Not that I’m counting or anything (I AM counting OMG), but my lower jaw lands on the floor whenever I glance at a calendar and realize just how close I’ve come to being sober for an entire year. There is no day but today, one day at a time, yada yada yada, yeah, all true, fine whatever, shut the fuck up. I know. And I know that one year won’t mean that I’ve graduated. It won’t mean that it’s safe to drink again. It won’t mean that I’ve won at sobriety. This is not some fucked up game of Mario Brothers and no princesses are being saved from a giant dragon turtle thing as a result of me not pouring poison down my throat, but it’s pretty fucking cool nonetheless.
DON’T JINX IT says the little asshole voice in my head to which I say GIRL, PLEASE. Alcohol is the furthest thing from my mind right now. I’ve got 99 problems and booze is NOT about to become one of them. I woke up the other morning after a completely inappropriate heavy junk food eating session the night before. Oh. My. God. We had chips and dips and cheeses and crackers and ice cream and every single kind of bullshit under the sun. Well, so, I woke up and felt awful, destroyed, disgusting, HUNGOVER. It was crazy how closely the feelings mimicked being hungover. I actually thought OMG DID I SLEEPWALK AND THEN SLEEPDRINK? But it was just garbage in my body. And I thought how awful it would have been to also have had drinks along with it. Used to do it all the time without even thinking about it.
It wasn’t a hangover, exactly, and I was able to get up and get myself going, but I was reminded about where I’ve been and where I want to be. It was just enough shitty to make all of the old feelings come flooding back. I don’t want that EVER AGAIN. In fact, I don’t want the junk food hangover ever again. I’ve become so addicted to wanting to feel GOOD that I don’t eat that way hardly ever. As a result, I’ve been steadily dropping pounds. It’s like things are naturally shifting over to some more efficient way of existing and I really haven’t had to consciously make a ton of choices other than DON’T DRINK. No matter what. Even if my asshole explodes and an asteroid comes flying out of it and it hurts so bad that I want to die. DON’T DRINK. Just. Don’t. Be the anti-Nike. Just DON’T DO IT. Everything else starts falling into place with a little work and a lot of patience.
Hey, but things aren’t entirely great, you guys. I’m still wonky even after nearly 11 months. When they tell you it’s going to take a really long time for everything to even out, believe that. I woke up the other morning with absolutely nothing to do all day long other than 1.) Do the laundry and 2.) Maybe go buy some groceries. I lay in bed when I woke up and had so much fucking anxiety over that, it was unbelievable. HOW WILL I DO ALL OF THESE THINGS TODAY?! How will I do those TWO, COUNT THEM, TWO simple, mundane, easy things? It’s little shit like that that reminds me that, wait, okay, maybe we’re not totally OKAY yet. But I go easy on myself. I reminded myself that I could just wear dirty shirts if I really wanted to. I could just order take out food all week if I really wanted to. I could do whatever, whenever, and nothing terrible would happen. Barbara Walters will not drop dead if I don’t wash my panties. Relax. And so I did. I relaxed.
What I’m trying to say is that I think I’m still just as crazy as ever, but the difference is that now I don’t feel the need to hide the crazy or push it way down deep into a hole, drowning it with something temporary. I just act crazy, acknowledge, say WHOA THAT’S NOT COOL, and then work through it as best as I can to get less crazy. It’s getting easier and easier.
I really would love to update here more. I’m in the middle of writing a novel for kiddos and I’ve only accidentally said FUCK, like, twice. Such an adventure.
I hope anyone who still reads this is doing fabulously. I do genuinely wish everyone so much peace, love, and continued recovery. Still working on that balance thing and will be back here as often as I can without compromising my wellbeing.