Today I’m on day 4. At this point I feel a bit sick of writing the same, tired story. Am I or aren’t I? Can I or can’t I? Should I even bother, or shouldn’t I? It’s really the questioning part of me that lands me back in the same place, starting over. I inevitably get tired of thinking about not drinking, of the restrictive feeling of it, and give in. I don’t want to be a non-drinker. I just don’t want to keep ending up feeling like crap and arguing with my husband and losing motivation to run my business and all the other negative effects that seem to befall me when I drink these days.
But oh, the grief. I feel such a deep, intense grief when I think about a life without wine, without that carefree feeling that has carried me through so many hard times, and given me so many good times. It’s so easy to overlook the negative. When I’ve quit before, when I started this process, I at least felt a strong motivation to be sober, to live sober. I imagined drastic improvements in my life, my mood, my creativity, and my energy level. And all those things are true I suppose, but more and more I’ve come to realize that improving all that stuff also takes work, it’s not magic. And that some of those improvements, when I work at them, remain with me even in my times of drinking. But each time, it tends to escalate, and inevitably I feel so low during the day. Run down. Exhausted. My self-confidence run completely dry. No inspiration to write, work, or do laundry, or exercise. I’m grouchy. Snappy with my husband. Negative. How is it that all those negative effects seem worth it in moments like these?
Here it is, wine-o-clock. My husband’s not home and I’m about to start dinner. This is when. The longing is so great. The voice is in my head telling me that it’s no big deal. That I have the right to relax. That I won’t drink too much. That it’s been a few days and I deserve it. I haven’t been fighting that voice very hard lately, not wanting to have to fight. Not wanting to have to deal with the effort. But here I am, again. Again. Again. Trying to give it a chance. I suppose, if I really want to give this a try, then I have to TRY. Like, now. During these rough moments when I just want to have my private glass(es) of wine while cooking and unwind. To forget the awfulness of the lunch conversation I had with my mother. To lift my spirits. To lift the loneliness of working from home. To distract me.
So I’m here, learning. Writing. Reaching out. Again. Tired of hearing my own story repeat itself, but not too tired to try again.