Doin’ some work. Like we all are.
4 months ago I rediscovered sobriety. To be honest, I don’t even know where I lost it! Somewhere in my twenties the wounds of life piled up, dreams didn’t pan out, relationships went wayward. I looked around and everyone was drinking, so I joined in. But the perceived promise of pain relief; of happiness and good times, just didn’t pan out. Not for me.
I didn’t find what I was looking for when I took this detour, but time kept on rollin’ along all the same.

I was never a heavy drinker – at least compared to my environment. At the peak of my heaviest drinking though, I certainly could have wound up in cuffs or a coffin. My bar visits waned, but I drank steadier as the years went on. Again, compared to everyone around me, I was just hitting the quota.
The disillusionment probably would have continued if it weren’t for some key people around me getting sober themselves. When you can see clear waters, you tend to want to stop swimming in the mudhole.
What I came to admit was: it had control of me.

I could stop. But I didn’t. If I did, it called me back, always. If I determined to not drink for a week, guess what consumed my mind for seven days.

My biggest hurdle was that I just couldn’t percieve of a life where alcohol wasn’t the grand finale of all activities; it was how you broke the ice and got comfortable, it was how you finally relaxed after a long day, it was why you chose a specific place for vacationing because it had ‘that’ brewery/winery/bar, etc. Alcohol became a reward system. Only, for me the reward was a headache and further longing for…something more.

Birthdays are helpful for me in giving me motivation to ‘do’. So last year I decided that starting on my birthday I wouldn’t drink…well the day AFTER, because…obviously, right?
So I had my celebratory steak and drinks on Nov. 7th, 2019. I got home and passed out, and on November 8th…I actually didn’t drink. And I haven’t since. And I won’t. Because that biggest hurdle, that fear of the nagging desire and need for a drink – it died. And what replaced it – well, I just call it Pristine. And dreams are taking root again here in Soberville, MT.