I'm insanely jealous of you right now.
On Friday and Saturday afternoons/nights, I walk by people on patios in cozy cafés, sipping wine or martinis. I see pictures posted from the weekend of those enjoying the hot Arizona nights with a beer or margarita, surrounded by the smiling faces of friends, pools and barbecues. I read tweets, friends posting pictures of a pint at a pub and enjoying the liquid camaraderie that often is shared on a typical weekend, away from the mundane ritual of adult life.
I hate all of you.*
I hate that my brain desires the one thing it thinks it needs to feel better, only in truth it will make me feel like shit. I hate that I can't go for longer than 5 hours without thinking about how awesome it would be to pour myself a giant glass of Chianti. I hate that people CAN go for longer than 5 hours without thinking about how awesome it would be to pour themselves a giant glass of Chianti. I hate that there are those who don't stare longingly at people drinking in restaurants and secretly covet the dewy glasses of Chardonnay on the table, or wander lustily down the beer aisle at the grocery store. I hate that I have friends who simply "don't drink," because they can just take it or leave it. I hate myself for being one of the special horde who live with this disease.
I'm an alcoholic. It's taken 17 of my almost 35 years in life to admit this. That's a huge, HUGE deal. I know this. Admitting it publicly, I feel, also keeps me honest about it. Even typing it seems incredible to me. "You mean I can NEVER have a beer on a hot day by the pool?! I can NEVER have champagne, not even if I get married? I can NEVER go wine tasting...ever?" But...I can't think about terms such as forever. Forever is a long time, and time has a way of changing things. All I can deal with is today.
I'm 20 days sober. That's a blip on Eternity's radar in time, but it feels as if my thirsty side has been anguishing in a swamp full of asshole alligators. I've certainly been sober for longer periods of time before, but probably not longer than say, 6 weeks at a time in the last ten years. Before that, I don't know. Did I count days before? I can't recall doing that in my 20's, perhaps because I didn't know what I was just yet. Twenty days in, or, a third of what I consider to be a good toehold into sobriety: 60 days. Statistically, the odds are against me. Relapse rate is high, and I'll tell you, a hard cider sounds insanely gratifying right now. All I need do is pop into my car, down the road for 5 minutes and I could buy a bottle of wine, a six pack of cider, a case of beer and wreck all the benefits my sobriety has given me the last three weeks.
I won't.
It IS difficult. I have an incredible support system and I am very lucky for that. And I don't genuinely "hate myself"- I'm very content with who I am and my life these days. But it is frustrating. I have good days and bad. There are days when all I can do is be talked down from the Ledge of Drink, and other days when it seems to be a fleeting thought that I have complete control over. The thing about alcoholism is, it's not "going to get easier," at least not in the way people think it will. I am an alkie for life. Don't feed the Gremlin after midnight (or whatever, I never saw that movie anyway). But I imagine I will, like all things in life, get used to no booze. Time, it seems, is one advantage I have.
I'll let you know how it goes.
*Not really. But kindly fuck off anyway, just for the sake of this article.
