Tag: alcoholism

Was there a second of time I looked around? Did I sail through or drop my anchor down? Was anything enough to kiss the ground, and say ‘I’m here now…’?

— John Mayer, “Clarity”

I woke up feeling old the other day, all lethargic and ornery, dreading everything that lay ahead on my schedule. And as I staggered downstairs and plopped into my same spot on the couch to drink my same cup — sorry, pot — of coffee and eat my same gluten-free chocolate peanut butter protein bar, I thought to myself with a twinge of despair: “This is it? This is my entire life, right here?” 😩

Side note: I would be cool with a life filled with chocolate peanut butter protein bars. Sobriety has stricken me with an insatiable sweet tooth.

That, and an ugly self-pity streak.

Sometimes, though, in the midst of nursing the dull ache of what’s-the-point-itis — an existential affliction that’s plagued me all my life — I have flashes of clarity. Reminders that “this,” whatever it happens to be at the time, is everything I need.

Sure enough, there I sat in the midst of my morning routine, not really thinking of anything in particular, and I suddenly remembered the hangovers. Out of nowhere, memories of pounding headaches and searing shame, the visceral remnants of a drinking binge, came flooding back.

I used to wake up on mornings just like this, feeling half-dead — but in a much different way.

Each morning sky I witness while out on foot in my neighborhood is unique and beautiful in its own way. But after enough mornings wandering the same streets and pathways, adding photo after photo to the Instagram feed, everything kind of starts to look the same.

Each hashmark I make on my basement whiteboard to record another day of sobriety is its own great accomplishment. But more than a year spent performing a ritual tends to lessen its luster.

I actually had to cross-reference the board with the calendar this week, because I absentmindedly missed a few days and fell behind in my tally. A few minutes of calculating cleared up the confusion, and I know for a fact I’ll have 15 months of sobriety as of this coming Monday. It’s clear, though, that the novelty of this mark-a-day tradition — which once had me bounding down the stairs like a kid on Christmas — has officially worn off.

It’s a good thing I’ll be celebrating my “anniversary” by speaking (in person! 🤭) at a 12-step meeting in a nearby town. When your own recovery process has started to bore you, it’s time to ramp things up or the whole deal is bound to break down.

Sobriety is kind of like life, you know? It gets so freaking monotonous — like, to the point that it physically hurts — and to avoid staring into an empty void wondering about the point of it all, you have to invent some excitement.

You might actually physically hurt yourself just to feel more alive.

If this post seems to be taking a dark turn in a hurry…I mean, I’m always up for a good existential chat, but I really just want to talk about this new tattoo I’m getting.