Yesterday, one of the #recoveryposse on Twitter asked “what’s your number one reason stay sober?” Without hesitation, my initial response was “Because I’m genuinely happy now even when things aren’t always great or don’t go my way.” ...
Anxiety. Fear. Agony. Those are the words that come to mind when I recall the first wedding I attended sober. It was a scant sixteen days after I’d given up the drink. I was still in withdrawal, and probably had no business going to a wedding of a fraternity brother. Still, I was committed to attending and even more committed to not drinking. ...
Monumental changes in one area of life often affect other areas in our lives, and so it’s probably no surprise that with the change of jobs I’ve not only been too busy to write, but I’ve also been a bit negligent with my meeting attendance. And as I’ve been negligent with attendance, I’ve felt myself drift further and further from my recovery program. And my resistant self has risen up to lead the committee in my head – the one that debates the importance of the program. ...
“What’s up with the water?” “What do you mean?” “Why aren’t you drinking.” “I don’t drink.” “Never?” “Never, not anymore.” This was going nowhere quickly. I was already frustrated with my new business partner and his behavior, but I took a few deep breaths. “I haven’t had a drink in over 18 months. If you’d like to have another SE like you last one, I can have a beer. If you like me to show up to meetings the way I have been, it’s best for me to have water.” His last systems engineer had a problem with the bottle and I knew it. He had been let go because of his habit of showing up to customer meetings intoxicated. I hoped that he’d get the message. “Why do you count?” I looked at our customer who sat across form me and could see that he sensed the tension. I could see that he was a bit uncomfortable. “What do you mean?” “Why do you count?” I had wondered whether or not my new business partner was clued in to my sobriety. I’d taken the job about three weeks prior and I was keenly aware of the fact that he’d talked to a lot of people that we both knew. I was also keenly aware that I’ve been public about my sobriety and that a simple google search would reveal a twitter account with links to this page. I was fairly confident that this line of questioning was coming from a place of knowledge of my status. While I’ve always been quite comfortable with my sobriety and I’ve been open and honest about it, I didn’t advertise it in the interview process — that didn’t seem prudent. I kept it under wraps and planned to share it at the appropriate time. This was not the appropriate time and I was getting irritated with it. “What do you want me to say?” ...
The first time the man who I would eventually ask to be my sponsor said, “I love you” to me I was a bit stunned and I managed to stammer that I loved him too back, even though I wasn’t sure that I wanted to say the words — not because I didn’t love him, but because it felt awkward. ...
Time flies when you’re busy. My last post was written while I was in Asheville, NC. Upon our return I jumped into the mix of my new job. I am currently drinking from the firehouse at work and have had very little time to write. ...
Several years ago, my wife said to me, “I’d spend my last dime on travel” and I was dumbstruck. Certainly if I were down to my last dime I wouldn’t spend it on travel. Certainly I’d spend it on food, or better yet, beer. This was before I’d gone off the rails - in fact well before I’d gone off the rails. But that was my thought. ...
Primal. Visceral. Instinctive. Fear lives in the oldest part of our brain, the limbic system. The lizard brain. Fear lives in the same part of the brain that governs addiction and so it is not surprising that fear and addiction often go hand in hand. Or that addiction and trauma have such strong links. ...
Damien’s Note: Ericka started following this blog on it’s Facebook page a while ago and recently reached out with a series of articles written from her personal experience. Here is the second in the series. I can certainly relate to parts of her story and I suspect some of my readers will as well. This piece was written on August 6, 2015. ...
Damien’s Note: Ericka started following this blog on it’s Facebook page a while ago and recently reached out with a series of articles written from her personal experience. Here is the first in the series. I can certainly relate to parts of her story and I suspect some of my readers will as well. The post was written on August 5, 2015 and this is the first time Ericka has used her full name in conjunction with her struggles with alcohol and she said, “It feels raw, but amazing!” It was another lonely night in an otherwise full house. My husband and the step kids were downstairs watching a movie. The Sunday night family dinner was over, the leftovers and dishes were put away and my wine cup was washed and put away. I had a few drinks while preparing and cleaning up after dinner hoping no one noticed my slurred words or loud voice at the dinner table. All I could do was think about being upstairs, alone, and open that extra bottle I had hidden in my dresser drawer. This had become my life, my routine, my only existence at that time. So there I sat, once again, alone in my bedroom. At this time, the husband and I were already sleeping in separate bedrooms for over a year so it was easy to be alone and even easier to hide and drink my wine. Although his bedroom was a mere two feet away, it felt like miles. Morning came along with the hangover, the shakes, and the regret. ...
There is a lot of talk in the rooms about feelings, and specifically about feelings that we didn’t want to feel. I know that I personally drank to cover up feelings — of inadequacy, of fear, of confusion. We talk a lot about how alcohol numbed our feelings, or put them aside, but we don’t often talk about the feeling that resulted from our drinking. I know for me, especially as I neared the end, I felt feelings of hopelessness, anger with myself and others, and despair as a result of my drinking. I felt like I was trapped — and I was trapped in a cycle of daily drinking. I felt that there was no way out and I hated what was happening. I distinctly remember looking at myself in the mirror, sometimes in the morning, sometimes in the middle of a bender, and thinking — I hate you. ...
For months, I have woken up filled with anger and angst about the politics of the United States. I’ve felt that it was my responsibility to be educated, to be involved, to raise my voice against injustice, to resist. But in the 24 hour news cycle this has become taxing — Taxing on my mental health, my family, and my friendships. I’ve been keenly aware that my anger and angst, my resentments, have been eating me alive. I’ve also been keenly aware that these things are beyond my control. Intellectually, I know what to do, and yet, I have resisted. And I’ve felt trapped. Trapped by the fact that this is an “outside issue.” I’ve felt a strong need to talk about it in a safe place, a meeting perhaps, but have known that I cannot bring up politics in a meeting for obvious reasons. I’ve been caustic in my criticism of this new reality on my social media outlets. Where I’ve needed to bring healing words, I’ve only brought sandpaper to rub the wounds of my friends. ...
Reconnecting with my wife has been one of the most precious gifts of my sobriety. In the depths of my drinking, there were times when I felt that I’d lost her emotionally — times when I felt like we didn’t connect at all — and I didn’t know why. The reason is quite clear in retrospect, but when you’re stuck in your shit, you don’t see it. ...
Losing weight was not my goal when I decided to get sober, but I sure wasn’t opposed to the idea. Indeed, in the first month and a half of sobriety I was dropping weight like a bad habit. I dropped 17 pounds in about 6-8 weeks. But it was totally unsustainable. ...
Life has been moving very quickly in the past two weeks between work and family. I had a trip to Florida right before the inauguration. The following week I had a few health related appointments (nothing to worry about, routine things like an eye exam — turns out I need readers for my daily computer work). Of course, mixed in there has been the rush of being a father, with a son in cub scouts, and basketball. I got violently sick (Norovirus) towards the tail end of last week and didn’t really recover until Monday of this week. I’ve been trying to keep with a cadence of at least one post per week, but I haven’t been able to bring myself to write since the inauguration of President Trump. It’s hard to believe its only been twelve days since the inauguration and only nine since we were introduced to the idea of “alternative facts.” Everything feels like it’s accelerated over the past two weeks, and the chaos with which the administration steeps its tea hasn’t helped much either. The truth is, I’ve wanted to write, but not about sobriety. ...