The Intent vs. The Reality
When I started this blog, it was supposed to be a little flag in the ground. A small but powerful ‘I did it.’ One year sober. One year of reclaiming myself. A moment to exhale and maybe even celebrate. But life didn’t really care what I had planned.
The Shitstorm
Since then, I handed in my notice. My mum died. I found myself crying more days than not. The types of feelings, emotions that drove me to drink in the first place rose up again, uninvited and overwhelming. The emotional residue of a lifetime—the stuff I used to pour rum and wine over—came back in full force.
THIS is by no means a sob story. It’s not even a redemption arc. It’s just the truth.
Here’s the thing though. The countless times in the past few weeks (I means it’s not been that long) I didn’t drink. Not once. Though let’s be honest – it was fucking tempting.
Dumb Feelings
The Christmas wine (really ought to get rid of that) seemed to poke the bruise. It would be so easy to quiet it all with a glass or five. I chose not to. I am certainly no hero. Sitting with your feelings is a necessary evil. Suppressing these with alcohol is what caused me to be here in the first instance. Plus, the thought of a hangover and even more depression wasn’t enough to p-p-p-pick up the Pinot. My story is not ending with that shit anymore.
That’s the thing isn’t it? That’s the very reason for drinking. At least it was for me. Dampening (drowning more like) emotions because they are difficult. More than difficult. They hurt. They remind you of not being good enough. Opportunities missed. And not always by your own hand. Trauma. Complex, unwavering trauma. One that, at the time when this all started getting way out of hand, was only just being realised.
Read more: Teetotal or Teetering: Sober, Shaky and Showing Up
Not For Me, Thanks 
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