December 29, 2020

 I'm quickly learning that I'm not good at being bored, and that leads to the question: what's wrong with being bored?  Isn't it through boredom that creative ideas are born?  Do I need to constantly be moving, producing, creating?  Why can't I just sit still in the silence?  Enter my smartphone- that's an addiction I need to work on.  I'm mindlessly reaching for it and looking up brain cell killing nonsense or checking Facebook for the third time that minute only to see no one has posted anything the least bit interesting since the last time I checked, twenty-three seconds ago.

Why am I bored?  Because for the last 25 years I have spent my time drinking, thinking about drinking, recovering from drinking, looking forward to drinking, managing (sorta) my anxiety from drinking, avoiding the guilt and shame that came from my drinking by drinking, covering up the truth about my drinking, cursing myself for my drinking, loving drinking, hating drinking, bonding over drinking, getting dressed up and putting on make up to go out drinking....you get the picture.  I was hooked.  And now I'm not.  And I don't know what to do with myself.   

So I listen to podcasts to teach me what a badass I am. And I am a badass.  Sorta.  Still learning.  But one thing I know for sure:  I love ME so much more when I'm not drinking and living the hellish life as a drinker.  I will say that I never truly hit rock bottom, and if I did, I was too drunk to realize it.  I was the kind of drinker that got up most mornings, hating my reflection and the bags under my eyes, quietly going about my day hoping no one discovered the battle going on in my head, the dirty little secret I hid so well.  I moderated well during the week; I was sophisticated with only two cheap low carb/ low cal Mexican beers a night.  Plus a few sips of my husband's wine that usually equaled a glass of my own.  But since it was his wine, it didn't count.  Fridays were usually spent in a blackout by seven pm.  Saturdays were for nursing the hangover and anxiety during the day, napping, and getting dolled up to do it all over again Saturday night.  

I haven't had a drink for 31 days.  It's been easy, it's been glorious, it's been so damn freeing.  So much freedom that I don't know what to do with myself.  So my brain whispers sometimes, "you know you can always have a beer."  But I don't want a beer, I don't want to feel that fuzzy feeling, that buzz that feels good but in reality is stealing me away from myself.  So I tell the voice to shut the fuck up, but politely, of course.  More like, "yes,  I could have a beer anytime I want, but I don't drink anymore."  

I am learning to live out loud.  I have spent over two decades only speaking up behind the veil of alcohol, when everything I said sounded so true at the moment but really, it was just a bunch of bullshit that I thought made me sound like a lover, an intellect, and flirtatious diva.  But it was never me.  So now I'm learning to live out loud.  I am learning to no longer be afraid to embarrass myself by being honest.  I am no longer going to tamper down the thoughts, the feelings, the passion, the outrage, the anger, the mood swings, the love, the giddiness.  I am going to dance by myself to music that is too loud.  I am going to sing alone in the car to 80's hairband rock.  I am going to smile at strangers and tell my family I love them.  I am going to be brutally honest with myself and love every inch of me.  I am going to....live out loud.