I wake up not hungover on my ninety-fifth day of sobriety but being not hungover is not the first thing that occurs to me upon opening my eyes. I still smile like a dork first thing, tho, because I can hear the coffee maker grinding fresh French roast beans as I lay warm and toasty still beneath the blankets. It suddenly strikes me as a little bit odd that I am not ecstatic about another sober morning. It wears off, I guess. That ‘pink cloud’ from the very first few weeks when each and every morning you are astounded that you have busted up a pattern you were certain could never be interrupted. Sober mornings are the new normal for me now. As are wine-free evenings. Even the weekends. Even the holidays.
It is hard to quit ‘gray area drinking’ or whatever the fuck they are calling it at the moment. It’s stupid to name it just like it’s stupid to label anything but it’s referred to a lot these days because a good lot of us are doing it and asking ourselves over and over if we are doing it ‘too much.’ You do not qualify for rehab. You haven’t lost anything that would indicate to the outside world, not even your closest family or friends, that you had a very serious problem. But on the inside of your mind it is a shaky chaotic minefield. You cannot trust yourself to stop. You do not stop. You do not see the point in stopping because then what the hell else is there? Wine saturates everything. It belongs everywhere all the time. It belongs at a party just as much as it belongs in bed with you at the end of the night. It belongs to you and you belong to it. It hurts you and controls you and ruins you but it also romances you, soothes you, holds you, takes care of you. You don’t mind drowning. You deserve drowning.
The real mindfuck of trying to quit the kind of drinking no one wants to believe they are doing whilst they flail around inside of very active addiction is that half the time your brain is telling you to stop making such a big deal about a nonsense problem. The other half the time it’s ragging on you to stop denying the glaring, deafening problem. And because there is no clear definition of what constitutes ‘the problem’ exactly, the battle rages on inside of you about whether or not to address the situation even as you can’t stop making it exponentially worse.
This is not a fully fleshed out blog post. Please forgive me. There is so much more to be said and explored and pulled apart and shared and yet I still have a nine-to-five corporate gig I need to keep up with. There is a very huge part of me that wants to give every waking moment over to studying addiction and recovery. Maybe one day I will. Fuck knows I never thought I would get this far. I keep wondering how many of us are out there struggling with the mental torment of being addicted to alcohol. Questioning what is normal and what is deadly. Have no where to begin to understand. Laughing along when on the inside we are scared to bits.