Remembering how I used to wake up every morning with a sense of abject failure because I had let myself down — again — by drinking waaaaay more than I’d intended to — again — and couldn’t stop. After just 2 weeks, I’m waking up refreshed, clear and without recrimination, after a deep, sound sleep, including NOT waking up in a cold sweat at 4:00 a.m. with my heart pounding in my ears.
I think about alcohol every day. At first there were no urges, no cravings, no arguments Continue reading
I thought I’d be getting a complete break from my normal life & therefore a good time to stop drinking because I was supposed to be going away for the weekend for a music retreat. But I had to cancel the trip — turned back when we were halfway to Toronto — because of a bad knee. Now I’ve been laid up in bed for 2 days, so I got the complete change but in a very surreal way. Today is Day 3 of resting the knee. Hoping it will be well enough by tomorrow that I can drive again, but I have to admit being waited on hand & foot is actually rather pleasant. All the coffee I can drink and so forth, delivered to my night table, with a smile yet.
The good news is, no urges to drink. Except … Continue reading
So it’s tomorrow now, only mid-day, and though I’ve been obsessing about alcohol and the fact that I’m not drinking and how is that going to work in my life, I’m enjoying the clarity.
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Today was supposed to be Q minus 3 days. My quit date was going to be Friday. But this morning’s email contained a challenge that I just couldn’t pass up, so it’s Q day today! Continue reading
Yup, I’ve come to the (very) reluctant conclusion that the only way to get control of this beast is to give it up altogether. Clean break-up, total abstinence, maybe forever (BIG resistance to that), but at least for the foreseeable future, at least until the emotional charge is gone. And once the emotional charge is gone, well, I won’t need it anymore, now, will I?!
My counsellor has said some people write letters to the bottle. Maybe I’ll do that. But for now, I’ve come up with a couple of ways of looking at it that may be helpful in letting go. Remembering it’s an abusive relationship. Remembering alcohol is NOT my friend. And so forth. Here’s what it’s like, from where I sit right now:
– Alcohol is like that friend of a friend who shows up at your door one day to spend the night and ends up living in your house and he’s the roommate from hell but you can’t get rid of him because he’s charming in a bad-boy kind of way, and every time you try to kick him out he says he’s sorry and he’ll change and he didn’t mean to annoy you and he puts on that puppy dog face and because he’s such a smooth talker, he talks you into letting him stay one more night and then he’ll find his own place but he’s been here for YEARS and he’s charming in a devilish mischievous kind of way like Jack Nicholson in Witches of Eastwick or something like that but he has a dark side just like Jack Nicholson in Witches of Eastwick & if push comes to shove he will shoot you. Or like Matt Damon in The Talented Mr. Ripley, a needy loser who is charmingly ruthless and who worms his way into Gwyneth Paltrow’s life. Seriously creepy, and hard to get rid of.
– Alcohol is like your ex who you had a really troubled relationship with but he’s still charming and you’re still kind of attracted to him, well anyways attracted enough that you keep ending up sleeping with him even though you know this is not good. It’s not that he won’t leave it’s that you can’t quite get up the wherewithal to say you really want him to go.
– Alcohol is like that seriously irritating roommate who leaves hair & makeup in the bathroom sink, towels on the floor, pubic hair in the bar of soap, and takes forever in the shower when you have to pee; who leaves her food container, unopened and unrinsed, in the sink for you to open and clean and put into the dishwasher; who won’t feed the cat even if he’s right at her feet howling at her; who “forgets” to put away her shoes, her jacket, her purse, her keys, and anything else she happens to drop wherever she goes; who eats the last of the peanut butter and “forgets” to put it on the shopping list; who never seems to have time to stop for groceries; who drives the car for a week and a half and doesn’t put any gas in it and leaves the tank nearly empty so the empty idiot light comes on when you’re driving to Montreal; and who won’t leave on her own, so you have to be the one who moves out even though it was your apartment to begin with.
Driving my own bus 