Two Years

Today marks two years being sober.  Yea!

Last year, I vowed to not celebrate until five years, but two of my friends have insisted I come over for dinner later this week, as a sort of celebration.  One of them is a recovering addict too, and has had the added stress of dealing with her oldest son just having finished up his first, and hopefully last, stint in rehab.  It's hard for her, as he's no longer here, living far away from the culture and friends which got him addicted.  She's never told me what her addiction was, but it caused her to move away from her former life years ago, and she's never looked back.  She's hopeful.

I thought my other friend not drinking was due to her being a personal trainer, but she never drank.  Her dad was a raging alcoholic.  Her mom had to leave with the kids, out of fear and ruin.  Her dad never broke the addiction.  He died.  She told me how on the outside, the family always acted like him being gone was a good thing, but down deep inside, they all so wanted him back, clean.

When you are a recovering alcoholic, you end up meeting a lot of people who are recovering too.  They're all around you, but you never really know who is and isn't recovering.  Their stories are all different, as are their paths to sobriety.  One thing I've learned in the last two years is there are two kinds of recovering addicts.  There are ones really trying hard to put the awfulness behind them, who are incredibly positive and supportive (my friends).  Then there are the others, the ones you can tell are losing their fight.  You want to help them, you want to be encouraging, but the truth is you have to want to be clean to get clean.  Much like my friend's dad, nothing can pull some people away from the curse, not even the love of their kids, the pleas of the spouses, or their own bodies telling them to stop or die.  The saddest part for me is knowing, at one point, there was still enough strength and willpower for them to win the battle.  Not anymore for a staggering amount...

As far as me personally, I wonder how I did give it up on a February 3rd.  If you read back on the blog, you know I have trouble with winter; the darkness, the stress.  The last two years, almost as if the whiskey was challenging me, my January's have sucked.  Work stress, family stress, seasonal disorder...it's feels like a never ending barrage on the castle walls, an effort to break down my defenses before another anniversary.  Last night, I didn't sleep well, as I dreamt of drinking; not the social, casual drinking portrayed in TV, movies and liquor ads, but the drinking most people engage in, reckless, guzzling, dangerous.  It made me uncomfortable.  I don't miss drinking like that.  In my dreams, I stared as a silent observer.  This was what I had become?  This is what I was doing to myself? Shame is what kept me awake last night.  Shame.

I'm sober. I'm happy. I'm better.

I look forward to having two attractive, sober friends cook dinner for me. I'm sure the night will be delicious and fun, minus the wine.