Other People’s Misery Makes Me Feel Normal

Dear God,

Not that you don’t know this already, but I’ve been on a tear of reading memoirs of sobriety. Reading about other people’s addictions serves two purposes: first…my bottom wasn’t very low and it can be very satisfying to realize that other people got sober without first having to destroy their lives entirely.  It is also satisfying to read about the people who did destroy their lives, just because it’s fascinating.

If you are wondering, yes, I do slow down to look at car accidents as I drive past them.

The second reason for reading all those sobriety memoirs is that they make me feel NORMAL.

First I read Laura McKowen’s We Are the Luckiest: The Surprising Magic of a Sober Life. McKowan was the first person to explain that it is okay to grieve over becoming sober, that giving up anything that I relied on as much as I relied on alcohol would involve a huge sense of loss, and loss kind of requires a time of grieving.  I had felt like such a fool for being sad that I couldn’t drink anymore. I kept faulting myself for not finding that ‘pink cloud’ that I was supposed to be experiencing. I think I found the pink cloud one day, for about five or six hours, on a Thursday about two weeks ago. Every hour other than those five or six has been relatively bleak, but I hear that things get better after 90 days of sobriety.

The other thing I learned from McKowen is that being truthful is not an option for sober people. Basically, dishonestly = eventual relapse.

For some, this is because their alcoholism took them to the place where they lied constantly. I heard a speaker say that she lied about what she ate for breakfast, not because she needed to, but because lying was a thing she did. For her, lying is a sign that her sobriety isn’t on solid ground anymore.

My disease didn’t take me to the place where I lied just because it was what I did. Mostly, I tell the truth about myself, my behaviors, etc. The major place I was hiding was in my drinking. However, I need to admit that I drank because I needed to erase myself from the room. In other words: I drank because I didn’t want to have to admit all the things I was doing that I just didn’t want to do anymore. Alcohol was my editor, the one who kept me from saying all the things I really wanted to say.

I edit myself around my mom because she is so difficult for me to manage (I am her care manager and medical POA as she has cognitive issues and needs caregivers.)

I edit myself around my husband and say ‘yes’ when I want to say ‘no’ (or vice versa) because I want to make him happy.

I edit myself in situations where I am supposed to ‘serve’ like a good (what I do for a living). I’m supposed to be compassionate, kind, always thinking of others, outgoing, intelligent, and in so many ways—servile. There are times when I want to say things that are not kind but are definitely true (at least for me), and I edit myself into silence while forcing myself to continue serving on that committee, helping with whatever they want, etc.

I fear that my sobriety is going to make me unpopular with people who previously thought I was easy to work with.  But if maintaining my good standing in other people’s eyes means that I need to soak myself in alcohol every damn day, is their opinion really worth maintaining? Aren’t I worth something more than what other’s think of me, or what I can do for them?

That’s a question that I already know the answer to, but doing what it takes to live that answer is incredibly scary for me right now.

I am currently reading The Sober Diaries by Clare Pooley. She started writing a blog about becoming sober (gee…who does such a thing? LOL) right as she quit drinking, writing an entry every day just to get the thoughts out of her head and onto virtual paper. I’m pretty sure she used the blog when writing her book, as each chapter begins with the amount of time she’s been sober. I think I might re-read the early part of her book because the details of the first 30 days of her sobriety are so very validating to me and my experience.   I especially loved it when she pointed out that alcohol is the only drug where you are considered to be weird or flawed if you have to stop using it, while those who still drink are considered ‘normal’.  I’m not so sure that we’d view things the same way if I was becoming sober from heroin or meth.

Lately I have been craving carbs, especially sweet carbs. And when I say that I’ve been craving them, I don’t mean, gee, maybe I’ll stop by the store later and get a candy bar. It’s more like OH MY GOD I NEED AN APPLE FRITTER RIGHT NOW! RIGHT! NOW! NOW!

At first, I thought I was just having a couple of carb-ish days, the kind that happen when you have a hormone surge.  I’d been having hot flashes for about a week and had been fighting with chin pimples, so I figured the whole estrogen thing would go away within the week.

The estrogen thing did stop, but the cravings did not.

I finally realized that my brain had decided to play nice and not ask for wine when it was stressed, having emotions, or just wanted something soothing…so it was asking for carbs.

Toast.

Pasta.

Sugar, especially if it comes in the form of cake or donuts.

I texted my sponsor and she assured me that this is normal and that I shouldn’t be too alarmed. She told me to try and keep the house stocked with healthy foods, and to limit my consumption of low nutrition, high carb (read that CRAP) food simply because it would make me feel sluggish and numb…much like alcohol used to make me feel.

Part of me is disgusted with myself for being unable to deal with emotions without some sort of crutch to comfort me. For God’s sake, what is so bad about sadness? Why are tears so terrifying? I’ve been angry plenty enough times to know that I can deal with my anger without falling apart.

Then again, I have to wonder how many old emotions have been waiting in the wings, hoping to be expressed. I’ve been drinking for over 10 years…and I’m pretty sure that I stumbled into the unhealthy drinking stage back in 2015 or so…meaning that there could be six years of emotions stacked up, waiting for release.  That’s a lot of fear, pain, sadness, frustration, anxiety, and anger all waiting for their moment to be felt, acknowledged, and let go. Just thinking about it makes me want a donut.

Maybe I’ll go to a meeting instead.

Thanks for listening.