Not to worry, still sober, just not feeling terribly enthusiastic about it today. The freshness and excitement of a new activity, in my case sobriety, has started to dull a bit on Day 11. I craved the relaxation of a nice glass (bottle) of wine (vodka). I fantasized about downing shot after shot as the world gradually melted around the edges. Then I did the unthinkable, I forced myself to finish the fantasy – to play it out to the natural conclusion, and it went something like this:
6pm – Get that first strong drink down and feel the tension melt away as if by magic.
8pm – Begin slurring and stumbling in front of the children.
9pm – Overshare on Facebook.
10pm – Make ill-advised internet purchases.
11pm – Pass out with a moderate case of the spins.
3am – Wake up with a full bladder, headache, and dry mouth. Stumble to bathroom. Chug full glass of water. Lay awake awash in shame and regret.
4am – Still awake. Have to pee again. Somehow still thirsty. Damn water.
5am – Realize I won’t be falling asleep. Take Ibuprofen. More water. Check news on phone. Trump is still president. Fuck.
6am – Fall back asleep.
6:30am – Alarm goes off. Hit snooze 7 times. Hate myself.
7am – Lie in bed although it is becoming alarmingly late and will most likely be late to work. Open phone and see several Facebook notifications. Have vague memory of posting. Check post. Nearly die of embarrassment. Delete post and hope everyone else on feed was also drunk and doesn’t remember.
7:30am – Jump suddenly out of bed realizing the time. Get lightheaded. Sit back down. Through on stretchy work pants and cardigan. Hair in ponytail. Makeup will have to be done en route.
8am – Hate myself and swear I’m never drinking again while sitting in miserable traffic.
9am – Coworkers ask if I’m well. I murmur vague excuse about having a headache while sipping Gatorade. No one is fooled.
12pm – Check bank account. See unknown charges. Become detective to see what Drunk Me bought. Wonder why Drunk Me thought I needed a box of baked cheese snacks and a sweater for the cat.
2pm – Start craving a glass (bottle) of wine (vodka).
6pm – Rinse and repeat.
Am I really willing to give up nearly 11 days of sobriety for a fleeting moment of “relaxation” just to fall back into the miserable cycle? That’s what addiction does to the mind. The beginning almost seems easier, because the pain of the addiction is fresh and real. The further out you get from the acute withdrawal the less it seems like a big deal. The wine witch creeps in and starts whispering.
Maybe I’m overreacting? Surely I can drink on occasion. I’m not a real alcoholic. It wasn’t really that bad. I just needed to recalibrate. I’m fine now. Just one glass. Just one more glass. I’ve earned it.
No. I’ve earned sobriety. I deserve to be the best version of myself I can be. I’ve shed too much blood, sweat, and tears building my career and getting my education to pickle my brain and risk my job. My family deserves to have me fully present. I’ve taken the classes. I’ve read the books. I’ve survived the days of early withdrawal. I’ve have hundreds of Day 1’s and I’ve failed every. damn. time. And maybe I’ll fail again, but not today.