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Wednesday
Jan192011
One Of These Months I Will Write A Celebratory Post About My Sobriety. It's Just Not Going To Be Today.
Wednesday, January 19, 2011
I do not feel graceful tonight. I do not feel good. I do not feel happy or gentle or free.
Tomorrow is the five-month anniversary of my sobriety, and I feel awful.
I am an open sore, deep and wide and weeping. I am the exposed muscle and nerve, like that time I cut the inside of my knuckle open with the sewing scissors and felt the air sting down to the bone through my bloodless cut.
The day to day, five months in, is easier than it was in the beginning. I like being sober. In fact, I love it. I feel clean in a way that I have not ever before, and where I once had a drinking calendar I scheduled my life around, I now have a life.
Whatever. You probably get it. Sobriety does good things for a drunk. I'm boring myself.
The thing is, the thing I have not yet wrapped my mind around because it seems so damn impossible to a person such as myself who has not spent so much as a week sober since she was fifteen, I have to come to terms with the fact that I will never be high again.
You and you and you and you — you all know who you are, and you were well-meaning, so don't take this the wrong way — have told me to try yoga or breathing exercises or this diet or that diet or religion or this really amazing tea, and you are all, at least partially, wrong. Those things are healthy, and healthy things will make me feel good, but they are not going to get me so high that the world falls down the length of a long funnel into a small spot of light I can flick away for twelve hours at a stretch. Getting really loaded was never about feeling good. It was about feeling remarkably altered, so remarkably messed up that the non-intoxicated me of a few hours before seemed distant and false and small. I was committed to being messed up.
Yoga can fuck itself. Tea can fuck itself.
I don't mean that, really. Yoga would probably be good for me, and I've taken to regular tea drinking, but knowing that I can't be high again is like knowing that I can't go home again, and it's something I have to grieve.
I didn't realize that until just a few days ago. I was standing in a cafe with a friend who was telling me to do yoga, and I was trying to come up with the words that would help a non-addict understand why that was not the answer to this addict's present problem, and I looked out the window at an older building that reminded me of the kinds of buildings I and my friends lived in when I was younger, and I felt my long history with being high, so high sometimes that I felt ecstatic and disembodied and brilliant. The memory of my history settled into the flesh of me, and I realized that I was sad to say goodbye to it, to the possibility of it recurring ever again.
It's not just the part about my body wanting me to drink and get stoned and my mind's urge to self-medicate and forget things. It's about having to artificially arrest myself of the right to throw my consciousness headlong into lunacy.
Don't worry. I'm not going to run out and throw myself headlong into lunacy again. The merits of my sobriety are too great. I am present and alive in my life in a way I've never known before. I am, though, going to grieve the hell out of feeling myself spin out against the stars like silk from a spider's spinnerets. That was fantastic. I've been there, I loved there, but there is a house a can no longer inhabit, not with the hangovers and the distraction and the self-doubt and the infantile selfishness, not with the sadness and bitterness and self-loathing. Over the last few years, I would crawl up inside my own brain and wallow there in a morass of self-pity that made very little sense, I was so drunk. It was pathetic.
Even with that long, slow, sad end to my years of intoxication, I will still grieve the parts I loved — no matter if I take up yoga or if this tea rejuvinates my poor, soft organs — because there were parts I did love once very much, even if I can no longer tolerate their price, even if now they only ring hollow.
Tomorrow is the five-month anniversary of my sobriety, and I feel awful.
I am an open sore, deep and wide and weeping. I am the exposed muscle and nerve, like that time I cut the inside of my knuckle open with the sewing scissors and felt the air sting down to the bone through my bloodless cut.
The day to day, five months in, is easier than it was in the beginning. I like being sober. In fact, I love it. I feel clean in a way that I have not ever before, and where I once had a drinking calendar I scheduled my life around, I now have a life.
Whatever. You probably get it. Sobriety does good things for a drunk. I'm boring myself.
The thing is, the thing I have not yet wrapped my mind around because it seems so damn impossible to a person such as myself who has not spent so much as a week sober since she was fifteen, I have to come to terms with the fact that I will never be high again.
You and you and you and you — you all know who you are, and you were well-meaning, so don't take this the wrong way — have told me to try yoga or breathing exercises or this diet or that diet or religion or this really amazing tea, and you are all, at least partially, wrong. Those things are healthy, and healthy things will make me feel good, but they are not going to get me so high that the world falls down the length of a long funnel into a small spot of light I can flick away for twelve hours at a stretch. Getting really loaded was never about feeling good. It was about feeling remarkably altered, so remarkably messed up that the non-intoxicated me of a few hours before seemed distant and false and small. I was committed to being messed up.
Yoga can fuck itself. Tea can fuck itself.
I don't mean that, really. Yoga would probably be good for me, and I've taken to regular tea drinking, but knowing that I can't be high again is like knowing that I can't go home again, and it's something I have to grieve.
I didn't realize that until just a few days ago. I was standing in a cafe with a friend who was telling me to do yoga, and I was trying to come up with the words that would help a non-addict understand why that was not the answer to this addict's present problem, and I looked out the window at an older building that reminded me of the kinds of buildings I and my friends lived in when I was younger, and I felt my long history with being high, so high sometimes that I felt ecstatic and disembodied and brilliant. The memory of my history settled into the flesh of me, and I realized that I was sad to say goodbye to it, to the possibility of it recurring ever again.
It's not just the part about my body wanting me to drink and get stoned and my mind's urge to self-medicate and forget things. It's about having to artificially arrest myself of the right to throw my consciousness headlong into lunacy.
Don't worry. I'm not going to run out and throw myself headlong into lunacy again. The merits of my sobriety are too great. I am present and alive in my life in a way I've never known before. I am, though, going to grieve the hell out of feeling myself spin out against the stars like silk from a spider's spinnerets. That was fantastic. I've been there, I loved there, but there is a house a can no longer inhabit, not with the hangovers and the distraction and the self-doubt and the infantile selfishness, not with the sadness and bitterness and self-loathing. Over the last few years, I would crawl up inside my own brain and wallow there in a morass of self-pity that made very little sense, I was so drunk. It was pathetic.
Even with that long, slow, sad end to my years of intoxication, I will still grieve the parts I loved — no matter if I take up yoga or if this tea rejuvinates my poor, soft organs — because there were parts I did love once very much, even if I can no longer tolerate their price, even if now they only ring hollow.
Reader Comments (42)
That is exactly how I feel about food. Even as I am overjoyed at losing 27 pounds in the past 7 weeks, I am mourning the fact that I will never again be able to eat a bowl of ice cream or several pieces of pizza in one sitting (or even two pieces in one sitting). And I have to give more thought to why I want to.
Love. Love. So much love.
I've been through some of this. Don't remember if you were around for the storytelliing, but the stories were rich and raw like you. I made it to 8 months, then changed paths. I'm still searching. But one thing's for sure:
Fuck yoga.
Could kiss you. I feel this way about the long weight loss journey that stretches ahead of me. Tea, yoga, quiet reflection; these are no substitutes. Eff em' all.
Agree, agree, agree.
Never been high, been drunk once, but I echo wholeheartedly- the "help" people try to give you is generally worthless. I mean, god bless them for trying, but really? You don't get it.
My wife suckered me into watching that Celebrity Rehab program, so last night I was watching along with her when Rachel Prettypants (I know she has a name, but I don't recall it and am too lazy to look it up) goes back to Ground Zero to try and confront some of her demons with Dr. Drew. (Her fiance was killed on 9/11, apparently) So she says that nobody understands what it's like, and immediately (I know, they edit it together, but...) she meets a guy who, well, does know- he lost a wife and a niece.
So she couldn't say anything to him- that guy got it, obviously. You can't out- mourn him.
But even so, nobody knows another's pain. I don't remember what it's like to be drunk, except that I didn't enjoy it. Other people know what it's like to be drunk, but they still don't know what it's like for YOU to be drunk, just like the guy on the show, well meaning as he was, doesn't know what it was like to be Rachel, as profound as his grief may be.
So I don't have any suggestions about what can replace it. I do know that it's OK to be pissed off, to miss it, to mourn it, even knowing you will never go back to it again.
It never occured to me that someone would mourn being high. It makes perfect sense that you would miss and crave that feeling but I never thought about it. In my mind, grief is grief. You have to go through it and it never goes completely away. Just when you think you've got it under control, it sneaks up behind you and slaps you upside your head.
All the tea and yoga and music and whatever won't make it go away. I believe there's light at the end of the grief tunnel and you'll get there.
This is a brilliant brilliant description for what you are going through. For a non-addict, it helps me understand the actual crux: the mourning of that loss. So simple and yet so easy to overlook. Thank you.
And it's not just mourning being high, right? There's also the mourning that part of you, that part of your life, that history and that youth. I seem to fight tooth and nail to hold on to every part of me, even the bad parts. And when they're gone...I feel their absence. I miss them.
Also? Congrats on five months. *fist bumps*
So very very true. I have never been to those highs, but just like any other life changing event, you have to mourn, you have to grieve the you that no longer is. You are a different you. And that's good. But you can't just turn off the memories of how it used to feel; you are not a machine. You were that person for a long time, and it's going to take some time to get used to the idea of not being that person again.
Congrats on the five months, you are doing it!
I didn't look forward to the feeling of being "altered" so much as numb. And yes, I feel such loss I'm actually dreaming about it now.
This is a brilliant description.
Having that promised escape...the one that was self inflicted, required very little effort and lasted long enough to get past whatever needed to be avoided. I do miss that too, and it's been over 10 years for me.
There are still times I wish I could slip back into that comfortable warmth of nonexistence, but I don't.
And I don't drink tea or do yoga either.
Pfft.
I second the fist bump for five months.
One day at a time. That is all you can do.
xx
TAKE THE GRIEF JOURNEY, LEAVE NO STONE UNTURNED, YOU WILL FIND WHAT IS NEEDED THERE... CONGRATS ON 5 MONS... YOU ARE A REAL NINJA... SENDING LOVE SUPPORT AND FORTITUDE
Your description, as always, is amazing. I'm glad you figured out what you needed to do before it just became some other hole that felt like it needed filling. Now go drink some tea while doing yoga and breathing deeply as you talk to a minister. Gah.
Just celebrated 23 years myself. Doesn't that sound crazy? Also, your feeling of settling into your flesh is probably the best description I've ever read of how I felt back then.
Fuck all that meditation bullshit. I don't do "relaxed"--I'm finally figuring out that's okay. I used to want a tattoo but my friends said, "Wait until you have more time. Then you won't want to self-mutilate." So I got my first tat as a 6th anniversary present to myself.
A propos of nothing, the best thing I ever heard was that if you can't detach with love, sometimes you gotta detach with an axe. Maybe that'll come in handy for you someday.
Congrats on every day you've put together. It sucks balls much of the time in spite of what the overly gratitudinous say. Fuck them. You rock!
Thank you for putting this so clearly.
I feel that exact thing for a few things I have had to say goodbye to. I am glad I said goodbye but...oh parts were soooo lovely. Being rid of the end effect is not the same as all of it sucking.
And this is why I can't quit, truth be told.
Maybe someday, if you keep building a beautiful new space for yourself to live in and you drink the tea and do the yoga and fill that space with positive things, the feeling of bereavement for that easy disconnect will eventually fade.
In the meantime please know that I and so many other people think you are amazing and strong and talented and beautiful. I so admire you and I'm sending all the good stuff your way.
I absolutely get that. Makes perfect sense.
I've been reading Stephen King's On Writing and he talks a bit about how it makes him crazy to see someone in a restaurant with a half finished glass of wine because he can't quite grasp what the point of having half a glass of wine is. For him the point was to get drunk (or high) and why wouldn't anyone want that? I see where he's going.
I see where you're going.
Good journey to you!
A few months after my mother died, I remember distinctly realizing that she actually wasn't coming back, even though I had been so good and waited so long. And that I could be good the rest of my life, but she still wouldn't come back. The finality, the sinking in that finality, is a whole different level of grief. Different situations, obviously, but I can see the euphoria of the initial quitting drinking fading out into the somber (pun not quite intended) realization that this is forever and that you will never see that particular love, toxic as it was, again.
Everyone loves altered states as long as they are pleasant--who ever denies this is a big fat liar. Most people self-medicate to alter reality and get some warm fuzzies. Here's a few: caffeine, nicotine, over-exercising, over-spending, over social media-lizing (being on the damn computer too much), gambling, verbally abusing, etc. But these are considered legit. Only buddhist monks truly know how to live in the here and now without some tremendously altered state. If I didn't alter my state every morning with coffee and instead follow my own biorhythm, I wouldn't have a job.
So yes, I totally relate to you missing the altered state on a grander scale. I understand.
And when I said yoga, I didn't mean it was going to give you a buzz, I meant it would help you FEEL your body and connect with it. But shit, it ain't no marijuana brownie experience. It's not even a gin and tonic. Sorry. If it were, old white conservative men in country clubs would be doing asanas.
Congratulations on 5 months, I know it's all still pretty raw and crazy. There are so many things about any kind of recovery that a lot of people don't get. My big struggle has been with depression and what I couldn't explain to people was that as much as I didn't want to be miserable I was also terrified of being "happy." I didn't know how to do happy. Who the hell would I be happy? No matter how messed up and painful and life destroying your situation is, changing that situation and going into recovery is scary. I can't say I grieve the depression but I totally see how you would need to grieve the high.
The hole can't be filled, but it will get smaller.
I drank through my son's death. It took me 6 or 7 relapses and several rehabs within 5 years to finally "get it". Then my Dad died. I was sober. Now I realize what I should have felt with my son's death. I have just begun to grieve his 1995 death. Sober over 9 years but pain can overwhelm me like like the below zero winds off the lake and numb my heart and soul. Most days, though, I am grateful I no longer wake up with a hangover.
March right through that pain, Schmutzie!
Your readers who are dissin' da yoga have apparently never enjoyed the orgasmic physical sensations one can have while doing very simple postures. It feels THAT good! Dunno, gal ... all highs are not the same ... just like all delicious foods are not the same ... all good lovers are not the same ... and I can get a joyful high just seeing a flock of birds fly over, sometimes, so who knows what highs are going to come to you? You just may not be able to have them delivered as reliably as you could when you were drinking/smoking/whatever you were doing. That's life. I'm amazed it's been five months for you already. Wow! You go, girl. You're a real inspiration.
I love these honest posts. Although I've never been an alcoholic, I lived about a year, up until I got pregnant last summer, like I was one. I miss it too. I miss the escape it gave me.
I totally agree that yoga and tea and whatever else will not take it's place. It won't. Nothing will. But, you'll get through it. I know you will. Even if some days really, really suck.
xoxo
I felt the same way when I quit smoking (which you also bravely did). I could NOT come to terms with the permanence of it. It wasn't like a diet, where you can say, well, I won't eat an entire pizza at a sitting, but I can have one piece. This was "Never Again" echoing in my head, and I Could. Not. Deal. So here's what I did to help me get over the permanence of it.
I quit smoking when I was 40 years old, after 24 years of committed smoking. I told myself that if I really, really, REALLY wanted to, when I turned 80, I could totally start smoking again. I figured that a 40-year break was good enough. Now, I know that I will probably not want to start smoking again when I'm 80 (hell, I may not even live to that age), but just having that option was enough to be able to DEAL.
So make yourself a deal, too. (I suggest 80 years old as a really good milestone.) You can have a drink again -- IF YOU WANT TO -- when you're 80. Not before. And then just see how you feel when you actually do turn 80. Hell, if we're both still alive when you turn 80 (which will be after I turn 80), then I'll come up to Canada and we can smoke and drink together. But we'll have to wrap things up by 5:30 or so, because we'll be really old, and we'll need to get home so we can go to bed.
Yup. Totally. And I don't know if the measure is any different for me, being bipolar or not, but the high is the addictive property, not the booze. Or drugs. Or smokes. Or whatever.
So, I started eating chocolate in ridiculous amounts. My ex (nine months) and I (14 months) watch movies and eat candy like children on Halloween night. We get HYPER. I do hyper, now, cuz it's the closest thing to that conscious obliteration.
PS. Five months is awesome. If I had photoshop skillz, I'd make you a chip.
Congratulations on 5 months sober. I hope you feel easier with it - and less raw - as time passes :)
You're doing an amazing thing for yourself here. It's just a pity that these amazing personal gifts don't always come easy, huh?
I totally get. I quit smoking a long time ago. Smoking was something I used to do when I was bored...
And everything else, too.
I'm sorry about the feeling of loss. I do not think yoga is the answer. I don't think you will find an exact substitute. But it is like breaking up with someone and starting a new relationship. You're always going to miss some of the feeling from that other guy, even if there was a lot of negative baggage attached.
Maybe take more photos with the iphone could be your new high! Not the same, of course. But not as dangerous.
Maybe it will eventually play out like an old love affair. I remember several from many years ago; at the time I was head over heels, but now I have a difficult time understanding what it was I saw in them at the time; they were jerks who didn't have my best interest at heart.
Nothing to do other than just sit with it. Be present in the grief. Notice it as you have and let it be. There is no replacement for the brief escape from reality that comes from the substance induced altered state. The grief subsides but is ever present just not as powerful or all consuming. This too shall pass dear Schmutzie, this too shall pass...
Bobbi
Yup, I totally understand.
Good for you getting to this point, but oh, I fucking hated 5 months. Hated it. And many more after that.
P.S. You are a total ass-kicker.
Congratulations, even if it is bittersweet.
And then there's the 'runners high', so you should totally take up running! *ducks and runs...*
I have no advice, no words of wisdom, no parallels - I just want to write that I read it, and I listened, and I felt it so much. Thank you for writing such an honest piece. Do your best to hang in there. You have a lot of people, even in strangers in cyberspace, who care about you.
This was beautifully written. "I am, though, going to grieve the hell out of feeling myself spin out against the stars like silk from a spider's spinnerets." Vivid and thoughtful.
It would sound condescending to say that I am proud of you, especially since I have not had the same experience; but, I think that is very brave to have made the decision that you did to get sober, and the honesty of your writing is breathtaking.
Thank you for sharing this with us.
Congrats on five months, that is an achivement. Addictions are a bitch, I know that every day of my life, and every piece of my self-worth.
And congrats, and thanks, for being so brave and posting this.
Yoga blows, went once and couldnt wait to get the hell out of there. Annoyed the crap out of me.
I remember that the world is a much nicer place when I don't drink. Both for myself and for everyone I encountered. I wasted so much of my life drunk...I find the social aspect the hardest but now I have three little people who rely on me and I will never go back.
Good luck hun. I've been sober 8 years and I do not miss the absolute awfulness of what my life was.
Hey, you don't know me. I have never read a blog before this evening. I don't know how I found myself here (actually I got here via top canadian blogs and I really liked your logo...) I read your story about your inadvertant five minute conversation with a muffin poster in a coffeeshop. I laughed out tears. I looked a little more into your life; perved you. I found out about your life changing events and quickly searched to see how goes your crusade. I have to say, this post is the most encouraging thing I could have read. You sound like you are in a great place, the recognition of the grief is amazing. I know those feelings of high which you refer, although I may not have taken it to quite the same lengths it seems... And why the hell should you care about this. Because I live in Saskatoon gdmnt. here is this amazing schmutzie and her palidone (sp?) and she lives in REGINA.
I though for sure you were from Toronto as you seemed so bigcity cool.
Lady,
keep truckin. Thanks for the laughs, the bits of reality, the sharing of your process, and the honesty. you made me like a blog.
I love how REAL this post is. Congrats on your sobriety. You've achieved something so amazing (and all without the help of tea....F*$% tea!).
I love this blog. The more I read, the more I want to read. :)
What you are doing is difficult. That I know partially because I can't swing it, not yet anyway, and the reasons why were wrapped up in this somehow, but are also entirely my own, as this strange situation seems to go.
I am amazed by your ability to write through this. It's a gift you're giving other people and I hope it's helping.
(Also, I love yoga, but in this context? Yeah. Fuck it. ;))