Fantasizing about a relapse

4/23/15
Sorry you haven't heard from me in a bit - but I'm glad to say its not because I've fallen off the wagon. Although plenty of times I've wanted to nose-dive straight into the bottle, last night being the worst yet. Today is better and am standing a little taller for it.

So, day 25 was yesterday. And dare I say, I started to feel as if this whole thing hasn't really been that hard (please, resist the urge to virtually slap me). I had a great day yesterday. Actually they have all been pretty decent. But yesterday I was happy, and bubbly, and personable, and energetic, and productive! I love days like that, especially at work, and especially lately, when there seems to always be a tiny gray cloud hovering over me. I finished my day, even staying a bit late in the office. Hopped in my car, windows down for a beautiful spring afternoon it was.
My first thought: I'm headed home to have a beer on my porch.
Second thought: no I'm not, I cant. I don't do that anymore.
Third thought: Or do I? What am I doing here? I deserve to have a beer. Did I formally take an oath somewhere that I would NEVER do that again? No.
Last thought (before it all became so jumbled and loud in my head I could no longer decipher what came next): This has been easy - must mean I don't have that big of a problem.
***long, heavy, sigh***

I made a couple really funny jokes yesterday. When a co-worker/drinking friend was talking about hosting a housewarming party during the summer, I joked that "my sobriety should be over by then". I later made a comment about how I fantasize about a relapse...a thought that hits a little too close to home. As I DO have this fantasy, often.

The last few weeks I have immersed myself in AA meetings and books, blogs, podcasts, chat rooms, books, and elicited the help of a varying number of people who I have been overly honest with about my state of sobriety. There was a common thread in nearly all of them: relapse. Although the outcome was always the same: it took generally no time for each of those people to get back into their old drinking habits, for the shame and guilt to come in a rush back to them, many times hitting exponentially harder. But in my head, I feel like its a right of passage, and I'm just waiting for my turn.

I really thought last night would be it. I left work on a high, and in the 25 minute ride home I had turned to a sullen, angry, tearful, depressed version of myself. I should have gone to an AA meeting but I was too busy. Busy throwing myself an epic pity party. It just happened it was the night for our family counselor. So I did get to cry it out for a while. And talking through it helps...a little. Putting a label on it made it a bit easier to put it on a shelf: I'm in mourning. Alcohol is a relationship I had and I fed and nurtured for many, many years. An extreme love affair where I did all the giving, it did all the taking. And now we have broken up. And it hurts. Because that lover is still everywhere! In my house, in the hands of my friends and the stories they share, in books and on TV, and in my dreams at night...my fantasies during the day. What would my relapse look like?

Short answer: probably like everyone else's. I start off slow, moderating, being aware, being careful and deliberate. I wouldn't drink every day (for the first week), and I wouldn't drink to get drunk (the first few times). But inevitably my story would end the same as the others, maybe worse...likely worse. I feel like I've been jipped out of the last 26 days...and I can MORE than make up for that in no time, I'm sure.

I can feel that first long sip of red wine...I can just taste it! My taste buds leaping for joy, as each and every nerve ending in my body starts to hum and tingle. I close my eyes and I am relaxed. SO. Very. Relaxed. My stress and my cares and my worries and my anxiety disappear within minutes, and I'm peaceful again.

The problem isn't the first sip, however...(or, perhaps it IS!) The problem is closer to the last sip, usually a guzzle and hardly remembered. The problem is the morning when I wake up hammer-headed and gaunt. When I cant remember my night, my conversations with my children or arguments with my spouse. Or worse, the location of my wedding ring. **more on this another time**

All I know is that fantasy, which sounds so good on many days, many times a day, may start out beautifully but will likely end very, very bad.

For today Ill fantasize, but live in a reality which I can be proud of, and feel, and remember.

Another 24 hours down...