OK, so thus far, I have broken out in strange welts on my arms; have become a human garbage disposal and am hungry every five minutes; and have had bizarro dreams every night for the past three nights running. (Like, beyond strange. Even for me.) I don't mind the welts THAT much, and the dreams are actually kind of entertaining; but even though I logically understand that it's better to gain a few pounds and be sober than to be a svelte drunk, I'm not enjoying this early side effect of sobriety. Although, I have a feeling this is more psychosomatic than physical -- I've always turned to food when I've been stressed and/or depressed. I really only drank when I was actually HAPPY, which means that my life has been a laugh riot for the last 10 years or so.
I had dinner with my dad and his wife tonight. It was all very congenial, and he's a fabulous cook, so I stuffed my face silly. Haven't told him yet. Not sure that I will, for the time being. It's a loooong story, my dad and me, and frankly, I think he's one of those people who live long and prosper by being happily oblivious to reality. So why burst his bubble? Anyway, the point is, I made it through a family dinner without feeling the need for a stiff drink, so small progress is being made daily.
I do feel strangely vulnerable, though; almost as if, now that I've admitted to myself and a few other people that I'm an alcoholic, that I have a big, scarlet "A" (or "AA") on my forehead. Not in a paranoiac sense, or anything; I just have this initial twinge of, "Is this person looking at me because I'm an alcoholic," and then realize I'm being an asshole, and let it go.
This coming Monday is cabaret night at The Metropolitan Room, with Marilyn Maye, one of my all-time favorite old girls. Two drink minimum. A program of songs about boozy broads ("Lush Life," "Something Cool," "Guess Who I Saw Today?"). You see the pitfalls. Of course, I'll be longing for that first, cold tang of gin and vermouth. Instead, I'll be sipping my mineral water. C'est la vie!
4 comments:
The dreams will probably (mostly) ease up in a month or two. Some say, and this fits with my experience, that whackadoo dreams are part of the detox process.
And it's not that important to proclaim the Scarlet A, but it's also not a bad idea to let people know as simply as possible that you're "not drinking tonight/today" so that they don't pour you one out of polite habit. Most people won't ask "why" but, if they press, you can say as much or as little as you like. (I like "just cuz" myself.)
Thanks for the daily posts. Really. Thanks.
I'll second lulu's thanks for posting updates, I'm glad to see them. And yay for small prgogress, which is better than no progress. Enjoy the show.
Peenee & Lulu -- Believe me, I appreciate your comments. Thanks for the support, guys!
By the far, the most enjoyable crazy dream thus far has involved a Brazilian male model, one from which I awoke probing at the air with my tongue. Draw your own conclusions.
My dreams and thoughts about my addiction lasted for a long time but when ever I thought about doing the behavior I reminded myself of the terrible parts and how I didn't want that in my life anymore.
Making it through dinner with Daddy was a good test. Of course the more you put yourself in situations where you enjoyed drinking, at least in the beginning, the easier it will be to slip. So be careful.
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