2 years 6 months sober

I hardly think of it anymore.

Alcohol once consumed my thoughts all day and night. Now it just pops in once in a while, I almost forget how big of a part of my life it was. I can vaguely remember the feeling of intoxication. The picture in my mind of that time is so unclear as if it was a dream I once had that felt so real, but I guess it makes sense that living in fog would be remembered as such.

I do remember vividly waking up each day disappointed that I’d drank the night before. As the “How many days in a row have you drank?” Tally grew longer it became harder to pretend my addiction was a measly habit. I realized while planning to take the night off I was simultaneously taking stock of the wine in the cupboard to make sure it was there for me when I needed it, and that didn’t seem like a great sign

Throughout the day I’d defend it. It was part of my persona, my vibe. Nothing seemed to show I had good taste like the mention of my favourite red. Nothing made me seem more relatable than my off-the-cuff jokes about needing wine to parent. There was something seemly more authentic about being a drinker. I felt it made me seem down-to-earth and aloof.

I wore the T-shirts, I bought the glasses, I posted pictures of fancy drinks, I was the brand.

You’re welcome big alcohol for the free advertising.

I thought about drinking a hell of a lot more than I actully drank, my obsession outweighing my actual addiction. I waited till dinner to drink like any stand-up citizen would. After two or three small glasses I’d put the cork back in the bottle and put it aside for the next night. This is how I proved that I didn’t have a problem. I was a regular drinker who just happened to drink every day.

That is except for when I wasn’t, except the times when I was alone and could drink like no one was watching. Except for when my thankfully generous-sized willpower ran out, and I drank the way I wanted to which was until I could feel absolutely nothing. Until my body was so numb I couldn’t keep my eyes open. It was so easy to dismiss these times so few and far between and so unwitnessed.

Finally, the day came when I dropped the bull shit I’d been feeding myself. Every time I would try to tell myself that my drinking wasn’t that bad I thought “But what the hell is good about it?” It’s costing me my mental health, money, life expectancy, pride, memory, brain function, metabolism, endurance, freedom and for what? Numbing? I’ve never heard of a more unfair trade.

I started with day one, which was the hardest to get to, but once day one was behind me, days two, three, and four were a blur, each one easier than the last. I collected the days like each was one piece of some big puzzle I was putting together, And felt this giant whole inside me refill as I became me again.

It was like the sky opened and finally gave me enough air to breathe. It was like booze was a big-ass sandbag I’d been carrying on my back and someone finally came and took it off. Here, I thought it would be torture but it was the opposite. It was scary, thrilling, liberating, hard, easy and eventually to my surprise fun.

Freshly sober I resented alcohol like you would not believe, for what it had stolen from me, For how it made me break promises to myself. You would think I’d quit and the obsession would be over but instead, I was just as consumed on the other side if not more. I was so mad. I felt tricked. Lied to, and victimized as my next phase of non-stop thinking about booze began.

I read every book I could get a hold of. I listened to every podcast. It was all I talked about, all I dreamt about. I started to write my thoughts down, as they felt too hard to contain. I was busting at the seems with some need for public protest. I posted my writing everywhere I could think of. The words wouldn’t stop spilling out of me. My outrage consumed me, and for the next two years, this was my cause.

I made sober shirts, started sober groups and posted blogs, I was the brand.

Then, it was like something happened out of nothing happening. I’d sit to write but the word wouldn’t come. I found myself meeting people and not bringing up drinking at all. I went days without it entering my mind. I got a little scared.

What if I relax and forget why I need to feel my feelings instead of numbing them? What if the conviction goes and out goes memory of how stuck I was? What if a craving comes and I’ve let my guard down falling into temptation fast and hard finding myself right back where I started?

But it’s like they say, the opposite of love isn’t hate, It’s indifference. I believe that if I continue to hate alcohol it will alway have power over me. I want to take away its power in any sense of the word and so I let go. I let the memories fade, I let all the other things I am define me instead and let sobriety be just one of the many parts of who I am and will always be.

It is kind of like that game where you trust someone to catch you as you fall back not able to see if their arms are even reaching for you.

Except the person is me.

I know now, I can be trusted.