Tuesday
Apr052011
Ask Schmutzie: Is There A Point Where It Won't Feel Like I Should Just Give In?
Tuesday, April 5, 2011
Yesterday, I asked you to ask me questions about my sobriety. This is my first answer in response.
13 days sober here. I did some serious binge drinking in the weeks leading up to quitting, way beyond my then-normal nightly drunk. I was using alcohol as a crutch after finding out my mom, (my best friend), has pancreatic cancer and is now receiving end-of-life care. Ended up scaring myself into quitting. But the pain that the alcohol took away is ever-present. Is there a point where it won't feel like I should just give in to the easy abyss of drinking?
— Scared
Scared, before I say anything else, please know that I have been carrying you in my heart since you commented yesterday. And I don't mean that in an angels-and-daily-affirmations way. I mean that in a deep and honest and meaty way. Your emotional load is truly heavy and terrible, and I wish I could lift some of it from you.
First, and I'm going to assume that you're still sober since yesterday, fingers crossed, congratulations on your first two weeks sober. It's a bittersweet thing to say, because gaining your sobriety, especially in the earliest days, is a hard place to be, even without the other pain you are carrying right now.
You must know that you have immense strength to be able to choose your sobriety at this point. You maybe don't feel it, but you do, because you did it and you are here. You made that choice and you have come this far. That is powerful. Over the first few weeks of my sobriety, I knew logically that this was an ongoing act of strength I did not know I'd had before, but I felt naked and vulnerable. Nothing filled me up. I'd stripped away the only coping mechanism I thought I had.
I want to point out that I'd stripped away the only coping mechanism I thought I had. I found out that I had underestimated myself and my ability to find new ways to cope.
At the beginning, I was a raw nerve. I had so much sadness and anger and self-loathing inside me, and I spent a lot of time trying to eat or sleep it away. I had only ever felt joy when I was drunk, and I had no faith in my ability to find it sober. Something happened, though, during those first few weeks as I crawled out from under the hazy cycle of drinking and hangovers. Maybe it was that my body was finally stabilizing itself or that my brain was learning new ways to deal with the world, but my initially unbearable anxiety and depression started to loosen its grip on me. I still felt roundly terrible, but there was hope at the edges and something akin to happiness.
I remember the first time I felt really good, good in a way that drunk couldn't even do. It was late September. I had been sober for maybe a month, and I was up early in the morning, a first for me in a long time, sipping coffee at the kitchen table. Sunlight suddenly broke out from behind a building and hit me through the window, and I felt that light. I felt it there in my chest where the horrible tightness usually sat. I felt the joy that I thought I would never feel, that I thought I didn't have the ability to feel.
That first month was hard times, and then out of nowhere I had strong feelings completely unconnected to alcohol or the pain I used it to hide from. It felt brilliant.
It does get better. It absolutely does.
What I'm about to say sounds like it could be complete bullshit, but it isn't: actually feeling the pains in your life, genuinely touching them and wrestling with them head on while not numbing them out, makes your life a happier and richer place to be.
There is so much guilt and shame and weight that comes along with drinking it away, and what I'm slowly learning is that it is almost a relief to feel it all and even collapse under the heft of it sometimes, because then that pain is allowed to change, to mature, to become something else, and even occasionally to leave me. When I was pushing it all down with alcohol, none of the pain had a chance to become anything better. I was keeping it all for myself and stunting its natural movement through and out of my life.
I want to tell you that right now, right away, things will be easier, but I won't. It's going to be hard and it's going to be painful in ways that surprise you without the veil of alcohol to dumb it down, but this is how you get to the brilliant parts. This is how you start to find your way to genuine joy.
You are not alone in finding your way through, and there is a strong community of sober people out there if you look for them. If you haven't already and you feel you need more support, please check out Alcoholics Anonymous or Secular Organizations for Sobriety groups in your area, whichever group best suits your needs. Go to your doctor and talk about options for dealing with your new sobriety and the emotions that come with it. Reach out. I had no idea how rampant alcoholism was until I wrote about it publicly, and, believe me, we are everywhere. You can find us, and we will support you.
To answer your original question, at over seven months sober, I do still crave a binge now and again, but not all the time. The pull to do so is weaker already than I thought it could be, and it is completely out-matched by the happiness I'm finding outside the pint glass. There is a point where it won't feel like you should just give in to the easy abyss of drinking. There truly and honestly is.
And, on behalf of me, and I'm sure everyone else here, I'm sending what good thoughts I can to you and your mother. Be well.
13 days sober here. I did some serious binge drinking in the weeks leading up to quitting, way beyond my then-normal nightly drunk. I was using alcohol as a crutch after finding out my mom, (my best friend), has pancreatic cancer and is now receiving end-of-life care. Ended up scaring myself into quitting. But the pain that the alcohol took away is ever-present. Is there a point where it won't feel like I should just give in to the easy abyss of drinking?
— Scared
Scared, before I say anything else, please know that I have been carrying you in my heart since you commented yesterday. And I don't mean that in an angels-and-daily-affirmations way. I mean that in a deep and honest and meaty way. Your emotional load is truly heavy and terrible, and I wish I could lift some of it from you.
First, and I'm going to assume that you're still sober since yesterday, fingers crossed, congratulations on your first two weeks sober. It's a bittersweet thing to say, because gaining your sobriety, especially in the earliest days, is a hard place to be, even without the other pain you are carrying right now.
You must know that you have immense strength to be able to choose your sobriety at this point. You maybe don't feel it, but you do, because you did it and you are here. You made that choice and you have come this far. That is powerful. Over the first few weeks of my sobriety, I knew logically that this was an ongoing act of strength I did not know I'd had before, but I felt naked and vulnerable. Nothing filled me up. I'd stripped away the only coping mechanism I thought I had.
I want to point out that I'd stripped away the only coping mechanism I thought I had. I found out that I had underestimated myself and my ability to find new ways to cope.
At the beginning, I was a raw nerve. I had so much sadness and anger and self-loathing inside me, and I spent a lot of time trying to eat or sleep it away. I had only ever felt joy when I was drunk, and I had no faith in my ability to find it sober. Something happened, though, during those first few weeks as I crawled out from under the hazy cycle of drinking and hangovers. Maybe it was that my body was finally stabilizing itself or that my brain was learning new ways to deal with the world, but my initially unbearable anxiety and depression started to loosen its grip on me. I still felt roundly terrible, but there was hope at the edges and something akin to happiness.
I remember the first time I felt really good, good in a way that drunk couldn't even do. It was late September. I had been sober for maybe a month, and I was up early in the morning, a first for me in a long time, sipping coffee at the kitchen table. Sunlight suddenly broke out from behind a building and hit me through the window, and I felt that light. I felt it there in my chest where the horrible tightness usually sat. I felt the joy that I thought I would never feel, that I thought I didn't have the ability to feel.
That first month was hard times, and then out of nowhere I had strong feelings completely unconnected to alcohol or the pain I used it to hide from. It felt brilliant.
It does get better. It absolutely does.
What I'm about to say sounds like it could be complete bullshit, but it isn't: actually feeling the pains in your life, genuinely touching them and wrestling with them head on while not numbing them out, makes your life a happier and richer place to be.
There is so much guilt and shame and weight that comes along with drinking it away, and what I'm slowly learning is that it is almost a relief to feel it all and even collapse under the heft of it sometimes, because then that pain is allowed to change, to mature, to become something else, and even occasionally to leave me. When I was pushing it all down with alcohol, none of the pain had a chance to become anything better. I was keeping it all for myself and stunting its natural movement through and out of my life.
I want to tell you that right now, right away, things will be easier, but I won't. It's going to be hard and it's going to be painful in ways that surprise you without the veil of alcohol to dumb it down, but this is how you get to the brilliant parts. This is how you start to find your way to genuine joy.
You are not alone in finding your way through, and there is a strong community of sober people out there if you look for them. If you haven't already and you feel you need more support, please check out Alcoholics Anonymous or Secular Organizations for Sobriety groups in your area, whichever group best suits your needs. Go to your doctor and talk about options for dealing with your new sobriety and the emotions that come with it. Reach out. I had no idea how rampant alcoholism was until I wrote about it publicly, and, believe me, we are everywhere. You can find us, and we will support you.
To answer your original question, at over seven months sober, I do still crave a binge now and again, but not all the time. The pull to do so is weaker already than I thought it could be, and it is completely out-matched by the happiness I'm finding outside the pint glass. There is a point where it won't feel like you should just give in to the easy abyss of drinking. There truly and honestly is.
And, on behalf of me, and I'm sure everyone else here, I'm sending what good thoughts I can to you and your mother. Be well.
categorized in health and tagged in Alcoholics Anonymous, Secular Organizations for Sobriety, addiction, alcoholics, alcoholism, ask Schmutzie, mental health, questions answered, sober, sobriety
health and tagged in Alcoholics Anonymous, Secular Organizations for Sobriety, addiction, alcoholics, alcoholism, ask Schmutzie, mental health, questions answered, sober, sobriety 
Reader Comments (13)
Some days are better than others, and some are worse. It does get better, it just seems like it takes soooo long.
scared-
add me to the list of people who is thinking of you.
schmutzie is right--you have immense strength to choose sobriety at this point. immense strength.
Scared, Schmutzie is so right on! My 22 year old son died in 1995. I drank myself into oblivion and beyond, in and out of rehab and failing miserably until 2001. And I had 3 other children that I hurt beyond belief. Fast forward to Sept. 1 2009. My Dad died. I loved him so much. He died at his home with all of 8 children and 16 grandchildren present. I got to close his beautiful blue eyes. After awhile everyone was having a glass of wine or a drink. I went outside by myself to have a cigarette. In the cool of that evening I remember thinking to myself, "so this is what grief feels like; this is the pain I should have felt when my son died". Don't deny yourself this grief and pain, Scared. It is such sacred grief. Love your mother in all ways possible. Allow yourself the holy moment of being with her to the end and as you close her eyes your sober eyes will be open to all the wonders of death and life and more life.
I hold you tightly in my thoughts. Let us know how you are doing.
i hope scared can take some small comfort in knowing that people who have never met him or her are wishing, hoping fervently for his or her success and well-being.
This was so moving. Scared, I'm with you too. You'll find your way through. Schmutzie, thank you for sharing your words of wisdom. I had my daughter in August and have been dealing with (but not yet writing about) some anxiety and PTSD from the birth. I'm just starting to make sense of it and the parallels to what you've gone through to be sober are frankly, kind of shocking.
Life is full of parallels, misstraceynolan, and your pain is, well, your pain and you hurt in a way I've not experienced before. But I believe our parallel roads intersect at unexpected moments - like now! No matter our circumstances we can always help one another! As I just told Schmutzie, my new mantra is "SCHMUTZ ON..."!
scared - I echo everyone's comments. Alcohol has been your friend for so long, so take the time you need to grieve its loss. If you find feelings of shame and guilt creeping up, remember you're not alone. Sober drunks are everywhere and willing to help you through this. There are even counselling services that specialize in addictions if you need one-on-one professional help.
I agree with Schmutzie's advice to talk to your doctor. I ended up finding Addiction Services to be the greatest help after my EFAP and my doctor failed me - but a doctor really is a good starting point.
Hang in there. Sobriety is beautiful. And ain't it great to not wake up with a hangover? :)
I'm going to take paragraph #10 and put it in my pocket.
My mother died last week. Hurting so much but still sober. The pain is wrenching and wonderful at the same time.
I didn't make it beyond three and a half weeks. I feel I've failed you all. I will try again but right now the metal and emotional pain need blanketing and that is apparently what they will get. Social Anxiety and panic attacks do not make for a good cheerleading squad. It -1, me-0. I'm sorry. I am so very proud of Schmutzie and do envy her quite a bit.
Scared, don't stress yourself out for not continuing after 3 1/2 weeks. I wanted to quit drinking for over 10 years before I was able to manage it, and even now I'm only almost nine months in.
It's not a failure. I think 3 1/2 weeks is a tremendous success, especially in the middle of all that you are facing right now. And like anything else, I think quitting can take practice. The average smoker quits seriously more than seven times before they kick the habit. It took me at least as many for cigarettes, and countless times for drinking over the last decade.
I am proud of you sharing a bit of your story and working at who you are in the middle of a lot of difficult stuff. Thank you for coming back and telling us how you're doing.
Scared, you did it for over 3 weeks and this is a success! Like Schmutzie, I relapsed numerous times! In a 6 year time period I was in rehab and/or the hospital over 8 times. I had clean times of 30 days or 90 days or 6 months and on and on. I thought I was such a failure. Drunk constantly in front of my children (ages 12-19) at the time, drunk on the job, drunk driving then finally drunk all by myself. After my last relapse and rehab I knew I had to leave my husband. He would not remove the alcohol from our home. By this time our children were all in college. So I left my home in Illinois and moved back to Wisconsin to be near my family. I brought nothing but some clothes with me. I left behind my big beautiful home and the husband who chose vodka over me (just as I had) I left those people, places and things that kept me sick. I never looked back. My husband and I divorced 8 years ago. I, too, have really shitty days (quite often actually) but it is always a gift to wake up with clarity and no hangover! You haven't failed Schmutzie or anyone else. Look inside yourself and realize that you are an incredibly strong woman who can do hard things. Try to stay away from people who cause you anxiety. And don't be afraid to ask for help. We are all here for you - just you, Scared. Keep writing and ranting and don't ever give up!
I know this is an old post, but I'm sort of rambling around this blog in search of myself in these entries and in the comments as I struggle mentally with believing I can really (finally) quit drinking. Scared, I hope things got better for you. My Dad died from pancreatic cancer 5 years ago from yesterday. He was my drinking buddy whenever I visited my home town...he and I would sit at his kitchen table and talk about our lives and family and hopes and plans and vintage cars and drink beers and smoke cigarettes. Even after he was diagnosed, and was in so much pain he could barely drink a half a can, we would still sit there and pretend to be drinking while talking about his will, his wishes, his vintage car, his broken relationship with my sister. I realized today that having a beer at my dining room table is me still, 5 years later, trying to have a beer with my Dad. To find that happy place.
It's not there anymore, but the idea of letting it go feels like losing him all over again.
But this isn't what he'd want for me, and no doubt your Mother wouldn't want it for you either. I don't know if you're still around here, but I hope things changed for you and you found a way to get out from under the pain.