…and the same shit that always happens, happened. I drank, blacked out, yelled at/harassed my boyfriend (among other classic “me” moves, like, getting into bed wet from the pool — yes, I went swimming in my blackout in the middle of the fucking night), tried to drink more but luckily, couldn’t get the bottle open, passed out naked on the couch only to wake up and stumble into the bedroom. Woke up with a raging hangover, one that reminded me just how much I HATE hangovers.
Sure, I’m disappointed, but I’m not taking it into tomorrow. Yeah, it sucks, but it’s also made me that much more committed to not letting it happen again.
And, was it even fun? No! I remember feeling…weird, I guess, after the first glass. Dizzy. The second made my brain feel numb, emotionless — quite literally, depressed. The whole point was to make me feel less depressed, and I didn’t even get the buzz! Either it didn’t work or I wouldn’t let myself show it in front of my boyfriend, who tried to stop me from opening the bottle and then had to watch me drink it and wonder how much time he had between that moment and when I’d black out and turn on him… I felt dissociated from myself, as if I was watching myself get drunk, watching myself unable to stop talking, watching myself “play” with the parrot. I remember yelling at my boyfriend for a while, going in for the second bottle (which was half full)…and then I blacked out. Per fucking usual.
The last thing I remember was going in for the white, but not actually drinking it. I don’t remember going for a swim or coming into the bedroom and continually turning the light on and off, talking at and/or yelling at my boyfriend more, passing out naked on the couch, or leaving a used pantyliner in the pool. Eww. I do remember waking up on the couch in the middle of the night and stumbling (literally) into bed, passing out for good.
The hangover sucked, the day was ruined, and I got fuck all done. But, I really do believe that this experience has made me even more committed to not drinking. To being sober. I think I needed to do it, to see if things had changed, to just get it fucking over with. Nothing’s changed, and nothing’s different. It’s not fun, and frankly, I can’t afford to drink anymore. I can’t afford to waste days, I can’t afford to offend my boyfriend and/or waste his time, I can’t afford to go there again, into that dark place. I can’t afford to be spiritually drained like that even one more time! I need light, not dark.
1. Triggers. Need To Deal Better. I think my main trigger was the sheer buildup of sobriety! Like, the daily fucking grind of always being sober, never getting a break. Add to that hanging out at the beach all day with drinkers; my boyfriend making comments about other chics that hurt my feelings more than I like to admit; a killer PMS mood swing — well, it’s enough to make anyone succumb. I also spent about three hours on the phone with family the day before and realized that one brother thinks I’ve alienated myself from the family and need to call more and the other is still a long way from forgiving me for my batshit crazy blackout on New Year’s Eve. It just felt like major overload. Can’t I fucking do anything right? Where is MY solace, MY relief, MY release, huh? I don’t smoke weed or pop pills or do any other drugs, so wine is it.
The thing it, it’s not going to go away, life. People drinking and smoking. Job interviews and petty jealousy and family problems and life choices. Death. Mood swings. PMS. They’re all here to stay, drinking doesn’t solve anything or make any of it go away so…the only thing TO DO is to deal with it sober.
2. Hangovers. Still Suck. I am about to go suck down some rooibos tea and then Kill This Fucking Day. The shittiest part about this whole thing is that I wasted a day here, on the island. I had such a sense of accomplishment after a day spent sober, and now, well, I definitely feel like I wasted the day.
3. 60 days minus 1? Or, start the count all over? Bf says start over. I’m not sure how I feel, now that I’ve actually broken my stride. I feel much more practiced at being sober now, so I think it’ll be fairly easy to get back on the wagon. I mean, I could have killed myself if I had passed out in the pool. A family friend did just that, at 28 years old. I thought mostly about that today, not about my 60 days and the “game” of counting days. It’s not a game, it’s my life.
4. Next goal: being sober and not just “not drinking.”
I’m disappointed, but tomorrow’s another day to forgive and forget, right? Sigh.