I am 50 days into my sobriety today. I’ve passed 50 days before. It’s a little bit like deja vu but this time it’s different. The passing days have felt long. Tiresome. Repetitive. But also: bright, happy, and joyous. I’ve tried to find magic in the small things whether it’s the good luck of purchasing a $6.00 umbrella before a downpour or the smooth sentence I come across in a book, one that makes the hairs on my arms stand up and my heart swell.
I’m currently doing a program founded by Holly’s Whitaker called, Hip Sobriety School. I made an attempt at taking the course back in March, but failed to show up. I ignored the emails that flooded my inbox, extracted myself from the Facebook group, and never once did it occur to me to ask for help. Raise my little white flag & ask all of the guiding hands that were emails and phone numbers away. I chose to do things the more difficult way. Guilt would kill me if I let it.
These days the battle is quieter. I feel semi-distracted but I think it’s a combination of the weather and external stressors like moving homes and my partner going back to work after her leave. I wrote yesterday on my Instagram that: it’s easier sometimes to just walked away. Walk away even when there’s more time left, more bottles to drink, a couple more “fun” years to have. I walked away when I still had a choice to do so.
I know several people who walked away when it was too late or not at all. They let drugs and alcohol kill them. It’s not a pretty picture and one I hope to never experience myself. The reality of my drinking was this: it wasn’t that bad and I could’ve kept going. I spent 6 years trying to quantify and qualify something that was unique to me, my drinking story. Yes, alcoholics all struggle with alcohol, but I’ve come to see the struggle and thus the recovery in colors rather than in black and white.
My days look like this: writing on here, making art, playing with the dog, trying to keep plans, ticking off sober days on my habit tracker app. There’s a monotony to the days, but that feels better, easier than the mornings a woke up laden with regrets and a hangover.
Right now it is torrentially down pouring outside. I’m writing from a cafe in Davis Square. Thrifting, Chinese food, and packing are on the agenda for the rest of the evening.
I’m trying to be soft with myself right now. Quiet my head enough that I can hear my heart. This too shall pass. But hopefully not too soon.