50 Days

YOu never know what is going on inside someone or behind closed doors.

Be kind.

Always.

              Yesterday marks 50 days sober. That makes me sound like an alcoholic. I’m not an alcoholic. Though some of my friends in college might disagree. My relationship with alcohol hasn’t always been great. But that’s not why I stopped drinking. Yet I’m afraid people will judge me if they hear me say “I’m sober.” Or “I don’t drink.” Actually, it’s not that I think they’ll judge. (Some will.) It’s that I’m afraid I won’t be invited anymore. I’m afraid I’ll be seen as a buzz kill. No fun. Someone who nobody wants to be around. And that is something I struggle with greatly.

              But that’s not important right now. People will do what they do. They always do. What’s important right now is owning that I’m not drinking. I haven’t told many people. A handful at most.

              I haven’t told people because I don’t know if this is permanent. Or maybe I’m afraid that by telling people I’ll be held more accountable to continue on with this experiment. I don’t know what I’m doing, if I’m being honest. I was just sick of the same words coming out of my mouth for years and never actually doing anything.

              You see, I’ve told my husband for years now that I need to stop drinking. {I sound like an alcoholic, don’t I?} Most of my panic attacks occur when alcohol is involved. Be it a sip or multiple glasses or rounds. If I look back on all the panic attacks, most start after alcohol enters my body.

              I want the panic to stop. I NEED the panic to stop. So, if alcohol = panic, you’d think I’d have done this years ago. But it’s not that simple.

              At the root of it, I don’t think the alcohol is CAUSING the panic. But at this point there’s a connection. Maybe the alcohol wasn’t the source at first. Maybe over time it’s become an association. I associate alcohol with panic. So, it’s no shock that they come about when I drink.

              I’m crying now writing this. It’s just not simple. None of this has ever been simple.

              Maybe the alcohol IS causing the panic attacks. But that doesn’t explain the attacks I’ve had when I’ve been stone cold sober. The airport panic attacks. The plane ride panic attacks. (Although, that could all be around the flying in a metal tube through the sky thing.) The middle of the night tremors. The feeling in my throat in my kitchen simply thinking about driving to Atlanta to go to a conference. The headiness for 3 days in Phoenix even though I abstained from all alcohol the entire trip.

              So, it’s not just the alcohol. Which I think is why I’m super noncommittal about this “sober” thing. But I do believe the alcohol lowers the bar and allows the panic to roll in easier somehow. Or maybe the sugar does something to my body. I really don’t know.

              But I DO know that I never want my anniversary ruined again by a panic attack. I know that I am done going on trips that I look forward to with such anticipation, only to arrive and suffer through the getaway in silence, trying to conceal the fact that I’m on the edge of completely losing my mind. I know that I never want to go through another night of shaking so badly that I wake my husband, and only finding solace hours later from sitting in a hot shower and taking a pharmaceutical pill to relax and finally fall back to sleep from exhaustion.

              My daily life isn’t affected by my panic attacks. But enough of my life is affected. I am not whole. I am living in fear and often I’m physically there but not really there-there.

              And so, for now, I don’t drink alcohol. In hopes that it makes a difference. In hopes that I heal. In hopes that this all one day will be a thing of the past.

              But there’s a part of me that is mad. I enjoy the taste of tequila. I love a good Pinot Noir or Malbec. I like the edge that is taken off by a sip. The relaxation that sets in. The confidence boost. The socialization. There is so much that I feel like I’m missing. And this thought alone makes me question why I have these strong feelings associated with alcohol.

              Perhaps I do have a problem. I shouldn’t need to have a drink to feel comfortable around people. I should be able to enjoy dinner out without feeling like it’s a little less than because I’m not sipping on wine. I shouldn’t go on vacation and feel like something is missing when I look around and see everyone else with fun cocktails in their hands.

              Not drinking alcohol for 50 days isn’t any big accomplishment. I abstained for 9 months three different times when I was pregnant. (Ok, I mean I had some wine here and there, so…) But it has made me realize how much alcohol is part of life. How often it is brought up. How often people refer to needing it. How much of a mommy wine culture there really is. It’s been an interesting exercise in observation.

              I don’t know if this is for life. Probably not if I’m being honest with myself. But for now this is where I am. I’d like to think I’m still enjoyable to be around without a drink. I’d like to think my not drinking affects zero people around me. But who knows what’s the actual case.

              I want to get to the root cause of the panic. That’s the goal. And I feel like this is a necessary step to see what happens if I stay sober for a while. I’m not sure what awhile means. But for right now, for today, I don’t drink. And for some reason, I felt called to write about it. To share this. To be transparent. To own it.