Tag: alcohol

Dream drinking

I dreamed that I drank alcohol last night. It’s one of several times that I have done that. I want to make nothing out of it, yet I remember it vividly. That is unusual for my dreams of late.

I go through phases where I remember my dreams, but for the most part, I usually don’t. I always remember the ones in which I dream that I slipped up. I have a strong inclination to do better. I don’t want to fall back into old patterns. It seems this desire has permeated my subconscious as well.

The unusual aspect of last night’s nocturnal revelation, and the others, is that I didn’t consciously decide to drink alcohol. This realization came after the fact. Instead, I realized this after the fact. I don’t need to apply much psychoanalysis. That realization merely illustrates how familiar my relationship with alcohol was. It’s no secret. And realizing that just increases my resolve.

There is no question that I have thoughts about drinking. Not to resume my former pace, but to have the “casual” drink. For example, my oldest son asked if I would make an exception and have a Toast at his recent wedding. I chose not to. It was a non-issue. I suppose I could have, because I really don’t believe that I am an Alcoholic, have one or two. I was never really a fall-down drunk, so the likelihood of devolving into dangerous behavior is unlikely. I’ve said before that my drinking never took me to levels that many Alcoholics have. I had a habit, a troubling dependency. But not an addiction.

I have just completed 10 months alcohol-free. I avoid the word Sober because I indulge in weed, medicinally and occasionally recreationally. That is known in AA circles as “California Sober,” and it is a hot issue in the Recovery community. People in Recovery can be a bit militant in their approach. We do not see eye to eye on the matter. I don’t ask their opinion on it, and they can shove theirs in the orifice of their choice. The goal of AA, and my goal in particular, was to stop consuming alcohol. I did that. That’s why I rarely go to a meeting.

I feel good. I’m lighter. I’m physically fit. I’m happier and healthier in mind, body and spirit. My life has done nothing but improve since I started this journey. So I may continue to slip up and accidentally order a drink in my dreams. But in reality, I am past the cravings, temptations, and associations. Why fuck it up now? Even I can’t self-sabotage this.

Or are those famous last words?

The good place

I am in a very good place right now. Almost everything seems to be going in the right direction.

My health is good, which is certainly most important. I made a very good decision choosing sobriety in January. I have been sober for 6 months and the blessings outweigh any negatives. What are the negatives, you ask?
I have little difficulty being around alcohol in social settings. Unlike many alcoholics, which I’m not sure I was one, I am not concerned about relapsing. My problem with alcohol was habitual. I feel good about my decision and that keeps the yearning at bay. But it has affected my (perceived?) level of fun when out in the world. Almost every activity I participate in involves booze. I never recognized how much time passes when imbibing. It’s a lot. So hanging at the bar is not really a choice because there are only so many cokes I can drink. Frankly, I get bored. But in the big picture, who cares?
Another negative is that some people think that I, and other non-drinkers, are judging them. Of course, everyone knows that this is pure insecurity about their own consumption. A non-drinker is threatening to some. The truth is, while I have made observations about the effects of intoxication, I’m not judgmental about it. I merely think, “Hmm, did I look like/do that when I was drinking?” So while it can be argued that I’m not having as much fun, I just need to remind myself of the benefits of my newfound sobriety.

In December, my Doctor informed me that I was “pre-diabetic”. That alarmed me to my core. I weighed about 237 pounds at the time. I am a fairly muscular person, but not particularly fit. My doctor had previously told me that he wasn’t concerned about my weight because of my muscular foundation. Yet, my weight was the cause of the Pre-diabetes. This contributed to my abstaining from alcohol.
6 months later I weigh 212 lbs. Exactly 25 pounds down. I am working out regularly and am seeing muscle definition I haven’t seen in years. Everything feels better. I am thrilled with it.

I feel like I have a new lease on life. More later…

Understanding Sobriety: Not All Drinkers Are Alcoholics

Today will be my 58th day of sobriety. I can honestly say that my life has been a nonstop improvement since I decided to pursue a healthier lifestyle. And let’s make no mistake about it, being healthier is why I did it.
Why make a point of contention about that? you may ask.
Because I’m weary of people telling me that I’m not an alcoholic.

So many people have been supportive of my decision, but there has been some confusion. Some have suggested that I overreacted by joining AA. They thought I didn’t belong there. They believed it was for people in much poorer condition than myself.
They were correct.
I like AA. I believe it is a wonderful program that has helped millions of people worldwide. But it’s not for everyone. As a Recovery Case Manager, I toed the company line. We were a 12-step program, and I worked them with my clients. Despite many ideological disagreements. I disagreed with relinquishing all control to a higher power. While there is merit to the concept, I believe that we are allowed to be pleased with ourselves. We should acknowledge our own part in getting sober. I don’t believe that only God played a role in motivating us to seek help. We also had our own part in bettering ourselves.
I don’t believe that all addiction stems from significant trauma. Nor do I believe that we need to seek the forgiveness of everyone and everything. There are major events that require reckoning, but most of it is just better left in the past. If you have wronged someone and have the ability to make it right, have at it. Otherwise move on. I know this is a controversial opinion and it’s not intended to come off as harsh as it sounds.
Additionally, while members hate to hear this and will get VERY indignant when they do, some of us are different. You’ll hear it at all beginner’s meetings; if you are there, then you are the same as all of them. In fact, we are not all the same. I will not tumble down a wormhole of depravity if I have one drink. Many in the room would. I don’t need to go to 7 meetings a week to stay vigilant. I can do it on my own.
I don’t need to do the steps. I have few resentments and I have made peace with everyone I have hurt (that I know of) already. Many would be furious at that statement, but it’s correct.
Does my assertion that I am different make me an outsider? Or does it just mean that maybe I’m not an alcoholic? See, there is no room in AA for the person who simply likes to drink. There are a lot of those, myself included. I have a problem with alcohol, but I’m not an alcoholic.

So here I am, 58 days later, and I am benefiting from all of the blessings of sobriety. I feel better. I am making great strides in my physical fitness. I have mental clarity. Most importantly, I don’t beat myself up constantly over my drinking. The self-loathing and feelings of inadequacy are over.

I don’t even know if I want to be completely sober for the rest of my life. There will be an opportunity or occasion that arises in which a drink will be warranted. During this time, having a drink will be appropriate and even fun. Or I will say no with confidence and pleasure because I like what saying no has done for me. In the meantime I will continue to go to the occasional meeting. The people are nice, the atmosphere is uplifting, and it is good for the soul.

But I still struggle with calling myself an alcoholic. I think I’m actually just a guy who liked to drink. I found the resolve to recognize that it was just getting old.

Overcoming Negative Thoughts: A Personal Journey

The voices have stepped up their game. It’s not unlike the episode of The Flintstones in which Fred has the Angel and Devil in each ear. I’ve always joked that voices in the head are harmless if they’re agreeable. Lately, they are not.

I have been plagued by negative thinking, over-thinking, and rumination for a very long time. I stop short of using the word “suffering.” Regardless of my choice of words, it is a major problem. I struggle with self-worth. I replay conversations in my head searching for mistakes I have made. I constantly wonder if people like me, or dislike me, and then debate the actual validity of it. I often tell myself I can’t do things and shouldn’t bother. I have been getting better at catching these patterns before they spiral out of control. But more often than not I let them run their course.
The only thing that quieted them was weed and many drinks. With enough of both, I managed to sleep at night.

The recent removal of alcohol from my arsenal has changed that. I still smoke weed at night. It doesn’t have a hallucinogenic effect on me, it just quiets my brain. Apparently, sleep was a product of the combination of both weed and several whiskeys. Sans the whiskey, now when my head hits the pillow it becomes an open forum for the negative voices.
The overall theme of each night’s performance is a delightful and predictable performance.
You can’t go without it.
You’ll give in, this is just a phase.
You’re not really a drunk. Just slow down a bit.
AA is not the answer. You’ll get bored with it.

I hope that this is just a phase.

I feel very good about my decision and, for the most part I am doing very well with not drinking. I firmly believe that my addiction was of a mental compulsion and sheer habit, not of a physical dependence. I still want a drink, again mostly out of habit. The habit is learned behavior and conditioning. I used alcohol as a reward for everything.
Accomplishment=a drink.
Happiness=a drink.
An occasion=a drink.
Well, you get it. Long story short (too late?), almost every day, I find a reason to pull into a liquor store or local tavern for several celebratory drinks. All thanks to the Autosteer feature all alcoholics have installed in their cars. It finds liquor stores and watering holes and automatically pulls into the parking lot for you.

At least for now, I have taken control of the Autosteer. I grab the wheel tight and instead, I pull into a friend’s driveway, churches, Masonic activities, and AA meetings. I believe that eventually, these driving habits will quiet the voices.

A typical night at home

Bill Marshall pulled into his driveway a bit too fast. He heard the scraping of the plastic bumper as it met the small dip at the end of his driveway. It was just another moment in his 15-minute drive that he was reminded of how reckless it was for him to have driven home, half in the proverbial wrapper in a company car. A DUI wouldn’t make his life any better right now. Real smart, dumbass, he scolded himself. He put the car in park, popped an Altoid, took a deep breath, and walked to his front door. Again, he was unable to ignore the crumbling masonry adorning the walkway and the ugly door that desperately needed a coat of paint. He shook his head and went inside.

Bill took off his shoes, stumbled slightly, and went into the kitchen. His wife was sitting at the kitchen table. She didn’t even look at him. She had “the look” on her face. A sense of dread washed over him. Because he had avoided the “money talk” the other night, he knew that it was coming now. Bill reevaluated his condition and decided that he may not have drunk enough.
“You could say hi, you know. You must have heard me come in” he said.
“We need to talk” she replied.
“Not now”, Mike said with a defeated tone. “I know where this is going. Talking about it isn’t going to make a money tree grow in the back yard.” He regretted his snarky tone as it left his lips.
“If not now, when?!” she yelled. She was boiling and she wasn’t in the mood for the verbal foreplay. She wanted to fight.
“I’m doing the best I can.” He knew she didn’t believe it and he wasn’t sure if he did either. “You don’t know what it’s like out there right now.” He tried to change the subject. “Anything for dinner?”
“We went out.”
“Of course, you did. After all, why would you eat any of the food that is in our fridge, we only spend $200 a week on groceries after all.” He immediately realized that he was a raging hypocrite, he was just out himself. And she hasn’t asked where he was and why he was late. Is it possible she doesn’t care? Yeah, he didn’t want the answer to that one.
“Fuck you,” she said.
“Nice. Right back atcha. Where are the kids?”
“In their rooms doing their homework. Report cards came out today and with the exception of Britt, the boys are going to be in their rooms until the second coming. Don’t bother them.”
“If I want to say hi to my kids I will, don’t fucking tell me I can’t.” He didn’t stick around for the rebuttal. At least he had avoided the money talk again.

He needed to sit down for a minute. He would see the kids in a few. He walked into the family room, plopped down on the plush cushion of his chair, and turned the TV on. He peeled off his socks and put his feet up. His swollen ankles hurt like hell and without rolling up his pant legs he knew that his legs were swollen as well. As if he didn’t have enough shit to worry about, his disease was getting worse.
He noticed a change of light in the room and he looked to see his oldest boy D, in the doorway with a Miller Lite in his hand.
“I got you a ‘water bottle’ Dad,” he said as he tucked the can under his arm and did his famous quotation fingers.
“Don’t you have homework to finish?”
“I’m done. Did mom tell you about the report card?”
“No specifics but she didn’t paint a rosy picture.”
“It wasn’t that bad. Mine, I mean. I can’t say the same for Ry.” He sat down next to his father, handed him the beer, and said “The Sox lost.”
“Yeah, I saw.”
“Weren’t you at work?”
Bill hated lying to his son.
“Between you and me I knocked off a little early.” He and D were close. D rarely told mom much of what he said when she wasn’t around. He was a good and loyal soldier and never betrayed his dad to his mother. Bill wasn’t proud of that, he didn’t encourage it. The kid just favored his dad and somehow knew the politics of the household. Bill wished more than anything that he didn’t. But it was hard for them not to see the antagonistic relationship their parents shared.
He also wished his kids didn’t bring him alcohol and joke that they were water bottles. He was some fucking example of a father. Yet, incredible, his children loved him. Despite the fights they witnessed between him and their mother, all of the hurtful words that couldn’t be taken back, they seemed to understand him. Above all, they really appreciated him. He wished and hoped the same for his wife. He didn’t want to be the favorite parent, he would be happy as an equal partner.
He just wanted their love.