Tonight marks 20 days without
alcohol. It’s been pretty easy. So far.
Somehow immersing myself in the
sobersphere both seems to help, while at the same time makes me hyper-focused
on something that I really would prefer not to focus on. Not drinking can
be No Big Deal. Unless I obsess over it,
as I tend to do with any New Thing that I’m exploring. And here I am.
I want to tell my story. I’ll
start at the beginning.
I have been using substances to
alter my consciousness since I was a teenager. Haven't we all? Started
smoking cigarettes at age 12- wanted to look older, the boys I liked smoked, so
I forced myself until I didn’t hate it.
I began drinking around middle
school. Just the occasional binge drinking at parties. Or every weekend.
Drinking to get drunk. Made many
bad choices, hook ups, mistakes. But survived. That’s how we have “fun,”
right?
College. Enter daily weed
smoking and many other recreational drugs. Drinking Wednesday- Saturday.
It was the 90s. There were raves,
parties that lasted days. I never sought
the pills, coke, or shrooms, but took them when they were handed to me. I
didn’t want to be left out. So many
times I had to force the pills down my throat.
My body was screaming at me not to, but I did it anyway. It wasn’t until almost a decade later that I
finally listened to my body and said NEVER AGAIN to the pills and coke. I
never wanted to do it (really), but I didn’t want to be left out even
more. And once I did it, I didn’t ever
want to come down. Smoked packs of
cigarettes. Cracked my molars.
Cigarettes began to disgust me toward
the end of college. I tapered off until I couldn't stand them
anymore. Then, used the scene change of
returning home for summer as a break. Quit. Had a few late-night-bar-drags, but never
went back. Never will.
I smoked weed daily in college.
I had a dealer. I sought and
bought my own. I craved the release of reality and responsibility.
I remember distinctly wondering why anyone would do anything if they
weren’t stoned. How would anything be any fun? Wake and bake. Ready and roll.
My weed habit picked up even more
after college. My emotionally abusive relationship was hard to cope with,
so I smoked to get through. (Passive aggression or abusive word, a few hits and
I could move on, forget the pain.) There was always wine and beer, too. But that wasn’t “bad” - that was normal. I spent my whole 20s in stoned or in bars. (I
also got a masters, so my use was functional, and I didn’t think it was a
problem, just a bad habit.)
Slowly, I walked out of my problems.
My hour commute-by-foot gave me the space to imagine a better life.
Once I could conceive of it, it was ready to be. I left my abusive partner. I decided I
did NOT want to do pills or coke anymore.
I decided I didn’t have to, I could opt out and be left out, and it
would be ok. So I did. I smoked a lot less weed. I just didn’t care for it so much. It was from a daily crutch to an occasional
recreation activity.
And so I entered my 30s as a
drinker. My first year in my new job was hard. And I came home each day and drank at least
1-2 bottles of wine each night. I’d pass out on the couch each
night. At some point I realized what was
happening and let up a bit.
I married (a wonderful human).
We bought a house. We had a kid.
Then another. I drank to deal with
the relentlessness of parenting, the frustration, the boredom, the lack of
sleep, to claim Me Time. Then we had another kid. And I kept drinking.
It was the only thing for me.
I worked a full time job (outside the house) and then parented three
small humans. It was my reward. My release. My time to turn off. It was the balm that soothed my soul for all
the ripping and tearing demands of life.
I was pissed. (Both angry and
drunk.) Alcohol was what I turned to to soothe my savage soul. To
cover my guilt. To swallow my
frustration. And it didn’t make me a
better parent. But it got me through.
Then, about a year and a half ago, I
began to explore myself, and some really interesting things have been revealed.
(To be continued…)
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