Sober and grateful…

For a long time, I tried to be something I wasn’t. Tried far too hard to be liked and accepted. Acted roles in a life I didn’t like to try and find something or someone who understood. But as I changed like the wind I was often left wanting. That exacerbated my misery. Cemented my belief that I was unlikeable and unloveable. I was a mixed-up individual who knew how to be what the people in his presence wanted but didn’t know what I wanted. It was the making of an addict.  

Alcohol was my friend. It understood. It gave answers that I sought. It was my everything. I don’t care for the label but I am an alcoholic. I love drinking. I fucking love not being present. I love not having to think about life. I love not taking responsibility for my actions and love pushing boundaries and using alcohol as an excuse. Yet, in spite of this love, I don’t go back. I have turned my back on that love and found another, inner love that brings peace instead of the destruction that once was. I know alcohol is out there. I know where to find it. But I don’t go looking. For that love isn’t healthy. It is toxic. Just like the substance.  

For all that try hard behaviour that fuelled my addiction, I was left lonely. Since quitting drinking I stopped trying so hard to please others. I accepted a lot of things. I took responsibility for myself (begrudgingly). I became an adult (whatever the fuck that means). I expected boredom. I expected misery. Yet found quiet contentment. I often ask if quiet contentment is enough. Should I not be pursuing happiness like in the old days. Looking for that elusive missing piece that will make it all complete? The guilt seeks in when I am enjoying a quiet moment. It tells me I am not doing enough with my life. That it is wasted. That wasting time watching TV is time spent learning an instrument or pushing myself further. It is just the remnants of the insecure egotist that had delusions of grandeur. But when it subsided and I accept my place in the world. I begin to realise that since quitting drinking I have been INCREDIBLY lucky. The acceptance I yearned for in my people-pleasing has been replaced with genuine friends. People who I can talk to for hours about the nature of reality of the solar system or religion. It achieves nothing but to me it is fun. I was once ashamed of my inquisitiveness. I didn’t want to be me. I wanted to be everybody else. They are taken and it is a gift to be at peace with yourself. You should be.  

Things disrupt that peace of course. And it seems to be a blindside that sweeps in at the least desirable moment. Yesterday, on the tail end of a couple of really good days I got invited to a meeting to be told the outcome of my disciplinary. It isn’t for another week. I was stewing. My mind raced in a thousand directions to gather all the negative outcomes possible. It’s as if my mind returns negative possibilities with the efficiency of a well-trained retriever. That would have been reason to drink years ago. That chaotic mess that happens in my head would have resulted in a blackout. I instead picked up the phone and spoke to people. The genuine people that I am guilty of taking for granted sometimes. That listened about my worries and then we talked like normal. We laughed and philosophised. Took the piss out of each other. Basically, I did all the things I would have done if I’d had a drink. The difference is the fear, anxiety and uncertainty would still be there in the morning. Whereas this morning I am sitting and writing this. It is quiet. I have a phone call soon to discuss reducing my anti-depressants. And in spite of what could be, today is okay. That’s all I can ask for. If I bring it back to the moment and remove the dis-ease around uncertainty then I can accept that things could be a lot worse. I am lucky. To have found me and then to have found genuine supportive people who believed in me. It is an absolute honour.  

Alcohol didn’t give a fuck about me. It wasn’t a real friend. It had no connection to me at all. I was a prisoner of my addiction. I had Stockholm syndrome. Now I see clearly. The minor blips in the road that catastrophise into epic drama were just excuses to drink. Like the shy guy at work who makes any excuse to go and see the receptionist, he has a crush on. I too made any excuse to visit my crush. But it was a love story with a tragic end. I have to remember that. 

I have said it hundreds of times; the joy of not drinking for me is peace. Not outer but inner. A subsiding of the inner chaos that forced me to drink. A toxic dangerous cycle. But by stepping back it is clear that it was all an illusion. A combination of two factors fear and cowardice. I was too fearful of what people would think if I quit and I was too much of a coward to walk the path of life without alcohol to hold my hand. The short version is that life got easier to handle without alcohol and the people who didn’t care about me really didn’t care anyway. It reminds me of a story from a national park. The rangers had been doing everything to stop forest fires. They thought that it protected nature. But then they realised that things don’t grow until all the shit is burned off the top and used to fertilise the future. Without getting rid of all the shit that stops us growing we will never feel the healing warm glow of the sun. 

Charlie.

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