Five years (and a day) alcohol-free. It’s odd to say it out loud. Yesterday was supposed to be a celebratory day of laughter, maybe a party, certainly a cake. Or, at least that’s how I envisioned it would go when I first embarked on this odyssey. Instead it sort of…came and went. I was having a conversation with a Twitter friend and I just kind of realized it and said: “Oh hey, today’s five years sober.”
Weird, right? I mean most everyone I’ve known makes a big deal out of hitting that half-decade mark. It’s a long time and quite an accomplishment, right? I think under normal circumstances I would have made a bigger deal about it. But we’re not in normal times.
It’s been a relentless deluge of bad news for months. I’ve been at home since I started feeling symptoms some unknown number of days ago. Nights are wrought with anxiety, insomnia, and weird dreams. The days are full of screeching, sprinting through the apartment, stomping, crying, and I think my children are making a ruckus too. Most of the downtime I spend wracked with guilt and more self-doubt than usual about my parenting skills, but until this virus gets contained I don’t have any other choice but to put my best foot forward, swallow the tears and keep going.
And you know what else I’ve felt lately? Like giving up. Never have I wanted more than to just give in to that voice in the back of my head that says, “You made it five years, man. You can grab a beer. I mean, this virus shares a namesake for a reason. Go ahead. Or, hey, okay I know that makes you anxious, but what about some weed? Right? Nothing bad ever happened to you from smoking a little bit? You could get some sleep, chill out, put those anxieties to rest, and goddamn wouldn’t that be nice?”
If I’m being honest with you and with myself, it takes a lot of effort to shut that up, and my answer is frequently to distract myself with video games. It’s been getting worse as time goes on. The uncertainty, the helplessness, the rage. I haven’t been this angry in a while, and that, dear reader, is what took me the most by surprise.
Because it’s not just the financial terror of not having enough to pay rent, the 24/7 parenting and home-schooling, lack of exercise, or nonexistent alone-time that has been doing me in the most. It’s the fury. The demon that fueled so much of the misery I felt all those years ago is back. I have tools to confront it: years of training and a network of supportive people. I can spread it around to keep from over-burdening any one person with the weight that crushes my chest and takes my breath away. It’s enough, but only barely.
The silver lining is that at least the pandemic happened now that I have the tools to combat my addiction. I’ve been through enough hell in my life to know that there’s an end, even if it means I have to spend some time enduring the immolation first. I know the voice that assures me it’s okay to give in, just a little bit, is full of absolute shit and is never worth trusting again. My children will have a sober father. When it comes to my marriage, I feel like I spend so much time keeping myself together for the kids, I barely have anything left for her and it isn’t fair, but I still know we’ll make it through. We’ll emerge from the depths of our troubles onto that sandy beach at the end of this journey hand in hand, and someday it’ll be my turn to carry the weight.
I guess, for now, I’ll end with this about sobriety and pandemics: It fucking sucks. It’s the hardest I’ve had to fight to stay sober, but writing this blog post has been a much-needed reminder that I. Am. Winning.
To my fellow addicts struggling with their demons during this global crisis: I’m with you. I can’t do much more than offer my solidarity in fighting this ridiculous onslaught of strife, but I hope it’s at least enough to keep that voice from overpowering you. Stay strong, stay home, be safe. Stop touching your face. I saw it. Stop.