I have to admit.
The past week-and-a-half has been a sh*t show.
Whatever discipline I’d acquired, whatever stone-cold sober mindset I’d managed to hold on to for nearly four weeks (just shy of 28 days), I tossed right out the window with a trip to my distant in-laws’. A small town in Iowa, that’s where we went June 25th through the 27th. That’s where I had to watch every adult in the room tip back the bottle multiple times over the course of three days. It’s where the scales eventually tipped in my mind towards that evil “Wine Witch,” or what I’ll simply refer to as ” The Witch” (because truthfully I prefer neat spirits over wine). The Witch was loud and clear and in no way going to be ignored, especially after how there was NOTHING left to do on our second day in except sit around in a gazebo, nibble on chips and dip, and yep, you guessed it, drink. Don’t get me wrong. It’s always nice visiting with my husband’s side of the family; it’s just that they’re the type who prefer sticking close to home. No music. No TV. No phones. Just lounge around in a loose circle, conversing….and drinking. Talk about an all but impossible situation to put myself in with only 27 days alcohol-free under my belt.
After I’d given myself permission to drink that Saturday in Fort Dodge, it was like I opened the floodgates. I only made it two days, and then on Tuesday night–when my husband had to attend a work dinner–I fixed a strong drink and settled in on the couch to watch Netflix. One drink turned into two (of course). I actually poured myself a third, but then realizing how late it was getting, dumped it down the drain. Yay, me! Not. I held off drinking on Wednesday. Thursday rolled around, and this was my husband’s and my 15th Wedding Anniversary. We’d made reservations at a REALLY nice restaurant downtown, and I knew before I even left work for the day, that I was going to drink that night. I no sooner hit the door at home then charged straight for the liquor cabinet. I primed while I got ready–just like in the “Good ol’ days,” (an obnoxious rolling of my eyes). When we arrived at the restaurant, I ordered a Maker’s Manhattan. And I didn’t stop there. After we dined, we decided to walk along the quaint, brick-lined streets to a cigar bar with a cool outdoor patio. I ordered ANOTHER Maker’s Manhattan, and even smoked a cigar (which I paid for dearly in the middle of the night). Did my husband and I have a good time? Do I REMEMBER if we had fun? Um…… I’m sure we had to, right? I have the receipts in my purse…
Friday was just around the corner, and honestly, I’m shocked that I was able to abstain this night. It probably helped that my husband and kids chose a super casual “Mom and Pops'” Greek restaurant to eat at. I drank a Diet Coke with my dinner then we all came home and watched a movie. Saturday was a whole different story. Our good friends had their annual 3rd of July party, and EVERYONE tied one on. Sadly, including me. From 5:00 PM until 10:00 PM I steadily drank. When I went to bed this night, true to form, I woke up around 3:00, feeling like crap. You’d have thought that would deter me from drinking on the 4th. Nope. We hosted this holiday, and before the company even arrived, I poured myself a Vodka lemonade. I had a couple more before the evening ended. To combat the inevitable sleep issue, I took a sleep aid before hitting the sack. Sure this spared me the middle-of-the night fiasco, but it also worked against my favor for wanting a drink yesterday. BECAUSE I didn’t have a hangover so-to-speak, I allowed myself a cocktail late in the day while completing house chores.
Last night I was soooooooooo ashamed. I hated myself. I couldn’t believe I could fall so far so fast. But that’s the kicker. Anytime I think I can moderate, I become increasingly aware that I can’t. When am I going to get this through my head?
Today, I downloaded a new quit lit book. It’s a Sober free challenge for 100 days. I’m about twenty pages in, and I can already tell it’s good. It’s really good. I’m even thinking I’d like to give this 100-day thing a go. I’ve done “dry” months in the past, but I’ve never made it past 54 days or so. A lot of the “magic” happens towards the end of three months (or so I’m told). I want to experience this for myself. If I can hold just a little bit of this magic in my hands, it may give me the strength, the desire to keep on going.