Many years ago I had a great friend called M. We met during a gruelling two day job interview. She was way more prepared than me, and lent me one of her sharpened pencils.
That was the moment we bonded.
For the next decade we were BFFs. She was one of my bridesmaids. I thought we'd be friends in our bath chairs, waggling our walking sticks and false teeth at each other.
Then, one day, she disappeared. She stopped calling me, or returning my calls. I realised that, whilst she knew all my other friends, I knew none of hers, so I didn't even bump into her at parties any longer.
I had no idea what I'd done wrong. I was devastated. Even now, typing this still makes me feel weepy. I see her, from time to time, on Facebook, but we've not spoken for ten years.
Well, writing a sober blog in February is a bit like that.
In January you have thousands of friends. But, by the middle of February, half of them have disappeared. No farewells or explanations. Just silence.
The same is true of many of my fellow sober bloggers. You follow them religiously, their ups and downs and ins and outs. Then, one day, all their words dry up. Nothing more. Just their final post, mid story, left hanging.
Of course, you hope that all those ex readers and ex writers are tripping off into the happy, sober sunset, and that they've just outgrown the sobersphere. Don't need it any more. I do hope so.
But I know that, for those who quit at the beginning of January and are now on around Day 46, they'll be hitting The Wall.
The days in the middle forties are a classic time for people to give up giving up.
Why?
Well, the early days of sobriety are often called 'The Pink Cloud'. It's like a honeymoon phase - all new and shiny.
It's hard, obviously, but also a bit of an adventure. You can still vividly remember how bad the drinking days were, and you're loving the lack of hangovers and regrets.
Then you hit 'The Wall' which is said to be characterised by 'boredom, depression and questioning.' Sound familiar?
All the novelty has worn off, and you can't imagine life being this dull forever. Your memories of the dark days have started to fade, and all you can think about is what fun drinking used to be.
Predictably, the wine witch pipes up, saying 'Hey, maybe you overreacted! You're not that bad. Not a proper alcoholic! Perhaps now you can moderate!'
(If you're familiar with that one, then see my post: Did I Overreact?)
If this is you, then DON'T PANIC! It is perfectly normal to feel like that right now. It's the first (and worst) of the episodes of Post Acute Withdrawal Syndrome (PAWS) which you get, periodically, for many months after you quit.
(See my post: Post Acute Withdrawal Syndrome)
This bleurgh feeling WILL go away, and the best of the benefits of being sober are yet to come.
You just have to scale that wall, and the other obstacles that follow it, to get to the promised land, which really does exist. DO NOT GO BACK TO THE BEGINNING!
Read my post on The Obstacle Course, I promise it'll help.
When I was back on day 46, and first encountered The Wall, I asked my more experienced readers "What's on the other side?"
Anne replied with one word: Freedom.
And she's right. So put those crampons on and get climbing! I'm right behind you, giving you a great big shove up the arse.
Love SM x
Showing posts with label pink cloud. Show all posts
Showing posts with label pink cloud. Show all posts
Wednesday, 17 February 2016
Wednesday, 12 August 2015
Finding the Whoop!
I'm back on form, my friends! Floating on the Happy Pink Cloud.
Yesterday I went surfing. At one point I caught a big wave just right.
As I hurtled towards the beach I looked to my left, and there was #1, grinning like a maniac. I looked to my right, and there was an equally euphoric #2. And I let out an involuntary Whoop.
(This is not an odd English euphemism for farting. What I mean is that I found myself, accidentally, yelling WOOHOO! in a semi-orgasmic fashion)
Now, I am a jaded, middle aged bird who has lived rather too hard for too long, so I cannot remember the last time I did an involuntary Whoop.
For the last few years, not even getting plastered and throwing some shapes on the dance floor made me Whoop. There was always a nagging voice (however much I tried to drown it out) saying you'll pay for this tomorrow.
Not only had the drink lost its power to make me Whoop. It also took the Whoop out of pretty much everything else. Feeling hungover, and counting the hours until the next drink, are very much Anti-Whoop activities.
And, you know what? Life is too damn short not to Whoop.
So I say go out there, find what makes you Whoop, and do more of it. So long as it's vaguely legal and doesn't involve any addictive substances.
(If you're reading this on Day 1, or thereabouts, and the Whoop feels a very long way away, then don't panic. Baby steps. Be kind to yourself. You'll get there).
Whoop! Whoop!
SM x
Yesterday I went surfing. At one point I caught a big wave just right.
As I hurtled towards the beach I looked to my left, and there was #1, grinning like a maniac. I looked to my right, and there was an equally euphoric #2. And I let out an involuntary Whoop.
(This is not an odd English euphemism for farting. What I mean is that I found myself, accidentally, yelling WOOHOO! in a semi-orgasmic fashion)
Now, I am a jaded, middle aged bird who has lived rather too hard for too long, so I cannot remember the last time I did an involuntary Whoop.
For the last few years, not even getting plastered and throwing some shapes on the dance floor made me Whoop. There was always a nagging voice (however much I tried to drown it out) saying you'll pay for this tomorrow.
Not only had the drink lost its power to make me Whoop. It also took the Whoop out of pretty much everything else. Feeling hungover, and counting the hours until the next drink, are very much Anti-Whoop activities.
And, you know what? Life is too damn short not to Whoop.
So I say go out there, find what makes you Whoop, and do more of it. So long as it's vaguely legal and doesn't involve any addictive substances.
(If you're reading this on Day 1, or thereabouts, and the Whoop feels a very long way away, then don't panic. Baby steps. Be kind to yourself. You'll get there).
Whoop! Whoop!
SM x
Monday, 1 June 2015
Positive Choices
Day 92. Rhymes with Woohoo!
I was reading the Sunday Times yesterday, and found, on the first page of the Magazine, an article by one of their columnists - Katie Glass - entitled 'Here's to the most outrageous thing I've ever done: giving up drinking.'
Annoyingly, I can't post a link, because you have to be a subscriber (what happened to sharing nicely, guys?).
Katie talks about giving up alcohol for a month. She says "Things I discovered while not drinking: I am a morning person. I am not the Best Dancer Ever. Most thrilling: it turns out there's nothing I did drunk I can't do sober."
She also talks about the 'pink cloud.' She writes '...after a week or so, something new: I began to feel a deep sense of happiness, so euphoric, I didn't mention it to anyone, because it's so bloody smug....Still, there it is. A dreamy bliss, at times so overwhelming, it hits my stomach in a sheer rush of joy like going down on a swing.'
(Going down on a swing sounds a bit pornographic to me, but that's just my warped mind).
On the negative side, she says '...being so predictable reminds me why I liked drinking so much. Because you can open a bottle without knowing where it will lead - a bar, a book, an overdrawn credit card, a flight...' and reflects on a quote by Goethe: "A man can stand anything except a succession of ordinary days."
But, she concludes, 'eventually, even being bad gets boring. Saturday night - pub, club - becomes predictable too. And now binge-drinking is ubiquitous, staying sober feels a more outrageous thing to do.'
Thank you, Katie - who has, for the time being, decided to stay sober - for presenting sober as the individual, rebellious choice.
I posted the same thought a while ago in 'Rebel Without a Cause', and one of my much loved regular readers, Tallaxo, posted this comment recently: I never really followed the crowd and liked to be a little different, so that's the way I look at sobriety. It is kind of unique because so few people are doing it. I even have a silly grin on my face as I'm paying for my non-alcoholic pear cider at the Tesco checkout. It's a kind of 'look at me. Who's the clever one now?'
Because of years of marketing and brainwashing we are conditioned to see 'sober' as being something that some poor unfortunates are forced into doing because they are sick. It's up to people like Katie Glass, and all of us, to change that. To present it as a positive lifestyle choice.
I have - finally - started to tell people that I've stopped drinking. I don't tell them it's forever (as that makes them uncomfortable in the same way it used to make me uncomfortable), but I tell them that, having given up initially 'for Lent,' I felt so much better that I'm carrying on.
I tell them that I sleep better, I'm losing weight, my moods are better and I have more energy. Then they start to look at me with admiration rather than pity.
Most of the people I've come across since starting this blog never reached 'rock bottom.' We didn't have to stop drinking. We hadn't (yet) got to the point where our families and friends intervened. We hadn't lost our homes, our children, our health.
Most of us weren't even physically dependant and didn't need rehab. We chose to stop drinking because it was the better choice. We saw the road branching ahead of us and took the right turn.
The more we can shout about the benefits of sober, the more people will get off the elevator before it hits the bottom.
So thank you Katie, and thanks to all of you.
Love SM x
I was reading the Sunday Times yesterday, and found, on the first page of the Magazine, an article by one of their columnists - Katie Glass - entitled 'Here's to the most outrageous thing I've ever done: giving up drinking.'
Annoyingly, I can't post a link, because you have to be a subscriber (what happened to sharing nicely, guys?).
Katie talks about giving up alcohol for a month. She says "Things I discovered while not drinking: I am a morning person. I am not the Best Dancer Ever. Most thrilling: it turns out there's nothing I did drunk I can't do sober."
She also talks about the 'pink cloud.' She writes '...after a week or so, something new: I began to feel a deep sense of happiness, so euphoric, I didn't mention it to anyone, because it's so bloody smug....Still, there it is. A dreamy bliss, at times so overwhelming, it hits my stomach in a sheer rush of joy like going down on a swing.'
(Going down on a swing sounds a bit pornographic to me, but that's just my warped mind).
On the negative side, she says '...being so predictable reminds me why I liked drinking so much. Because you can open a bottle without knowing where it will lead - a bar, a book, an overdrawn credit card, a flight...' and reflects on a quote by Goethe: "A man can stand anything except a succession of ordinary days."
But, she concludes, 'eventually, even being bad gets boring. Saturday night - pub, club - becomes predictable too. And now binge-drinking is ubiquitous, staying sober feels a more outrageous thing to do.'
Thank you, Katie - who has, for the time being, decided to stay sober - for presenting sober as the individual, rebellious choice.
I posted the same thought a while ago in 'Rebel Without a Cause', and one of my much loved regular readers, Tallaxo, posted this comment recently: I never really followed the crowd and liked to be a little different, so that's the way I look at sobriety. It is kind of unique because so few people are doing it. I even have a silly grin on my face as I'm paying for my non-alcoholic pear cider at the Tesco checkout. It's a kind of 'look at me. Who's the clever one now?'
Because of years of marketing and brainwashing we are conditioned to see 'sober' as being something that some poor unfortunates are forced into doing because they are sick. It's up to people like Katie Glass, and all of us, to change that. To present it as a positive lifestyle choice.
I have - finally - started to tell people that I've stopped drinking. I don't tell them it's forever (as that makes them uncomfortable in the same way it used to make me uncomfortable), but I tell them that, having given up initially 'for Lent,' I felt so much better that I'm carrying on.
I tell them that I sleep better, I'm losing weight, my moods are better and I have more energy. Then they start to look at me with admiration rather than pity.
Most of the people I've come across since starting this blog never reached 'rock bottom.' We didn't have to stop drinking. We hadn't (yet) got to the point where our families and friends intervened. We hadn't lost our homes, our children, our health.
Most of us weren't even physically dependant and didn't need rehab. We chose to stop drinking because it was the better choice. We saw the road branching ahead of us and took the right turn.
The more we can shout about the benefits of sober, the more people will get off the elevator before it hits the bottom.
So thank you Katie, and thanks to all of you.
Love SM x
Tuesday, 19 May 2015
Losses and Gains
Day 79.
I thought that giving up drinking would be like an overnight transformation. I wasn't expecting it to be easy, but nor was I expecting the journey to be such an evolving and all encompassing one.
For me, it's felt a bit like moving house. And, in fact, many people try what AA call the 'geographical cure' when they decide to cut down or quit drinking.
The geographical cure involves leaving everything behind and trying a clean sheet of paper in a brand new place with brand new people. It usually doesn't work. The reason it doesn't work, apparently, is that the issues are internal, not external. When you move, you take them all with you.
Instead of clearing everything out and rearranging all your external stuff, you have to do the same thing with all your internal stuff. That, say the experts, is the only route to proper recovery.
And that's just what it's felt like to me.
Initially you bag up all the junk - the stuff you've always hated - and you chuck it out. Hurrah! You think. This is really easy. It's therapeutic. I should have done this years ago. What was I thinking?
That's the early stage of sobriety. The 'pink cloud' phase (see The SoberCoaster for more on pink clouds and 'the wall').
Overnight the hangovers have gone. You feel exhausted but positive. You've finally made a decision and started to do something about it. You are strong! Amazing! Unshakeable!
But then you have to start saying goodbye to all your favourite things. You lose all your routines, your comfort blankets, your oldest, most familiar friends.
Suddenly you find yourself sitting on an uncomfortable chair in a totally empty room feeling completely naked, alone and vulnerable.
(This was how I felt when I started weeping over the ironing a few weeks back (see Weeping). It's the phase known as 'The Wall').
But then, slowly, slowly the cold, empty room starts to fill up. You find some stuff that you haven't seen since childhood. You buy some lovely new things. And you discover that you don't miss the belongings you've left behind half as much as you thought you would.
Some of the things I've found creeping quietly into my empty room are courage (see Anxiety and Courage), compassion (see People in Glasshouses), energy and creativity. And I know there's more coming, so long as I leave the door open.
I'm looking around my new house and thinking "Ok, I'm not quite at home here yet, there's stuff that I still yearn for, but it's looking okay. It's still a bit sparse, but everything here feels like it's here for a reason, and not just because I've got used to it."
If I get really nostalgic, I can drive by my old house and have a good look at it. But it's not my home any more and I can't go back there. And, eventually, I won't want to, because my new home will be so amazing that it won't even cross my mind....
Does that ring any bells for you, fellow travellers? Or am I just going quietly crazy?
Love SM x
I thought that giving up drinking would be like an overnight transformation. I wasn't expecting it to be easy, but nor was I expecting the journey to be such an evolving and all encompassing one.
For me, it's felt a bit like moving house. And, in fact, many people try what AA call the 'geographical cure' when they decide to cut down or quit drinking.
The geographical cure involves leaving everything behind and trying a clean sheet of paper in a brand new place with brand new people. It usually doesn't work. The reason it doesn't work, apparently, is that the issues are internal, not external. When you move, you take them all with you.
Instead of clearing everything out and rearranging all your external stuff, you have to do the same thing with all your internal stuff. That, say the experts, is the only route to proper recovery.
And that's just what it's felt like to me.
Initially you bag up all the junk - the stuff you've always hated - and you chuck it out. Hurrah! You think. This is really easy. It's therapeutic. I should have done this years ago. What was I thinking?
That's the early stage of sobriety. The 'pink cloud' phase (see The SoberCoaster for more on pink clouds and 'the wall').
Overnight the hangovers have gone. You feel exhausted but positive. You've finally made a decision and started to do something about it. You are strong! Amazing! Unshakeable!
But then you have to start saying goodbye to all your favourite things. You lose all your routines, your comfort blankets, your oldest, most familiar friends.
Suddenly you find yourself sitting on an uncomfortable chair in a totally empty room feeling completely naked, alone and vulnerable.
(This was how I felt when I started weeping over the ironing a few weeks back (see Weeping). It's the phase known as 'The Wall').
But then, slowly, slowly the cold, empty room starts to fill up. You find some stuff that you haven't seen since childhood. You buy some lovely new things. And you discover that you don't miss the belongings you've left behind half as much as you thought you would.
Some of the things I've found creeping quietly into my empty room are courage (see Anxiety and Courage), compassion (see People in Glasshouses), energy and creativity. And I know there's more coming, so long as I leave the door open.
I'm looking around my new house and thinking "Ok, I'm not quite at home here yet, there's stuff that I still yearn for, but it's looking okay. It's still a bit sparse, but everything here feels like it's here for a reason, and not just because I've got used to it."
If I get really nostalgic, I can drive by my old house and have a good look at it. But it's not my home any more and I can't go back there. And, eventually, I won't want to, because my new home will be so amazing that it won't even cross my mind....
Does that ring any bells for you, fellow travellers? Or am I just going quietly crazy?
Love SM x
Thursday, 23 April 2015
Follow the sober brick road....
Day 53! Over the last week I've become obsessed by imagery from the Wizard of Oz. I've managed to work out why. Please stick with me here, I promise there's a really valid point to all this!
Remember the bleak, lonely, black and white Kansas in the opening of the Wizard of Oz? That's the drinking days. Slowly, slowly, sip by sip, all the colour is gradually leeched out, and you look around you and think "how the hell did this happen?"
So you make a monumental decision: I have to stop drinking. The initial few days are a physical whirlwind - a tornado. You're all tetchy and restless and everything goes a little haywire - your sleep, digestion, energy levels and emotions are all inside out and upside down.
Then, the tornado clears and you discover that you've landed in an amazing place - Oz. This is the 'honeymoon' (sometimes called 'pink cloud') phase that I've written about a lot already. All the colours are brighter, your senses are heightened, there's a feeling that anything is possible. You wonder why on earth you never came here before.
But before too long you realise that Oz isn't all it seems. You don't know the rules, you're not sure how to navigate the landscape. The brightness is actually a bit scary and there's a sharpness, an edge, that you're not used to dealing with. (This is around week 6 or 7, when a lot of people seem to fall off the wagon).
And, the most frightening thing about Oz? The Wicked Wine Witch of the West who is constantly out to get you.
Now I get to play Dorothy. I know that's not entirely fair or democratic, but it's my blog and I have to get some perks. But I'm not wearing that ghastly gingham dress, or doing the plaits. The expression 'mutton dressed as lamb' springs to mind. I'm wearing a floaty Alice Temperley dress, and the hair is loose with a Kate Middleton style blow dry (by the way, is it true that you Americans say 'blow job' instead of 'blow dry', or is someone winding me up? A blow job means something entirely different on this side of the pond....)
Tallaxo gets to be the lion as he's the only bloke who's so far volunteered for a speaking part on this blog. (What are you all - men or mice? It is not statistically likely that 17,000 page views are all female. Come on out of the drinks closet and join the conversation!) Plus, I suspect that Tallaxo looks like Colin Firth. Don't you just love putting imaginary faces to the names?
So, now we've discovered how scary Oz actually is, we find ourselves some friends and together we follow the sober brick road, because we've been assured that at the end of it is the Wizard, and the Wizard can give us freedom.
As we make our way on our journey, holding hands and singing, we realise that we're having to cope with emotions and stuff that we've never really dealt with before - or at least not since we started drinking a lot. We find that, like the lion, scarecrow and tin man, there's bits we're missing - a heart, a brain, courage, whatever, and we want the Wizard to fix us and transport us to the sober nirvana.
Tragically, when we get to the end of the road we find that the wizard isn't there. He never was. He was a figment of our imagination. But, you know what? By then we no longer need him. Because, in our long journey, brick by sober brick, along the road, we've been learning how to deal with all the emotions and stuff.
Oz is no longer scary and sharp, and we've managed to dissolve the Wicked Wine Witch of the West with a bucket of water (she was well and truly sozzled). We don't need to be transported anywhere else, because we find that, actually, we're already here, and it's amazing!
At least that is, I hope, how the story ends. Right now I'm still tripping along that sober brick road with you, my friends.
Have a great day in Oz!
Love SM x
Related post: the sober rollercoaster
Remember the bleak, lonely, black and white Kansas in the opening of the Wizard of Oz? That's the drinking days. Slowly, slowly, sip by sip, all the colour is gradually leeched out, and you look around you and think "how the hell did this happen?"
So you make a monumental decision: I have to stop drinking. The initial few days are a physical whirlwind - a tornado. You're all tetchy and restless and everything goes a little haywire - your sleep, digestion, energy levels and emotions are all inside out and upside down.
Then, the tornado clears and you discover that you've landed in an amazing place - Oz. This is the 'honeymoon' (sometimes called 'pink cloud') phase that I've written about a lot already. All the colours are brighter, your senses are heightened, there's a feeling that anything is possible. You wonder why on earth you never came here before.
But before too long you realise that Oz isn't all it seems. You don't know the rules, you're not sure how to navigate the landscape. The brightness is actually a bit scary and there's a sharpness, an edge, that you're not used to dealing with. (This is around week 6 or 7, when a lot of people seem to fall off the wagon).
And, the most frightening thing about Oz? The Wicked Wine Witch of the West who is constantly out to get you.
Now I get to play Dorothy. I know that's not entirely fair or democratic, but it's my blog and I have to get some perks. But I'm not wearing that ghastly gingham dress, or doing the plaits. The expression 'mutton dressed as lamb' springs to mind. I'm wearing a floaty Alice Temperley dress, and the hair is loose with a Kate Middleton style blow dry (by the way, is it true that you Americans say 'blow job' instead of 'blow dry', or is someone winding me up? A blow job means something entirely different on this side of the pond....)
Tallaxo gets to be the lion as he's the only bloke who's so far volunteered for a speaking part on this blog. (What are you all - men or mice? It is not statistically likely that 17,000 page views are all female. Come on out of the drinks closet and join the conversation!) Plus, I suspect that Tallaxo looks like Colin Firth. Don't you just love putting imaginary faces to the names?
So, now we've discovered how scary Oz actually is, we find ourselves some friends and together we follow the sober brick road, because we've been assured that at the end of it is the Wizard, and the Wizard can give us freedom.
As we make our way on our journey, holding hands and singing, we realise that we're having to cope with emotions and stuff that we've never really dealt with before - or at least not since we started drinking a lot. We find that, like the lion, scarecrow and tin man, there's bits we're missing - a heart, a brain, courage, whatever, and we want the Wizard to fix us and transport us to the sober nirvana.
Tragically, when we get to the end of the road we find that the wizard isn't there. He never was. He was a figment of our imagination. But, you know what? By then we no longer need him. Because, in our long journey, brick by sober brick, along the road, we've been learning how to deal with all the emotions and stuff.
Oz is no longer scary and sharp, and we've managed to dissolve the Wicked Wine Witch of the West with a bucket of water (she was well and truly sozzled). We don't need to be transported anywhere else, because we find that, actually, we're already here, and it's amazing!
At least that is, I hope, how the story ends. Right now I'm still tripping along that sober brick road with you, my friends.
Have a great day in Oz!
Love SM x
Related post: the sober rollercoaster
Monday, 20 April 2015
5 things I've discovered after 50 DAYS sober
50 DAYS! Who'd have thought it? And there's no-one I can celebrate with who'll understand apart from YOU LOT! So Yay! Go me!
I thought that I'd done a couple of months sober back in the summer of 2013, but when I went back through my old diary with my honest hat on, I realised that I started having the 'odd glass or three' after only 35 days, and within 2 months I was back to square one.
That means that this is my longest sober period since I was about sixteen years old. And that includes my 3 pregnancies.(In those days British obstetricians were very relaxed about a couple of glasses of wine a week).
To mark the occasion I've been thinking about what I've discovered over the last 50 days. Here are 5 things:
1. Not drinking changes everything.
I'd thought that when you stop drinking your life carries on as normal, but just without drink in it. Not the case! When you take drink out of your life everything changes.
For me, it's like when I first became a mother. I thought that I, and my life, would be just the same but with a lovely, gorgeous baby along for the ride. In actual fact, you change fundamentally once you have a baby - your priorities, your perspective, your relationships, your body and your emotions. And the same is true when you take drink out of your life, which is why it's such a huge adjustment.
2. It's difficult to do it alone.
...which is why AA has saved the lives of so many.
When I gave up smoking I announced it to the world, so I had constant support and encouragement. One of the main reasons that I (eventually) succeeded was because I couldn't face letting down the family and friends who'd been so helpful.
But the shame of being an 'alcoholic' (can't believe I used the 'a' word), is such that we do it quietly. And it's oh so easy to 'quietly' start drinking again. We just announce that we've had our two months off and now we are re-joining the merry band of drinkers. Rather than being disappointed in us, our friends are actually rather relieved.
I still can't face the idea of AA, or of 'coming out', so you - my wonderful, faceless inter-web posse, are my support. A number of times when I've reached out for the bottle, chilled, inviting, and oh so accessible, I've stopped myself because I couldn't face either posting an admission, or lying to you by omission. You have kept me on the straight and narrow, and I am humongously grateful.
3. It's a journey, not a immediate transformation.
When you only give up for a month (dry January, sober October etc) you don't get a proper sense of the sober journey - the ups and downs of the 'sobercoaster'. But like bereavement, or (again) motherhood, there are distinct phases.
Now I totally get the theory of the 'honeymoon' phase. I spent the first 6 weeks in a 'happy land'. In retrospect, it was very much like the land of the Lorax, before the Once-ler got busy making sneeds. It was all candy coloured Truffula trees, and happy, frolicking Brown Barbaloots.
I'm now climbing The Wall. And it's not a low, crumbling Cornish dry stone wall covered in blackberries that you can easily see over. Oh no. It's a giant wall of ice - like in the Game of Thrones. It's a monotonous slog of one hand, followed by the other. Left foot followed by right.
But I know that 'something better' lies over the other side of that wall. And when I get there, I'll let you know what it is.
4. The obsession gets worse before it gets better.
One of the worst things about alcohol addiction is the constant inner dialogue about drinking. It goes on and on, checking what's available in your fridge or your cupboard, where/when you can buy more, how you can avoid anyone spotting how much you're drinking yada yada yada.
I'd thought that not drinking would, pretty quickly, shut up the inner addict. But it's still there, it's just that now it's obsessed with not drinking. I may not be talking to friends and family about it, but my internal monologue is boring me to death. And it makes me spend at least a couple of hours a day blogging about not drinking and reading about not drinking. I'm still waiting for the 'clear headspace' which I only experience in small bursts - a tiny promise of what, I hope, is to come.
5. Everyone is different.
From everything I've read over the last 50 days, it strikes me that every drinker is different. I've been desperate (as many of us are, I think), to find the answer. I want a definition of what I am, what my 'problem' is, and, therefore, what the solution is.
There do seem to be huge consistencies - for example, we all seem to associate with the idea of the 'wine witch' - the devil on our shoulder. But how we got here, our specific drinking patterns, and what made us want to stop all varies.
I've always found it tempting to read other people's stories and use them as justification - I never did x, y or z - therefore I am not a 'proper alcoholic' and 'I do not need to stop.' Yet now I see that other people could easily read my story and feel that, in many ways, I was 'worse' than them.
I'm sorry that this is not an overwhelmingly cheerful post. Believe me, the longer I spend on the sobercoaster the more convinced I am that it's the right place to be. But I am more 'grown up' and realistic than I was in the pink cloud days. Now I see this sober thing as a work in progress - but I am progressing.
Onwards and upwards sober friends, and HAPPY SOBER BIRTHDAY TALLAXO (possibly my only bloke reader. Any others lurking???)!
SM x
I thought that I'd done a couple of months sober back in the summer of 2013, but when I went back through my old diary with my honest hat on, I realised that I started having the 'odd glass or three' after only 35 days, and within 2 months I was back to square one.
That means that this is my longest sober period since I was about sixteen years old. And that includes my 3 pregnancies.(In those days British obstetricians were very relaxed about a couple of glasses of wine a week).
To mark the occasion I've been thinking about what I've discovered over the last 50 days. Here are 5 things:
1. Not drinking changes everything.
I'd thought that when you stop drinking your life carries on as normal, but just without drink in it. Not the case! When you take drink out of your life everything changes.
For me, it's like when I first became a mother. I thought that I, and my life, would be just the same but with a lovely, gorgeous baby along for the ride. In actual fact, you change fundamentally once you have a baby - your priorities, your perspective, your relationships, your body and your emotions. And the same is true when you take drink out of your life, which is why it's such a huge adjustment.
2. It's difficult to do it alone.
...which is why AA has saved the lives of so many.
When I gave up smoking I announced it to the world, so I had constant support and encouragement. One of the main reasons that I (eventually) succeeded was because I couldn't face letting down the family and friends who'd been so helpful.
But the shame of being an 'alcoholic' (can't believe I used the 'a' word), is such that we do it quietly. And it's oh so easy to 'quietly' start drinking again. We just announce that we've had our two months off and now we are re-joining the merry band of drinkers. Rather than being disappointed in us, our friends are actually rather relieved.
I still can't face the idea of AA, or of 'coming out', so you - my wonderful, faceless inter-web posse, are my support. A number of times when I've reached out for the bottle, chilled, inviting, and oh so accessible, I've stopped myself because I couldn't face either posting an admission, or lying to you by omission. You have kept me on the straight and narrow, and I am humongously grateful.
3. It's a journey, not a immediate transformation.
When you only give up for a month (dry January, sober October etc) you don't get a proper sense of the sober journey - the ups and downs of the 'sobercoaster'. But like bereavement, or (again) motherhood, there are distinct phases.
Now I totally get the theory of the 'honeymoon' phase. I spent the first 6 weeks in a 'happy land'. In retrospect, it was very much like the land of the Lorax, before the Once-ler got busy making sneeds. It was all candy coloured Truffula trees, and happy, frolicking Brown Barbaloots.
I'm now climbing The Wall. And it's not a low, crumbling Cornish dry stone wall covered in blackberries that you can easily see over. Oh no. It's a giant wall of ice - like in the Game of Thrones. It's a monotonous slog of one hand, followed by the other. Left foot followed by right.
But I know that 'something better' lies over the other side of that wall. And when I get there, I'll let you know what it is.
4. The obsession gets worse before it gets better.
One of the worst things about alcohol addiction is the constant inner dialogue about drinking. It goes on and on, checking what's available in your fridge or your cupboard, where/when you can buy more, how you can avoid anyone spotting how much you're drinking yada yada yada.
I'd thought that not drinking would, pretty quickly, shut up the inner addict. But it's still there, it's just that now it's obsessed with not drinking. I may not be talking to friends and family about it, but my internal monologue is boring me to death. And it makes me spend at least a couple of hours a day blogging about not drinking and reading about not drinking. I'm still waiting for the 'clear headspace' which I only experience in small bursts - a tiny promise of what, I hope, is to come.
5. Everyone is different.
From everything I've read over the last 50 days, it strikes me that every drinker is different. I've been desperate (as many of us are, I think), to find the answer. I want a definition of what I am, what my 'problem' is, and, therefore, what the solution is.
There do seem to be huge consistencies - for example, we all seem to associate with the idea of the 'wine witch' - the devil on our shoulder. But how we got here, our specific drinking patterns, and what made us want to stop all varies.
I've always found it tempting to read other people's stories and use them as justification - I never did x, y or z - therefore I am not a 'proper alcoholic' and 'I do not need to stop.' Yet now I see that other people could easily read my story and feel that, in many ways, I was 'worse' than them.
I'm sorry that this is not an overwhelmingly cheerful post. Believe me, the longer I spend on the sobercoaster the more convinced I am that it's the right place to be. But I am more 'grown up' and realistic than I was in the pink cloud days. Now I see this sober thing as a work in progress - but I am progressing.
Onwards and upwards sober friends, and HAPPY SOBER BIRTHDAY TALLAXO (possibly my only bloke reader. Any others lurking???)!
SM x
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