I often get frustrated and resentful when I read about people who chose to give up drinking. It hurts most when it’s a temporary thing. I did that before. I stopped drinking for almost three months, leading up to a vacation to Cancún.
I was a binge drinker for almost seven years. It caught up to me over the summer. I ended up in the emergency room when the pain didn’t go away three days after the latest binge. The diagnoses were scary. Words like swollen intestines and liver malfunction. I am still tempted to get a tattoo, of the bruising on my forearm from the IV that night.
I took my antibiotics as prescribed, and did not drink for about 4 weeks. I then had three more drunken nights, over a ten day period. I had some small pain develop after that last night. It was very very minor, like a reminder, “Hey dumbass!” I listened.
It is now Day 131. My last drink was September 3rd.
I actively participate in my recovery by constantly and consistently being mindful of my triggers. I often feel left out or get left out because going to the bar is serious for me. I already know.
My husband doesn’t drink. He quit ten years ago, when he first experienced me drunk. If he can attend functions with me it is rather easy. If he is at work however, unless there is football on I likely won’t go. I loved our Football Sundays at our local Buffalo Wild Wings. It is unfortunate that to be able to watch all the games at once it is at the bar, but personally I find it easy to focus on the football.
I actually made it through this entire NFL Bears season without so much as one shot. Not even a taste. All humor aside it is so hard. I struggle almost daily. I grieve like I lost my best friend. Drinking was a huge part of my life for those seven years. But for me this is no choice. My cats need me. My husband. My niece. I have friends who truly love me and embrace my humor in their lives.