Yesterday was a bit of a struggle but I stayed the course, and recognized the addict’s voice in my head during those famous witching hours. I’ve heard about how we are supposed to name the voice, give it it’s own persona. I’ve had trouble coming up with a name so I do what everyone does when we need to know something. I Google “names that mean trouble”. I come up with the name Cain. Cain was the first born son of Adam and Eve, and killed his brother in jealous anger and spent the rest of his life wandering around. Sounds about right. I’ve picked my name.
So Cain starts wailing away yesterday afternoon about how nice having a drink would be. It’s Friday night after all! But this is not my voice, but that asshole Cain’s voice. He’s so not on my side, and only wants to make himself feel better, and since he’s a selfish son of a bitch he doesn’t care about me. Because he doesn’t live in the physicality of what drinking does, he only lives on the romantic, fun side of drinking, and then when the romance leaves and wine stained teeth and lips, slurred speech and droopy eyes remain he gets the fuck out of there. Like I was just the host so he could have a good time, and then he leaves the party and I’m left to clean up the mess. I’m finally done cleaning up after the party, so I don’t let the party start. It gives me a picture of Cain trudging around aimlessly feeling ashamed of himself.
But the party could have easily started. I get home from getting my hair done after work, and my husband is having a cocktail. He’s had a good day, and wants to celebrate with a nice dinner. Crap! I just want to take my bra off, order a pizza and watch Netflix. But since he’s been pretty good about not drinking with me all week and I’m trying to learn how to be a better person, I relent. Off we go, running around town looking for a restaurant that has the fewest people possible so we can sit socially isolated.
He orders a drink, I order a non alcoholic beer as the server asks, “Are you doing a dry January?” “Yep that’s it.” is my reply. I try and act interested in my husband’s stories, but since I’ve been up since freaking 3:40AM I’m exhausted, I don’t want to be there and I still want to take my bra off, but holy shit! Guess who’s at the restaurant? Friends of ours, on the other side of the room waving away. Here comes the server, slams down a couple shots of amber liquid, and points to their table. “These are from the couple over there.” I’m not a hard alcohol type, so I can easily slide mine across the table and my husband slams them down. They come over to our table, but luck is on my side and they are heading out the door, going home. So no offers of grabbing a drink later are discussed. Whew!
I drive us home which feels pretty awesome, and we settle in to watch a bit of TV and then go to bed. Not too bad of a night after all. And here I am up, early as ever filling my time writing this little tidbit. It feels good to get it out, and examine in words how I’m protecting my sobriety. So thank you for this safe space, good thoughts, vibes and camaraderie!
Happy Sober Saturday,