Flirting with Sobriety

The first time I drank, I was in eigth grade. My girlfriends and I got our hands on some Zima, dropped Skittles in to make it change colors, and got tipsy together. When I look back at this childhood imitation of maturity, I want to laugh because it is humourous, but it is my life, and it is serious, and it makes me sad. It doesn't take long to get hooked on colorful Zima, or the feeling of abandonment of control that it afforded me, the youngest, the only daughter, the smart one of the family. Once alcohol had it's grip, I could be whatever I really was. Words could just come tumbling out, I didn't have to take responsibility for them, because, after all, I was wasted. My adolescent relationships were forged over booze. We all hung out with each other, but more importantly, we hung out with the keg. We saw each other through the light brown haze of cheap beer.

Consider that a prologue.

Now I'm 28 and I work in a bar. I have not figured out how to be among people and be sober, I have not figured out how to say 'no' when someone offers me a drink. Please don't read this wrong; I do not drink rum in my morning coffee, I don't sneak those little bottles of booze around in my purse, I'm not that kind of alcoholic. Last summer, I worked at a sleepaway camp, and didn't drink for two months, and I survived. But my life is at a standstill these days, I am in an emotional deep freeze, I haven't cried for months, despite losing a grandparent and a potential romance (romance, as opposed to one night stand). I have created stories to tell (funnier stories than this one) because of my drunken escapades (if you keep reading my page, I promise to tell of the night I woke up bare-boobed on my front stoop, locked out). I am the drinking friend, I am the fun one, I can be counted on to come out of my house, rain or shine, and join you for a bloody mary (before noon) or a martini (happy hour) or a glass of wine (after dinner).

But I am also broke, and while I have two degrees, I work in a bar and I have no idea what I am going to do to climb out of my debt. I have been drinking away this problem, and all the other problems. This is not new, and I have known this for a long time. I have said many times that I should stop drinking, but that voice came from my brain, and I do NOT trust that mushy mess of cells up there, because it is an asshole and it has no regard for my emotional well-being, it tells me how horrible I am and it tells me all I'm doing wrong, and I'll be damned if that is any help at all in the bigger picture. So screw you, brain, either get on board or shut the hell up.

It's just that a week ago, a voice from down below, somewhere previously unreachable, it piped up and demanded that I quit drinking. I've been trying to tap into this voice for some time, I have developed a pretty consistent meditation habit, I have tried to get to writing more, I have stopped dating compulsively so that I would have more time to just be with that voice, the one that is actually me. But she's so shy! I guess that's what happens when she's ignored for so long, when she's shamed away by her perceived failures. So when I heard it, I heeded the call for sobriety. I write this on Sunday night. I haven't had a drink since Monday, despite having won two handles of really good vodka at a fundraiser (yeah, go figure). They sit there on the table, they are reminders of what was, and what may be again. The bartenders that I work with are taking bets on how long it'll last. They say, "Aw, you're not fun anymore." Some of my friends are a little freaked out, and I would be too. But then, others drink tea with me and eat the scones I've baked while we discuss spirituality and politics and I feel like I might be coming home to me.