It Isn't Always Puppies and Rainbows

The last thing I want to convey through First and Sober is that I live a perfectly sober existence, void of triggers and desires to drink.

That is 100% not true.

On December 16, 2021 (yes, a mere weeks ago), I was having a difficult time and typed out my feelings.

I'm sitting here and I want to drink.

I want to drink so much that my chest is heaving, I'm sobbing, there are tears rolling down my face.

There is so much emotional pain. So much emotional pain and I want it to go away.

I feel the rejection. The abandonment. It's a gut punch.

My throat is tight. My nose is completely plugged. My face is red.

I just want to drink. I want these feelings and emotions to go away. I don't want to have to feel them anymore.

I want something to take the edge off. Something to make the pain go away.

I wonder if people who drink have less tolerance for pain or just cope with it in a different way.

I feel alone and that people around me pull away. It isn't done maliciously ... or at least I don't think it is. But it still hurts. It still hits that core wound, breaking it open like a scab that was about to heal. It rips that scab right off. I yelp in pain as the blood starts oozing out.

I'm just tired of this emotional pain.

Do non-drinkers have an easier time dealing with the emotional pain? Or do they just deal with it differently?

I've read about people changing addictions after they quit drinking. Maybe they take up smoking or weed or pills. Maybe they start binge eating. But there is something that replaces the first habit of drinking. It's all about numbing the pain away.

I suppose growth is to lay into this pain. To let it happen. To feel it. To bathe in it.

I don't like it.

I am a person who so desperately wants the real engagement of the people I love that I will poke and prod and create havoc until something comes out of the withdrawal. That isn't the way to go about resolving issues. All that does is create anger where there wasn't anger. It creates an issue on top of another issue.

As I sit here not poking and prodding and creating havoc, I have all of this pent up energy inside me. I want so badly to do SOMETHING. I have to do SOMETHING. Because THIS HURTS. What do I do with the fact that THIS HURTS?! How do I deal with that? How do I manage that?

When I really sit here and think about it, that's when drinking starts to sound like a really great idea, you know? That lovely numbing. The red wine sliding down my throat and into my stomach. That warmth that accompanies it. The escape from the madness.

But that escape doesn't last long. Before I know it, it turns into anxiety, nausea, paranoia. It becomes a high I'm trying to sustain, which takes me beyond impairment into intoxication. Then it's a matter of upholding the effects of the wine and it gets worse. Then morning ... and it's a hangover. It's the shame.

Drinking isn't the answer. The only answer is to sit here and feel my feelings, which is a really tough place to be.

If you've lived in addiction, you've fought this kind of fight.

You know what it feels like to have pain and emotions and not know what to do with them.

Maybe there have been times you've given into the pain because it was too much to withstand. Many sobriety journeys are dotted with going back for a time only to recommit.

I believe I went through years of "trying" to quit only to go back over and over again.

I just didn't tell anyone about it.

I didn't want the shame or accountability or judgement of telling someone I thought I might have a problem with drinking. What if I wasn't ready to quit and then I saw that person I confided in at a party and they judged me for drinking?

Nope, nope, nope. I didn't need that.

Instead, I would try to will myself to quit. I made deals with myself.

"I'll only drink three times a week."

"I'll only have one drink with dinner."

"I'm not going to binge drink."

I broke promises to myself every single time and then reached out to friends to try and make peace with the behavior I knew wasn't good.

"I didn't say anything that bad, did I?"

"I only had two ..."

"Did I seem drunk?"

The cycle was endless and futile. All I was doing was prolonging the inevitable. Either I was going to sink deeper into addiction or I was going to make the choice to stop.

I remember one moment that nudged me a little closer toward sobriety.

I was making holiday cookies with a friend of mine and my three kids. At the time they were 6, 4, and almost 2. I was drinking red wine during this activity, something my young kids were used to.

In a conversation, my friend referred to someone as "an alcoholic." I said, "I'm an alcoholic," and lifted my glass. I said this thinking she would respond with, "No, you're not."

Instead, she said, "Yeah, but you're functional."

Wow.

It stung as the words came out of her mouth and just hung there in overwhelming truth. She was saying it to provide me with reassurance. She was telling me I was a functional alcoholic as a way to tell me I "wasn't that bad."

It would be another six months before I made the final decision to quit, but that comment put a little notch in my belt.

It nudged me just a little bit closer toward what I new in my soul needed to happen: I had to give up drinking for good.

About First and Sober

First and Sober is about living life with presence. For some, that means first getting free from the hold alcohol has on their lives. For all, it means getting real about living each day wide awake and on purpose. If you believe you have a problem with alcohol you can't overcome on your own,?please reach out for help.