46 days sober and the pressure for Christmas is building. I don’t celebrate it, but my family does, and I’m planning to spend it with them.
Strangely, I’m handling the stress better than I thought I would. I thought that once crunch time hit, I’d be freaking out, begging for a drink. I’m not. I’m calm, I’m cool, I have a lot to do, but I know I can handle this.
I’m sorting through the emotions with the help of my girl who, even though she has enormous stresses on herself right now, has been a Godsend to me. She helps me process feelings I didn’t know were possible. She’s a great distraction too. Taking care of her needs makes me focus on someone else instead of feeling sorry for myself.
And I’m taking steps to break off the relationship with alcohol.
I absolutely love Perrier, but I’ve stopped drinking it because it reminds me of beer. When I go out, I avoid going by the liquor store – I make a conscious effort to take another route and enjoy the scenery of the less-traveled roads instead. I forgot that I carry a flask of homemade gin in my briefcase. I found the flask, dumped the gin, and threw the flask into the garbage can in the garage so I don’t have to see it.
You know, it’s kind of like breaking up with someone. At first, you’re in denial, thinking you’ll figure out some way to fix everything. Then you start to bargain with yourself (”maybe if I just cut my alcohol intake”), then you get angry, then you start to accept it. Grieving, in a sense, but very much like breaking up in that, eventually, you purge your home and your life of everything related to it.
Even my treasured Guinness glasses have gone into the recycling bin.
I’m sure there’s going to be days ahead – many of them – where I think I just can’t take it any more and will crave alcohol. I will cross that bridge when I come to it. But today, it’s a footrace between me and the demon alcohol and I’m Usain Freaking Bolt.
I’ve got this.