I Quit Drinking and My Life Went to Shit: Part 1
Originally posted Dec 2021 on Medium
Life, when drinking, is like a beautiful, intact piñata. It looks so pretty and colorful, but it’s fragile. Quitting is the stick. If you pick up a quit stick, for whatever reason, you will whack the living bejesus out of your life. Mine was smashed to pieces when I stopped eight months ago.
I can’t sleep in anymore. It doesn’t matter what time I go to bed. I sleep so soundly now I wake as fresh as a sparky little songbird at 5 am. It’s been happening for over six months, so it’s not a fluke. I have become an obnoxiously happy morning person.
I no longer see the stars at 3 am. I used to jar awake abruptly in the night, my heart pounding, my body hot, sweaty, and thirsty. I’d stumble down to the kitchen for cold water and despairingly stare out into the sky while desperately gulping. I miss the stars.
I had to buy new clothes. After a month of sobriety, I could pull off my jeans while still zipped up. The charity shop got a stack of pants I loved because they were falling off me. I put on my snow pants yesterday and needed a damned belt. Who belts their snow pants?
My house is a mess. When I was hungover, all I had the energy for was to slowly tidy the house and wipe out some sinks. Consequently, it was gleaming more often than not as cleaning was my penance. Now the housework is chronically neglected. Maybe I’ll hire a cleaner with the extra money I have.
My dogs are tired. I used to open the door, let them go potty, and then slump on the couch. Now I’m like, “Let’s go, guys! Who wants to go for a walk? Let’s go, let’s go, let’s go!” They stagger to their feet and shake themselves awake, wondering who I am and what happened to Mom. They are so tired they just crash out instead of destroying boxes of tissue or rolls of toilet paper out of boredom. I hope I’m not upsetting their routine too much.
I have to exercise. See above. I have this strange feeling in my body. It needs to move for me to be happy. There’s suddenly all this unexplained energy. My body used to be satisfied being comatose on the couch for hours at a time. Now it has plans for me to get stronger and join a gym and lift weights. It wants me to have a different kind of six-pack, and quite frankly, I am baffled by these urges.
The cat is angry. I noticed she stopped snuggling with me a few months ago and it broke my heart. Then one rare day, I was feeling a little rundown, so I stretched out on the couch with my book. She immediately jumped on me and fell asleep. It dawned on me why I’d been spurned. I wasn’t spending my days lolling on the couch, thus, she no longer had unlimited access to a 140-pound hot water bottle. She’s expressed her discontent by trying to trip me in the dark at 5 am.
I’m always the designated driver. I hate driving at night. Oncoming headlights dazzle me, and it freaks me out. Sure, everyone gets home safely, but no one has bought me a fancy driver’s cap or tipped me for my trouble. What the hell, people.
I have a ton of useless beauty products. Once I stopped drinking red wine, I had no need for teeth whitening kits. Nor do I need Visine. Or concealer. Or breath freshener. Or dry shampoo. Or lip balm. Why don’t I need lotion anymore? It’s crazy. What am I supposed to do with all this stuff?
Amazon misses me. Jeff Bezos sent me a personal email to ask me why I stopped buying random shit at four o’clock in the morning. He was concerned because I’d canceled my standing order of mouth peroxide and wanted to know if I was okay.
No more guessing games. I don’t wake up and wonder if I brushed my teeth or washed my face before I went to bed. I no longer get to ask my husband, “Did I make an ass of myself last night?” I don’t get to cringingly check my phone for drunken texts. There’s no worry that I might have offended someone on social media. I know exactly where my keys, purse, phone, and earrings are. It’s taken all the fun out of life.
I’m too productive. I can sit at my desk and write, and write, and write some more. Sometimes I look up from my work and notice that it’s almost noon, and I’m still in my bathrobe. Writing courses, articles, and contributing to the health of the world is going to embarrass me one day. I really must try to dress before lunch.
Buying alcohol-free beer is a pain in the ass. I buy alcohol-free stout. I’m probably the only one in town who drinks it. The AF beer is stacked in the most awkward and inconvenient fridge in the store. You have to open the door with one hand, then maneuver behind a post to access the beer while trying not to dislocate your shoulder. It’s Dry Twister.
I have a bucket of unnecessary supplements. Need some milk thistle for liver support? I have a ton. I bought it in bulk to help my poor workhorse keep pace. I suppose I could still take it, but I’d rather reclaim the shelf space. Same for the probiotic subscription. My digestion is perfect. I have extras in the fridge if you want them.
No more excuses. If I’ve been a jerk, I can’t blame it on booze. I have to own it. God. Accountability. It sucks.
Back to our pretty piñata.
At first, when you quit drinking, nothing significant happens. In fact, you might feel worse. You have to trust that the effort is worth it.
Blindfolded, you swing.
Christmas drinks (whack), New Year’s (whack, whack), birthdays, Easter, weddings, funerals, births, baby showers, bridal showers, Boys’ night, Girls’ night, vacations, celebrations, commiserations, reunions, poker games, work drinks, 4th of July, brunch, 5 o’clock, 6 o’clock, 7 o’clock (whack, whack, whack, whack). It’s tiring.
Sometimes you connect with the air, cracking yourself in the knee. Shit. You stretch your fingers, set your jaw, and change your grip.
Everyone sober keeps telling you there’s a special prize, keep going, keep going, they urge. You aren’t convinced. Maybe they’re right. They have more experience than you. You try again. Redoubling your efforts, you swing harder.
And then, after sweating and swearing and whaling with your quit stick one hundred thousand different times, armed with blind faith and perseverance… your old life cracks apart.
Hidden treasure rains down. You exhale. You grin. And you laugh.
Just. Keep. Swinging.