*****Caution- this will likely be a very long, rambl-y, and disjointed post. Have a whole lot to say about a whole lot of things and, although I am hoping it all comes out more succinct and eloquent than the way it is screaming in my head, I make no promises. Reader Discretion Advised! Enter at Your Own Risk****
Today, day 9, was really fucking hard. Not in a
I really want to drink kind of way, more in a
It's not fair that I cant drink raw emotional roller coaster kind of way. I knew today would likely be the most unpleasant thus far. And because I knew this, I did a lot of prepping and praying (is talking aloud to an empty room considered praying?). Mondays are notoriously difficult for most people. But this Monday, my 9th sober day and the first day back to work and real life, was particularly gruesome.
It started out quite beautifully and optimistic. Had I been a movie this morning, I would have been Cinderella or Snow White when the sun is out, they rise from bed, and the animals gather in joy as they sing their happy songs.And then, my life (no huge catastrophe or event, just my life) happened.
Pause, rewind, let's go back for a minute-
Last night, I very intentionally attempted to set myself up for today's success. Although I went to bed much too late (still trying to balance out my new love affair with coffee), I engaged in a lot of self-nurturing. I watched
Lipstick and Liquor while I feverishly cleaned and purged my closet and both dressers. I even found 7 random empty vodka shooters and had no reaction other than a gag reflux and a shake-my-head-at-myself. Once I finished, I turned the TV off; this is a big deal for me since I normally sleep with it on in lieu of cuddling with my overnight-working Hubby. I read a couple blogs and a did a meditation. I found a podcast on
The Bubble Hour about
sober firsts, turned off my light, and listened while falling asleep. Surely this inundation of sobriety-ness, coupled with the introspection and reflection of trigger preparedness would make for a decent next day..................
So, this morning, I slept a bit later than I had hoped; obviously directly correlated to my late night. But, I awoke hangover free, on time, and in a wonderful mood. Oldest had left for school already, which is normal. Middle, Little, and I headed downstairs for breakfast at a leisurely, not frantic and yell-y and miserable, pace. As they ate, I stepped outside with my coffee (mixed with protein powder) and a cigarette. Hubby arrived home from work, we affectionately greeted each other, chatted briefly, and I got the kiddos and I ready for our day. Sounds great so far, right? Yep, Sober Me was bouncing off clouds and with every jump, feeling more and more like I had Alcoholic Me backed into a losing corner. I glided into the car with two happy kids by my side and my packed and diet-abiding snacks and meals in tow.
Mid-morning I was met with a work-related setback. Forced to leave one location and head home to look for something, I chuckled to msyelf that "in my drinking days" ( all of 9 days ago), this setback and this unexpected drive would have found me at the liquor store. Hahahahahahahah, not today, Alcoholic Me. Small setback was resolved and I moved on to my next scheduled event. I had a whole hour and a half in between meetings today and I stopped for coffee, headed into my office, and chipped away at my to-do list. I am still on cloud nine for day nine at this point. Monday meetings are with my small department of therapists. We use the time to consult on cases as well as check in with each other. I cherish these meetings. It is crucial for our self-care.
This is when I started getting signs that I was in trouble. We have a very young and very green intern working with us. She took up most of the meeting, we have all done that at one point, not a big deal. However, as she cried about so many cases and stuff in her personal life, I found myself completely ripping her apart in my head. I faked compassion with nods of my head, sad expressions, and feigned concern.
Inside, I wanted to scream at her-
Suck it up! Set some boundaries! Cry me a fucking river! Stop being so intern-y and young! Lay off the fucking wine you drink at night! Go take another fucking Xanax and go run to your toxic friend that you are enmeshed with and constantly talking about. SHUT THE FUCK UP AND STOP YOUR FUCKING CRYING!
Wow. Here, finally, come the tears I have been on the verge of crying all day. What a bitch I was today, even if no one else knew it. I sincerely and really like this girl! She has a great heart, she is honest, and will make a great therapist one day. I am a compassionate person. Why, why, why, why was I so silently-in-my-head mean to her? Was I just yelling at myself? Was the threat of actually
feeling alongside her, with no promise of liquid relief at the end of the day, really that powerful?
Fast forward through the rest of my day so I can dissect and feel: I made it through the meeting, had a phone consult, saw two clients, met Hubby at Middle's practice to pick up Little, walked in the house exactly 11 hours after I'd left, fed myself dinner, chatted and caught up with Oldest, played with Little, bathed Little, hung out with Middle, kissed Hubby bye, straightened up, put all three kiddos to bed, and here I am. I am in the one place, in the safety of my bed with my feelings and catharsis, that I yearned for all day.
After that meeting today, I knew I was in a rough spot. As I drove to my private office, I found myself pissed off that I want allowed to wash the day away with a bottle of red later. I thought things like,
why me? It isn't fair. I cant drink for the rest of my life. I managed to shut those thoughts up for long enough to have two great sessions in which I was totally present for. The drive to pick up Little, though, picked up right where I left off: tired, pissed off, and self-pitying. Tears stung my eyes most of that drive. When Little was fussy in the car ride home, tears stung my eyes. When we got home and I discovered he had a terrible diaper rash, I almost lost it. I felt like running to my room and hiding under the covers when he smashed a boiled egg all over the kitchen floor just as Oldest was telling me that she changed her mind, again, and wanted to stay with her competitive sports team and I realized we had 2 weeks to pay the crazy costs. I didnt lose it once. Not once. I stayed calm and attentive and loving. I took deep breaths, drank my last cup of coffee, and told myself that this would pass. I rallied to stay in the moment, with all of the shit, and promised myself I would have my time to process soon.
I learned so much today. I learned how much of a coward I have been, as a drinker. How easy a few shots and glasses would have made all those emotions and normal-life crises. Alcohol gave me permission to check out of my daily life. It allowed me to excuse myself from actually living. Lots of people have it way worse than me. I have sit-com typical daily events in my life. We are busy, we are full of mishaps and unplanned surprises. Life is a rollercoaster, it shouldnt be a carousel. I did not drink today. I started to feel things today, even shitty things. I rode the ride and I have not jumped off yet. My brain is mush, my heart is tenderized meat. I am raw and vulnerable and need a good cry. Not a pity cry, a grateful cry. I am so fucking proud of myself today. I am so damned grateful for my life and all of its highs and lows. I am humbled by this process and the strength it takes to be vulnerable. I was initiated back to the real world today and I took a helluva beating. A beating that was much needed.
I'm off to smoke a cigarette, have a good cry, and get a good night's sleep. Round two tomorrow and I wanna be ready to win again. Thanks for hanging in there with me on this one, I know it was hard to follow.
