It was one of those chew you up, spit you out, and then run you through a wood chipper for fun kinds of days that left me mentally drained, physically exhausted, cranky and depressed. Add to that a grueling 60 minute-long drive on the freeway with all of my bestest friends, and I found myself just about at the end of my rope.
Trying to mentally pull myself out of this funk before reaching my front door, I caught a glimpse of my tired eyes in the rear-view mirror, and a blinding thought flashed through my consciousness.
"You really need a drink."
As soon as those words left my brain, I immediately recoiled. "No, I don't. I'm sober now, I don't need to drink to get through my problems."
But my reflection caught my eye again...and gave me an accusatory glare.
"Y'know...you're not as much fun as you used to be..."
And just like that, the day went from bad to worse.
...and even worse than that...a part of me thought I was right.
When I think back on all of my stories that start with the words "This one night, when we were drinking...," in all those memories, I see myself as carefree and fun. Laughing and living loudly; everyone was my friend and all was right with the world. "One more round" was my mantra - "We'll sleep when we're dead" my creed. Don't get me wrong, I went to work, I paid my bills, I voted...I was a responsible, contributing member of society. But when the workday was over, it was over and it was time to play.
"You're not as much fun as you used to be..."
When I look back on the days before my sobriety, it's easy to believe those words to be true. After all, it's only natural to clean up our memories so we remember only what we want. Even the worst parts of our lives we tend to soften so we don't have to relive the harsh onslaught of raw emotions time after time after time. So naturally it's tougher to look past the sparkle and shine and see the true reality that lies beneath. The person I remember as carefree and fun was also reckless and irresponsible. It's easy to remember the festivities of the night before - but how many of the mornings after have I conveniently forgotten about? And do I really want to remember just how much liquid courage it took to make bad decisions seem like the best ideas in the world?
When I made the decision to quit drinking I knew that I would be sacrificing a lifestyle. No more wine with dinner, no more beer with football; I came to terms with the fact that I was irresponsible when it came to booze so I needed to make a change in order to be a better person. I was doing it for my health. Look how much money I would save. Blah...blah...blah..the list of reasons went on and on. What I didn't realize was that walking away from alcohol wasn't just about changing my lifestyle or habits; I also meant making changes to the core of my personality.
And I don't think I was prepared for that.
Being sober has forced me to deal with life directly; true and head-on, without a cloud of alcohol to hide behind or celebrate with. Before, if I had a bad day, I would just pour myself a glass of wine and let it take me to Don't Give a Crap-land. Before, if I had something to celebrate, it was drinks at the nearest bar - first round on me! It's tough not utilizing the easy "go-to" of alcohol to resolve or revel. And when you're having a really crappy day, the warmth of an alcoholic haze seems much more appealing than unfiltered reality. And there are days I want to give in so...very...badly. One drink. I'll just have one drink. One drink and I'll be that happy, laughing girl in the bar again.
One drink and everything will be better.
Just. One. Drink.
But the problem is, I can't have just one drink.
So instead, I went home to my wonderful husband and my awesome dog, sat in the corner and cried it out for awhile. I'll freely admit that I was ashamed of my own tears at first, but as the bottleneck of emotion I'd usually release with a bottle of beer drifted away, I was grateful for the release. As tears subsided, I was finally able to talk about my day. Sharing with Nick my feelings of disappointment and worthlessness made them feel less powerful, and eventually their hold over me began to wane. The problems of the world weren't solved in an hour - but slowly the frustration and sadness I felt morphed into serenity and acceptance.
Yes, there are plenty of days where I don't think I'm as much fun as I used to be. I miss the feeling of being the carefree drinkin' gal I like to think I was. And if I could be her again without the compulsively reckless and irresponsible shadow tagging along, then chances are I probably would never have had to get sober in the first place. But the shadow is a part of who I am...the part of me that can't stop at one or two drinks. And the fun-time party girl antics just aren't as cute at 43 as they were at 23.
"You're not as much fun as you used to be..."
Maybe not...but I'm a better, truer, person to myself than I was.
And that's the person I like to look at in the mirror.
