Times have been rough.
I’ve wanted to use. A lot.
And, my way of dealing with this blog has been to ignore it.
I have virtually no readers but, for the few people that do visit, I didn’t want to write about the messy shit. And, as I sat in my AA meeting this morning, I felt the need to write. I was daunted by all the catching up I had to do. Missing many posts for many, many days of sobriety. Hard days of sobriety. Days where my experience “should” have been documented.
After all, hasn’t my goal been to chart my sobriety. To note the ups and downs, have a daily post for every denial, heartache, success, and triumph?
Well, the truth is, when I strip away everything. When I look at what I set out to do and what I’ve done, what I thought would happen and what actually happened, well, they don’t match up, at all. And, that’s life.
My goal to write every day, has been a noble one. I’ve done the best I can, even when I’ve given up and ignored this quest to write, I can assure you that I’ve still endeavored to be my best self.
My best self, is this person writing right here, right now. I am who I am today. And, that woman is sober. That woman, she can’t write everyday, or, she won’t. And, she certainly can’t paint a glorious picture of perfect sobriety, because there is no such thing.
As I trudge through these months leading up to a year of sobriety, I sit in honest fear of relapse, every day. I feel it sneaking up on me like a purse-snatcher. And, while it hasn’t happened, and I can’t predict what will or will not happen, I know that this feeling of wanting to be anywhere else and feel anything other than I feel is the main reason I got wasted.
I want to check out. I curse the fact that as an active AA and that I have to wake up every day and be present for these feelings. I resent having to work at feeling OK and, most days, end up feeling decidedly not OK. But, I still make the decision not to drink. And then I go to sleep and I wake up and I do it again.
So, as I write, I feel somewhat better for coming clean, saying that I think life is shitty right now, that I don’t want to be sober, that I don’t want to write, that I am OK, or at least trying to be, with squelching on a commitment that I made to you, my readers, and to myself, I know that on some level I’m doing the right things.
This isn’t easy. It isn’t a joy ride. And, as much as I’ve wanted to paint this picture of constant growth and upward transition into healthy and happy living, I can’t. I’m not God, I’m not in control, and I don’t want to be anything other than I am today, because, I just can’t.
Here in Portland, it’s 9AM. And, in two hours, the pub around the corner opens. And, more than anything, I want to go sit on my old bar stool and suck back five bloody Mary’s. I want to laugh, meaningless laughter, with the regulars, I want to stumble home and lay on my couch and watch TV. But, I’m not going to do that.
I’m going to go to my women’s meeting at 10:30AM. And, I’m going to stay sober today. And when I wake up tomorrow, wanting, yet again, to drink myself into a stupor instead of going to my job where I feel like a worker on an assembly line, I’m going to go to my 7AM AA meeting and then, I’m going to drive to work and stand at the proverbial conveyor belt.
Because, I know what being drunk gets me. I know I don’t want that.
But, God, I want to be drunk. So fucking drunk.