I’m still here. Still not drinking. Duh. But no such thing as a duh where that’s concerned, is there? Yesterday I was driving back from an oil change and went past the turn for my old favorite brew pub and had the thought no one would know, which freaked me out a little. Earlier in sobriety, I couldn’t wrap my head around that one — I got sober for myself, so I would know. I think I understand it better now. Maybe I don’t like myself very much right now and self-pity and lack of confidence are terrible triggers. I am never more at risk for shitty decisions than when I am feeling less than. And also jetlagged and hormonal.
Because onto the good stuff: I went to Seattle last weekend with just my husband. Everyone was right – Seattle is a wonderland. I suffered jet lag something fierce and self-medicated with delicious food and coffee. I did some sightseeing and basically a 360 from the last time I went to the west coast with just my husband (4 years ago) on what was basically one big bender. It felt good to behave like the human being I know I am in my heart. I am not just some silly drunk but a woman who loves setting out in the morning with a vague plan, open to whatever happens along the way. I had a great trip.
The bad: nothing new, yet lately I’ve felt some old sources of pain triggered and felt myself sucked into a smallish vortex of self-pity and despair. But I know the only way out is through. I know this too shall pass. I know feelings aren’t facts. The only reason I don’t want to strangle myself for repeating these platitudes is because I know they are absofuckinglutely true.
I didn’t want to drink in Seattle. It didn’t even cross my mind. The only reason I mentioned the no one would know thought I had yesterday is because I think it needs harsh exposure to light. It takes about 2 seconds for me to remember oh yeah, drinking totally sucked at the end.
One more thing. I found out a close family member gave up drinking about 2 months ago. His drinking used to worry me and he was so hellbent on explaining how he had it under control the last time we talked about it that I’d given up hope he’d ever want to stop. But he did, unprompted by anyone. He’s at the end of the honeymoon phase of new sobriety – you know, the infatuation with that newfound energy and interest you feel for life itself. I remember that time well and the rough patch shortly thereafter, but I also remind myself everyone’s journey is different. I want to be there for him, but I also recognize I can’t fix or save him.
I think what I can do and what I should do is rekindle my own interest in moving forward. I need some new goals to work on so I don’t remain self-piteous and stagnant. This will involve new running and writing goals. Bring on spring, I say.