to catch up on my reading and blogging, and watch my fav show. My boss texted me: “where’d you go?” I was hoping since she was on her third glass of wine she wouldn’t have noticed me missing. I told her I came back to my room for my phone and ended up staying. That’s not so far from the truth…

Day one, down.

IMG_6877I’m not going to drink today, I’M NOT GOING TO DRINK TOMORROW EITHER, but I’m definitely in a stage where I am getting really bored of not drinking. Does that sound dumb? It sure feels dumb saying it. The wine addict who can’t get that euphoric thrill any way but by pouring two bottles of wine down her throat?

Now THAT’s sad.

See, thing is, I’m in that place where I really started the process of stopping drinking for stretches of time (more than a day) about 3 months ago, and it’s no longer novel (thank god) and it’s a lot easier day-to-day (thank god), but I’m still thinking about quitting drinking every day, all day, and I’m still not reaping the huge benefits. Some benefits, yes. Huge benefits, no. The days and evenings and weekends stretch on and I’m bored with my own damn self.

Hell, it’s only Day 7 (again) this time and I’m in a sober lull. I even found myself considering whether I’m over-reacting by quitting drinking. It was only a passing thought and I KNOW that is the wine addict brain having a tantrum, but I thought it. It’s nagging me and needs to go away because I know it’s bullshit.

I’m not worried about drinking today (or tomorrow), but I’m worried about this boredom coming to a head and making me want to inject **fake excitement** into my chest plate like Uma Thurman’s character on Pulp Fiction. A massive syringe of BUZZ straight to the heart.
pulp_fiction_uma_thurman
Of course that would ruin everything and I’d have to start over again. It’s not going to happen. I’ve COMMITTED TO 100  DAYS and I’m sticking to it.

And the stupid thing is that I have plenty to keep me busy and things I could be doing with my time — so many things. So many fun, interesting or even healthy things! And I will do them. But I’m missing that ZING that booze gave me, once upon a time.

You know?

Fucking dopamine junky, I am.

I know this will pass. I sure hope it does anyway.

Hey y’alls, it passes, right?

So many people have said that it gets GOOD. And I’m not talking about the pink cloud stuff (which hasn’t happened yet, but looking forward to it), or the weight loss (also hasn’t happened yet), or the boundless energy (nope) or aMAAAAAAZING skin (no…) or such an incredible new sense of self that I suddenly meet the love of my life and I win the lottery and I save an entire TRAIN full of stray dogs from a horrific death on their way to a korean meat farm, and I owe it all to living alcohol free. 🙂

All that’s coming. I’m sure.

Because, truly, I’ve been working really hard at building in tons of supports and trying to take great care of myself and giving myself treats and getting good sleep and so on.

It’s just times like this, normal, boring, every day BLAH NORMAL LIFE DAYS, when you know, I miss that zing. That thrill. That wave of haaaaaaaaahhhhh sigh…that used to wash over with the first glass of wine.

I know the truth. Don’t worry. And even though now I see it for the destructive poison it was for me, I still miss that thrill. I see more and more clearly that I need to replace that thrill. 

Which brings me back to Augusten Burroughs’ words about finding something as good to replace it. Not addiction with addiction, but tapping into something deep and meaningful to fill the void.

AAAAAAnd, I hear that somewhere around 60 days for lots of people, the daily/hourly/constant thinking about it quiets. That will help.

Mercy. Only Day 7 on my way to Day 60. Bloody hell that feels like a long time right now.

Who knew such a HUGE part of my JOY(??) — fake joy, yes, but joy — every day came solely from red wine?

Yikes. That’s messed up.

I guess it’s good I’m finally seeing it for what it is. I guess this is my clarion call to make some changes in my life, even beyond giving up the drink. Yep.

Wow – it just came to me. This is today’s lesson. Indeed.

So by they way, this L.A. hotel (The Standard) is not without its amusements. It’s suitably hip, complete with waterbed pods in the rooftop bar area and plush purple couches in the lobby. One of the things that was hidden from view in the mini bar photo above was this package. Pretty hilarious, actually.
IMG_6876
Safety first! 🙂
I’m not sure what’s going on in that third icon…

And with that, goodnight!

Rachel. Day 7 (for the 27th time, it feels like). I’ll get to 100 yet!

My first AA meeting drove me to drink

maurin-quina-french-poster-affiche-leonetto-capielloI went to my first AA meeting on Friday. I thought I would try it, and I was struggling with wanting to “feel good” by drinking, so I was hoping it would help.

My fear about AA meetings — besides that they’d be awkward and tedious — is that I’d be so emotionally stressed by the experience that it would drive me to drink. I used to binge on powdered donuts after every therapy session, back in the day…

And this is basically what happened. 😦

Yes, I’ve learned from it. Yes, I’m embarrassed to admit it and hate to disappoint all of you who have been so supportive. Yes, it SUCKS to start at “Day 1” again, despite all of the days in between that I haven’t had a drink. Yes, I am convinced now that November 27, 2015 was my last drink. I want to be free.

I keep thinking about how Heya, Monster empathized with how painful it can be in the early days of trying over and over before it finally sticks. Yep. Here I am, right there. (Fork in eye…)

On the way back from the meeting I was feeling so down/stressed that I convinced myself that it wouldn’t count if I had a drink. (Seriously, what?) It’s just a test, I told myself. I needed to prove to myself once and for all that even a “nice” bottle of wine wouldn’t taste good and wouldn’t be worth it. I totally convinced myself that I would just pretend like it never happened and keep counting days.

And do you know what? I bought a really nice bottle of wine that I’ve loved in the past — and it tasted bad. I could taste the alcohol in a harsh and bitter way that I’ve never noticed before, and there was no upside. It wasn’t good. It wasn’t “gorgeous” or yummy. And probably thanks to the naltrexone injections that I’ve been getting, there was no euphoria. No buzz. No momentary surge. No thrill. NONE of what the dopamine glutton that lives in my wine addict brain thought she needed. Just. this. once.

Still, as I was deeply into the “experiment” that I told myself “wouldn’t count” against my days AF, that I would just “pretend like it never happened,” I drank a second glass of wine. That was it. I didn’t finish the bottle and the next morning, completely nauseated and with a screaming, pounding headache, I poured the rest of the bottle down the sink.

I spent half the day in bed.

THIS is why. I quit drinking. This is why.

Wine will never be the answer to my dopamine levels being low. I see this now. I get it. I have to find new ways to feel euphoria. New paths to goodness and joy. Pleasure. Wine will never lead me there. I finally really really know that now. It may take time and I may have to suck it up and wait it out, but wine is not the answer to get me there.

I guess the good news is that I’ve had so little to drink in the last few months that my body is REALLY reacting to wine like the poison it is, from even a little bit. Before I quit drinking, two bottles of wine in one night wouldn’t have made me sick like that. This is good. Fucking ass hole wine goblin. I’m going to starve your sorry ass. You won’t win the next round.

I’m sorry to disappoint myself. I’m sorry to disappoint you. And of course once the wine goblin had his way and I had done it, the fog lifted and I knew I couldn’t lie and pretend it didn’t happen. Addicts are liars. I’m no liar.

So, if we’re counting days — which we are — I’m back at Day 2. Fuck me. Day 2.

I’m sorry. I’m embarrassed.

I’m so tired of thinking about this all the time. I think I’m going to start Belle’s “Sober Jumpstart” class on December 1. One more tool of support to get me through the tough first 100 days. One more tool.

Fuck, I’d take 30 days at this point.

I’ll get there. The wine goblin may have won this round, but he isn’t going to win the war. I want freedom.

I’m going to make it this time and I hope you’ll stick with me. You’ve made a big difference in my getting this far. Here’s to picking myself up and starting again.

Rachel.

 

 

 

 

I am a mountain, I am a mountain

Today was Thanksgiving in the U.S. and I’m grateful for a lot. Really. But today was more difficult than I expected.

My dog and I went to my Mom and step-dad’s place about a 75-minute drive away (which turned into 2 hours with traffic). I know Mom always pours herself a huge glass of red wine whenever I arrive — and I always join her — but even armed with three different kinds of NA beverages, including NA beer, I didn’t expect the powerful wave of desire and craving to hit me as hard as it did.

So I started talking about how it’s bugging me that I’m gaining weight since quitting drinking, ha ha, I said, which was not in my plans. Without missing a beat, my step-dad pours himself a full glass of bourbon on the rocks, and doesn’t engage in my conversation.

Sure, that’s probably about him — maybe he’s even a wee threatened by my quitting drinking. who knows. — but what I needed in that moment was support. I know my Mom is supportive of my not drinking, but it was odd: she changed the subject and started talking about her new puppy.

I drank the NA beer even though it tasted bad and didn’t help much to distract me. I was bored and trapped and I clearly hadn’t prepared properly for this. (Next time I’ll bring healthy snacks.) I glanced at Mom’s wine glass. She was already a quarter of the way to the bottom. The bottle still sat there on the counter, where it always is, staring at me invitingly.

I grabbed a Kombucha and started shoving handfulls of peanuts into my mouth. I scanned the room, searching for anything I could snack on. Nothing!

Mom, please stop telling me stories about people I don’t know or care about. 

The puppy is barking barking barking at Bub, he won’t stop barking.

I text my sister, who also doesn’t drink and will be arriving with my uncle: Where are you? What is your ETA? Mom and (step-dad) are drinking and I’m painfully bored and really REALLY want a glass of wine.

Fun is on the way,” she answers. “We’re about 30 minutes away. (Uncle) says we still need to stop for the cocaine.”

Perfect. I joke back. Just get here.

I finish the Kombucha and grab a Diet Coke out of the fridge. More peanuts.

I decide I need to call on a mindfulness meditation I learned last week. There were two: the first one had us imagining a mild trigger and the wave of craving that would move through our bodies, then holding that feeling. Holding it… Holding it… Then asking ourselves, “What do I need right now?

The second started with imagining a mountain. A big, solid, beautiful mountain. The seasons move in and out around the mountain. All kinds of weather batters the mountain, swirls around the mountain, bears down on the mountain, passes in front of and behind the mountain, and all the while, the mountain is steady. I am to imagine I am part of the mountain. I am the mountain. I am the mountain.

Mountain

I move to the big chair in the living room while my Mom carries on in the kitchen, making the mashed potatoes, checking the (humanely raised) turkey, drinking her wine. I sit with my eyes closed, my hands on my legs. I breathe and imagine myself as the mountain. Solid, unchanging, unreactive to the wave of craving that is crashing through me like a front of thick fog.

Breathe. I am the mountain. 

Then I get another text from my sister. My uncle now has a flat tire just a few miles away. My step-dad is going to leave to find them and help.

My mind begins to race: If my Mom goes with him, I can pour myself a glass of wine and pound it back. No one would be the wiser. I can have a glass of wine. I want it. I want it.

My rational voice tries to fight back: No, you don’t want it. You DON’T want to start at Day 1 again. You DON’T want to feel like shit tomorrow. It won’t even taste or feel that good. It won’t be worth it. You don’t need this. It’s poison.

Why do you think you need it?

I am a mountain.

Why did I quit? I’m trying to remember. I don’t remember. 

Because you were out of control and it was only getting worse. You look and feel like shit.

I am a mountain.

Breeeeeaaathe. You are a mountain. Don’t give into it. Stay strong…

Mom comes into the living room and sits down. She’s not leaving with (step-dad). I breathe and imagine the wave of desire pass right through me. It will pass, I tell myself. It will be OK. Breathe…

It passed. Mostly.

I’m home now. I thought about going across the street to the corner store and getting a bottle. I’m getting fat fast and this is not OK. My fingers are puffy and my pants are tight. I can NOT get fat in exchange for not drinking. That will ruin my healthy, upward trajectory faster than anything. I will fail.

Millie joked that she basically had a feeding bag strapped to her face for the first few months after she stopped drinking, figuring it was better to eat than drink (and she lost the weight again). Others have told me that too.

I have a history of an eating disorder and so using food the way I have been and gaining weight is extra complicated for me. If I lose control of my food/eating in exchange for the wine, this will NOT be an acceptable trade-off. And it will sabotage my progress, I guarantee it.

I arrived home still uncomfortably full from Thanksgiving dinner AND dessert, but reached for more ice cream (“instead of wine”).

Then I heard myself think LOUDLY:

Maybe I can just drink one glass of wine a night and not eat dinner. I’d lose weight. I could get thin again that way. That would be better than getting fat.

Sigh. That’s why. That’s where my brain goes.

I didn’t go. For now, I am choosing not to drink. As Augusten Burroughs said about people who have successfully quit, I am just not doing it.

I decided to write about it instead. I’m going to try to be gentle with myself and allow that the last two weeks have been another lesson about how to cope, and I quickly need to adjust course. Tomorrow I will put my eating train back on the rails and find healthier ways to distract myself from drinking. Like walking my dog. Like rowing. Like going to the gym. Like reading. Like writing. Like sleeping. Hell, like just about anything but eating or drinking. 

I closed my eyes and cracked Cheryl Strayed’s book Brave Enough to a random page. This is what it said:

We are all at risk of something. Of ending up exactly where we began, of failing to imagine and find and know and actualize who we could be. We all need to jump from here to there. The only difference among us is the distance of the leap.

– Cheryl Strayed

Until tomorrow, then.

Day 12. Rachel.

p.s., Sorry this is so long, y’all. I had to get it out. 🙂 Very skimmable, indeed.

 

Boo yeah – Double digits

Bill MurrayI’ve never made it to double digits before. My whole drinking life. It’s been ten days without a drink, and I feel pretty good. My mind feels clear, I realized this morning I didn’t take ANY ibuprofen today (unheard of!), and I do feel a bit more confident than I have in recent months. A bit.

Although I shouldn’t have stepped on the scale this morning. That didn’t help. I’m up a few pounds in the last few weeks. I guess all that mac-n-cheese and chocolate is paying off! :-/  So, while I completely agree that it’s better to be eating than drinking, if I start putting on weight, it’s going to be a problem. I had binge eating disorder in college which I got over, but gaining weight will still be a real mind fuck, and will not help me stay alcohol free. So, today I tried harder to keep the snacking in check. Tomorrow too. I’ll figure out how to stop putting things in my mouth to keep it occupied AND still say no thanks to alcohol. I will.

I also looked really tired today. Like I’ve said, I keep waiting to start looking AMAAAAZING, which would actually be a great boost in motivation, but so far, not so much. Maybe it’s because I’ve gained a little weight? Maybe it’s because my skin is breaking out (hello toxins gushing out of my liver!), I feel like I’m retaining water which isn’t normal for me (despite the gallons of herbal tea I’m drinking), and my dog woke me up a couple of times in the middle of night, so I woke up this morning looking like I’d actually drunk a couple of bottles — without the hangover.

This is not how this is supposed to work.

I’m hanging in there. I did my best with my makeup this morning and then just hid behind a pair of chunky glasses instead of wearing contacts. Issue solved.

Now my next goal is two weeks — this Saturday. Heya, Monster inspired me to set mini-goals and as soon as I nail one, immediately start another one. I’m not always awesome at setting goals and keeping them, but now that I’ve made it to 10 days, I’m going for 2 weeks, then 3 weeks, then 30 days, then… I guess we’ll see! 100 days? Solstice-to-solstice?

Simmer down, simmer down…

First, 2 weeks. Two weeks and go easy on the mac-n-cheese. And get enough sleep. And get more exercise.

At 3:30 today the wine goblin whispered in my ear: mmm, it’s almost the holiday. What a RELEASE you’ll feel with a bottle or two of gorgeous red. That bastard is insidious.

I finished Annie Grace’s book This Naked Mind, Control Alcohol last night, and re-read my favorite (highlighted) parts of The Sober Revolution, Women Calling Time on Wine O’clock, by Sarah Turner and Lucy Rocca too. I bought that book at least a year ago, and re-reading the parts that resonated with me was interesting. They were all the same messages from Annie Grace’s book, as it turns out. I guess I just wasn’t ready to really do it yet.

In order to walk away from booze for good, it is essential that upon reaching this incredibly positive and empowering decision, you recognize that it is a step which will lead you to great things, the beginning of an exciting adventure and a whole new way of life.

– The Sober Revolution

If there’s anything I’ve learned, it’s that for most people, quitting alcohol is a process, and the HUGEST part is the mental shift. It took me a while to be ready, lots of negotiating with myself about moderation, lots of trials and fall-starts and lessons. Lost of frustration and shame and regret. I really do want an alcohol-free life, but despite it all, the addicted part of my brain is still fighting tooth and nail to change my mind. It will take time and practice to starve that ass hole wine goblin long enough that he finally unclenches from my brain stem. But I know the truth now and he can fuck himself.

And anyway, they say anything worth having doesn’t come easy, right?

Right?

Day 10. Rachel.