Almost a year with no alcohol

As I type this, I am 302 days alcohol free. Many of you have read those lines with different numbers, followed closely by a life changing event that makes everything sound perfect. This gives the reader a glimpse of the ending. That's fair in the blog world.

However, no one really writes about the middle parts. The parts that come back while driving on a sunny morning with nothing but Zen in your mind. Those flashing images of immoral behavior masked by the fun of a buzz that lasted entirely too long. The dangerous flutters of my heart that remind me of situations that someone of my smooth upbringing should never be in, draped in the rough cloth of regret, cringe, and shame.

Everyone has a beginning in these stories. The beginning is the desire to quit drinking and successfully do so for consecutive days. The end can split into a trident of desire, decision, and despair.

One way is the blissful success of weight loss, mental stability and overall sense of happiness that takes over once the waste of alcohol abuse is washed clean.

Another way is the path that leads back to the trenches. The bars didn't even notice you missing as you saunter back in with something to prove and sit down on your still warm seat at the spot where you always sat. Tilting your pride back as you slosh another drink and convince yourself that you're better off this way and no one took you seriously while you were sober. Boring.

The last fork is the path of indifference. You neither want nor don't want to drink. Life hasn't changed much, but you have saved a few bucks and pounds from not drinking it on and pissing it all away.

I am the successful conclusion direction. Incredibly lucky, people tell me. Never had to do AA, rehab, or leave my job that is in the alcohol industry. I have no reasons for my luck, but I will accept it if it stays.

The middle parts are what scare me the most, but also help strengthen my resolve to never go back to that old me who was not too much younger than new me.

Maybe I'll start jotting down those old memories and put them here. I don't know yet. There were fun times that ended in the shame that once again I had broken a promise to be home early but stayed out with my friends doing blow and drinking scotch all night long. Those are tinged with regret that makes even the laughter taste acidic. There were the times that started in anger and ended in sorrow. My vengeance upon being given the cold shoulder was to day drink and do it well. Those were the nights I'd actually make it in before 2, because 2 was when the coke got to the bar. The pounding head and anxiety and misplaced horniness makes my skin crawl and the obesity level I was cruising at was slowly rising, and the final cut would be my husband not wanting to have sex with an over emotional, red faced, beer sweaty wife with swollen face and alcohol fat. There are more moments, reaching back as far as my teenage years, where I am just now seeing how far my alcohol abuse affected every decision I made. From my promiscuity, to dropping out, and making myself believe that others believed my lies, I can safely say that these memories help me. I must learn how to accept them as weapons for my use, not weapons that can be used to strike me down from my sobriety tower.

I can tell you that I will never go quietly.

I hope that one day, I will be brave enough to detail these stories.