I’m tired. Really, really, bone achingly tired. It’s been a month now and I’ve waited patiently for the energy levels to kick up a notch or ten. But here I am, yawning and yawning, having spent yet another day feeling like I’m either getting or recovering from the flu. It’s not fun. It’s boring and tedious and frustrating and I’d like for it to pass now, pretty please.
When I first began this 30 day sobriety gig, I envisioned myself waking up refreshed, going for a jog or doing yoga daily, eating well and generally not resembling an overgrown slug. In my mind’s eye I saw myself feeling energised and enthused and engaged in life. It was going to be to full steam ahead into feeling great and at the end of the thirty days I’d have recovered and recuperated and could maybe, possibly, probably drink in a controlled fashion and there would be rainbows and kittens and unicorns and…
Those 30 days? They are just a tiny drop in the alcohol ridden sea I’ve swum, or rather, trod water in throughout the last 3 or 4 years. One month is not going to solve anything; it never was going to be possible. In my heart, I knew this, that the 30 days was not going to be a beginning and ending, but it just seemed too big and vast and overwhelming to say to myself “this is going to be forever“. Even now, I cannot fathom never drinking again. It seems ludicrous. Yet equally, I cannot fathom drinking right now.
The thought of it is nauseating and frightening. Over the past 30 days I have gained enough clarity of mind to realise how significantly my dysfunctional alcohol use has impacted on every aspect of my life. Physically, mentally, emotionally, spiritually, financially. Everything and everyone. And while I’m slowly tending to long neglected tasks and nurturing myself and can see small signs of my life shifting forward in a positive way, the truth is, the combination of alcohol use, depression and grief dragged me so far from the shore that it’s going to take much much longer than a month to swim back to the shoreline and step upon solid ground.
So here’s to another 30 days of dog paddling towards shore. At least I’m not just treading water anymore.