sojourn to sober

I went to another meeting tonight. I was oddly excited to go. It kind of feels like a release to be around other people who understand this monster inside of us and listen their stories. I mostly listened, but I did raise my hand at the beginning to signal that it was my first time at this meeting and   told them I was 9 days sober. Everyone clapped. They talked about the fourth step and having faith. Afterward, more ladies came up to introduce themselves and give me their numbers. One crazy-eyed lady with a proclaimed three months of sobriety talked to me at length about all the next steps i needed to take and all these great women's meetings around lunchtime most days of the week. I smiled and nodded politely, thinking "Who the fuck has time to go to an hour long meeting during lunch every day?" In her defense, she was just being kind and inclusive. It was me that was already putting up walls so I didn't start ugly-crying in front of everyone and asking when I would...

I think it's time to go to a meeting. I tried a few, many years ago during one of my failed attempts to stop drinking. I wasn't impressed. It seemed like a bunch of weathered people who had destroyed their lives and were just throwing around jargon and telling stories of the glory days. Clearly, I wasn't ready to accept that the point of AA was to fix ME, not them. It was time to take responsibility for my own life and choices. So, I found a meeting nearby, asked my parents to watch the kids and headed out in the early evening. The meeting was in a local church in one of their side rooms. There were about 12 people in the room, mostly white men and a few women. For the most part, they were all conversing with each other, some joking and laughing, others deep in conversation. Promptly at 7pm, the leader started the meeting and a few members took terms reading the mantras and steps. I just sort of sat stiffly in my corner and listened. Then they went around asking for lengt...

Busy day with housework and the kids was a good distraction. Several times, my usual thoughts of "I can't wait until I can make my first drink!" popped into my head, but I pushed them away and stayed busy. I've made it a week. I'm by no means living blissfully, but my wobbly sobriety legs are starting to feel more steady. More tea, yeah, more tea and then off to bed. I haven't thrown up in a week and I had a cup of coffee this morning and I didn't have any jitters. Progress, I guess?

I don't really even remember the last two days. I pretty much went to work, came home, did basic parenting and adulting, went to bed, woke up and repeat. Today was my meeting with the counselor guy. I chain-Juuled all the way there, chugging grapefruit seltzer waters. Are those like the drink of choice for ex-boozers, by the way? The office was a in a gentrified brick building downtown with a chic urban esthetic feel. The receptionist promptly took me back to his office and right off the bat, I relayed my story and what I was trying to accomplish. I had this fantasy that a team of social workers, counselors and psychiatrists would show up, put me on some meds, find me a specialized counselor and tell me that if I hadn't gone into withdrawal by now, I would be totally fine going to a few meetings and seeing a counselor once a week. Not so much. The counselor guy told me that my long term drinking habit made me high risk for relapse and recommended inpatient or intensive ou...

I'm white-knuckling it through the week. I can't believe how tired and flat I feel. I told a girlfriend and she was supportive in the way that people who "don't care for the taste of alcohol" but are extremely kind and empathetic tend to be. I was so grateful for her graciousness and offer of support but I had no idea how to answer when she asked if there was anything she could do.

Not a good day. Not even an average day. A barely tolerable day. I was exhausted and scared. I made it through the day, called the number and set up an appointment with the guy. I fell asleep a little easier that night, with the aid of more melatonin, tea and a meditation app.

3 am: I wake up in my usual fog with no recollection of going to bed. The lamp next to my bed is still on and I'm half sitting up, reclining into a few propped up pillows. As usual, anxiety seizes my chest and I panic, wondering if anyone realized I passed out drunk without saying goodnight to the kids. Did they assume I was exhausted and just let me sleep? Worse, was I "awake" and attempting to talk to my family in my blacked out stupor? My mouth is bone dry. I have to pee. I check my phone. No messages. Phew. Back to "sleep" for a few more hours. 9 am: Wake up to my phone ringing. Ignore. I blearily look around and notice a few empty Whiteclaw cans around my room. Hmm. That's not a good sign. I chug some water from my Yeti, toss the cans and stumble upstairs to see what the kids are up to. There are dirty dishes with toast crusts in the sink, so I assume they made themselves something to eat. The 8yo is on the couch watching cartoons on the iPad and the ...

It's the weekend, finally. I've put in at least 50 hours at the hospital, another 20 studying and I am exhausted. I threw a diaper sprinkle for a classmate (at a bar) around noon and had three vodka sodas. We got home around 4pm. I sipped two skinny seltzers and folded some laundry even though I really just wanted to take a nap. The kids are craving my attention and subsequently driving me nuts but all I want to do is crawl under the covers and go to bed. It's 5 pm. My parents sense my "fatigue" and offer to take the kids out to dinner. I gratefully accept and before they are out of the driveway, I've poured my first drink. A can of skinny seltzer with a shot of vodka to top it off, you know, because I'm making sure I'm not DRUNK when they get home. I liberate myself from my bra, dive into bed, put on a mindless show and begin skimming Twitter. Finally, relief. I have a few more drinks. #bye