October

This last month has been a mix. On a few occasions I had more than I should, but I won't beat myself up about it. They were safe nights, semi-planned (in that I knew there was the distinct likelihood of having at least one more than necessary), and actually rather looked forward to. The knowledge that I could start early and end late and take a nap in the meantime gave me the freedom to say Fuck It.

No harm done, is what I mean.

However. Time to tighten up, batten down the hatches, and pay attention. I know how easily it could slip into "Hey, it's Tuesday. Fiesta!" and no one needs that.

I like the feeling of waking up and feeling fresh and in control. I appreciate my forgiving side, but I don't want to give myself an easy ride. Some slack this last month was expected and planned for, but I don't want to go back to questioning my decisions or grumping at myself, even if it's for only five minutes in the shower.

Love

I haven't seen hide nor hair of that internal tension since those couple of days last month, so it seems it was a passing thing. In retrospect it probably had nothing to do with drinking - I'd been missing Dad something fierce those days and I think it was him I wanted to kiss my head. Once it dawned on me that we were having the same sort of beautiful weather we had last year when he went into the hospital, the pieces fell into place and my stomach and mind relaxed.

It also reminded me of how few years we have on this earth and yet how many people we can love all the way from head to toe. I feel very blessed to have every one of you in my life, with your personalities and smiles and ways of being.

Thanks to Lori and our conversation yesterday for helping me to articulate that last bit. The part where your chest fills up and you think there simply can't be enough time to appreciate every moment, every person, everything you love, and now you're overflowing and could someone get you a tissue please? But it's all right because it's a cumulative thing, love. It goes on and builds whether you're focused on it or not, and then you turn around one day and it's a fucking mountain.

Thumbs up

Still not missing it much, and I think it's partly because there's no ugh, that last drink was unnecessary or feeling like a weakling because I had a drink or four every night. It is not weak to drink - it just made me feel weak to want to drink less and enforce no change. Day after day of check marks and straight posture and looking and feeling better ... it's begun to settle in. I feel like I'm welcoming myself back to the present in a way. Oh hello, and where have you been? Good to have you back. So many small things, all adding up.

I had a few drinks Friday and Saturday night, and harbored no feelings of guilt or regret. I took the first opportunity Sunday to wash down an Antabuse, and once again I felt glad to have the protection. I'm close to being able to handle it on my own, but not quite yet. The fact that it feels like protection says a lot, I think, and it may be months down the line before I can swim on my own, but I'm willing to wait and work on my strength. It's become a rare occurence to have the thought of having a drink be more than a momentary blip, but why test it when things are going as well as they are?

Better spirits

Yesterday afternoon's tension blew away about an hour after hitting Publish. I'd been breathing and making busy, but my shoulders kept creeping up around my ears and I had to make conscious efforts to relax and drop them.

Who knows why it took so long or where it came from (no drinking balm? money issues? change in plans? all of the above? none of the above?) but it doesn't really matter. It's the coping mechanism that matters.

I asked myself, "Do you have a problem now? I don't hear anything ..." (Eckhart Toelle, but spoken in Lori's voice, hee hee) and pretty soon my breathing was relaxed and I not only wasn't feeling miserable, I was feeling GOOD.

Bleurgh

I'm feeling a little unfocused lately, and I'm not sure why. Most of the time I feel good and balanced, but there seems to be some internal tension tied to relationships. It's like I'm a half step behind, more easily hurt or needing reassurance.

I don't like it. It doesn't feel like me.

Each time it happens I've shaken it, but it takes longer than usual and in the meantime I want to retreat. The doctor said I might notice some buried bullshit coming to light if I was self-medicating, and I hope this isn't what I can look forward to.

I've been feeling good, dammit. Strong and capable and able to laugh and enjoy myself. And I mean today. So what the hell happened?

Right now I feel like I'm doing wrong, being tentative, and getting rejected. None of that happened, but it's exactly how my insides are reacting. Right this moment I feel raw and needy, like a good cry and nap would do me well. Maybe a kiss on the head.

I don't want to need reassurance that I am okay and loved and that whatever pitfalls I bring to friendship or marriage, I'm worth it. It has to come from within or it's useless. The funny thing is that I know I am okay and loved and worth it. I know that. I know that I am going to stumble sometimes, get or give hurt feelings or all-out fuck something up, and I am okay with that intellectually. It just seems to be missing the emotional mark lately.

I want my emotions to catch up and keep up.

Continuing on

I don't want to say things have been easy lately, but no other adjective springs to mind. The habitual thought or temptation or whatever you want to call it has receded to a point where there's no gut reaction passing the beer cooler at the store or seeing or smelling alcohol in social situations.

Some is the habit cracking and breaking away, and some of it is Antabuse and the knowledge that drinking is just not an option. It's doing what I hoped it would and simply removing it from the equation.

I can continue like this. I can continue to sleep deeply, enjoy my friends, and appreciate the feeling that I'm treating myself well.

Everybody deserves to feel that way, and if it took Better Living through Medication to get me here, you won't hear an argument. It's well worth it.

Happy-making things

It makes me happy to

• make check marks
• note the lack of beer bottles in the garage
• sleep well and rise rested
• believe in myself
• let each moment take care of itself

Lesson learned

It's somehow comforting to know that whatever mistakes I'm making, they're pretty typical. Of course I'd hoped that I could go off Antabuse, have a few weekend beers, and either get right back on or continue not drinking without it. But if it was that easy, I wouldn't have the prescription in the first place, would I?

It might have been thick-headed or cocky or just absurdly optimistic to play with going on and off Antabuse, but at least I learn quickly and won't make that mistake again. Testing boundaries didn't work out well, and I feel like I lost ground. So no matter what night out or special occasion is coming up, I am starting every morning with a little white pill.

I want that good feeling again.

Too soon

Well, that didn't work. Too much freedom, not enough time.

Matt has been on medication lately that doesn't allow for alcohol, and today was his last day. He's mentioned a few times how he'd like to drink some beer, so I picked up a six-pack on the way home. I told him it was a celebratory six-pack, but he said he had one pill left and couldn't drink until tomorrow. Guess who stepped up?

Right.

Back on Antabuse tomorrow.

Hallelujah 2.0

Did it again!

Yesterday I brought Pete and Willy and their 20-ft leads over to Lori's, and she and I walked the dogs around the block. That's a country block, so we're talking four miles total. We took a couple of shade breaks so we could all cool down and have some water, and the boys loved it. After we got back to the house and tied the dogs to a tree to rest, Lori and I had some leftover pizza and a beer. One single beer.

I drove home, took a short nap, showered and went back for dinner, Tomb Raider, and a movie. During the course of the evening (6:00-midnight) I had two beers. Just like Friday, it felt natural to drink at a leisurely pace. In fact, they went down so slow that my first beer got warm before it was finished.

I know alcohol itself is nothing to fear, it's only how we use it. If I can have one or two drinks on a weekend night without pacing myself or setting limits, a tremendous hurdle has been passed.

To me, that is drinking reasonably. And that is what I want.

I am being careful and aware, but this weekend still felt very natural. I was initially a little concerned about the ramifications of drinking Friday night - would I want a drink at 2:00 Saturday? Would I want to have four drinks and take a nap? I thought it would be a good test because I am still feeling a lot of resolve and vigilance, and figured I could trust myself to try it. I had already told myself that if I felt a craving or Self Indulgence started broadcasting a bunch of bullshit (the seal is broken, you drank yesterday and were fine, look in the fridge, there's beer!) that I would nip this shit in the bud and go back to total abstinence.

I don't feel out of the woods yet, but I am happy to report that none of that happened. I am hoping that I passed some sort of point when the want stopped creating ripples.

What's helping is knowing that I am doing this for myself, so there is no need to downplay, minimize, hide or sneak. I am the one who wants to drink reasonably. I am the one who wants sober weeknights, sober mornings, pretty nails and more money in the bank.

I am the one who is accountable for myself.

Hallelujah

Success!

Two movies, two beers last night. It felt absolutely natural and normal and there was no urge to have more. After the movies were over, I read, took a bath, read some more, and then went to bed when I got tired.

There have been so many benefits from not drinking over the last two and a half weeks, and I want them to continue. I have lost weight, regained trust in myself, felt more capable and taken more of an interest in my appearance. I feel good.

I have a pretty strict idea of what constitutes reasonable and unreasonable drinking. If I continue on the path of reasonable drinking, fantastic. If I find myself wanting one more and one more, it's back to complete abstinence with no excuses.

This feels different than before.

Trial run

Look at those check marks marching off the screen - lovely, aren't they?

There won't be a mark for tonight, and that is the result of quite a bit of consideration. I plan to have two beers and watch a movie, and feel confident about that decision. I did not make it lightly.

Over the last week, the thought of drinking has become fainter and fainter, and for the last four days hasn't made a ripple. That is what I've been waiting for: the underlying calm, the gut knowledge that I can drink like a normal person and have two beers on a weekend night without it bleeding into three or four or five or Tuesday.

I do feel some hesitation because it seems a little soon, but that's it. I've been over it, looking for chinks in the armor, asking myself if I'm playing with fire or making excuses. But knowing I can have two drinks feels like knowing I have blue eyes. Simple. No question.

I have been very proud of myself over the last two and a half weeks, and I'm not about to fuck that up.

Self Indulgence is not invited to the movie tonight.

Stomach complaint

It appears I'll have to separate more morning pills. I don't know whether it's the Antabuse or the prenatal vitamin or the combination, but my stomach is still revolting within minutes of taking both. This morning I started to work and had driven only four blocks when I had to swing around and get home as quickly as possible. The dogs met me at the door and inadverently blocked my way to the bathroom, but I wove through them and started sprinting. At least it doesn't last long, and things are back in order by 9:00 or so.

Not so bad

So we now know I can hold my own in large gatherings with an open bar, and it was actually pretty easy to order a tonic with lime without wishing the bartender would add some vodka or gin.

Once again, I didn't want a drink while I was out, but would have had one when I got home. Wanting a drink when I get home from work fell by the wayside the first day, but a want gets triggered at the end of an evening. It's not a huge craving and isn't (and won't be) insurmountable, but those are the drinks I miss.

I'd like to figure out why. Is it just that drinking is a time-out and I've associated it with Me time? If so, there are other ways to approach that.

Mental workout

I had to give myself a stern talking to and mentally slap my hand last night, but I made it through.

We had people over for dinner and the beer a couple were drinking looked mighty good. My own fault for picking up Dos Equis - one of my favorites - and making crap iced tea that didn't satisfy. It was fine as long as people were in the house, but I missed sitting down in the chair with a beer and a sigh at the end of the evening. So much so that I kept eyeing Matt's beer and half-hoping he'd get up to use the bathroom so I could take a swig.

I'd counter that with Hell no you won't, and knew if I had even the smallest amount I could not in good conscience put a check mark on the calendar for the day. The mental back and forth was a good opportunity to ask myself some questions. Why now? What's different? If you had one, would a taste suffice? One beer? Two? Are you thirsty? Are you antsy? Aha! You're antsy. Well, a beer isn't going to fix that and you'd regret it. Not that you couldn't have a sip and go to bed, but you would regret that sip and for what? A taste you don't need.

Having a drink wasn't going to help me feel good or relaxed. It wasn't going to go clothes shopping for me or do the dishes or give me good dreams, so I bowed to logic and told myself to breathe and get over it.

I'll procrastinate tomorrow

Each day my stomach has gotten better faster, and no problems at all for the last two days. It would appear that hurdle is past, and thank goodness. The thought of being caught out and about was awful, but luckily I was at home most mornings during the Great Bowel Affliction.

I've been drinking hot tea, iced tea, water, Diet Coke, and tonic water pretty steadily at night. Having something cold in hand helps, so I try to keep a glass full and close by. The other thing I'm doing consciously is to do something now instead of saving it for later. If I notice the dishes need to be done, I do them right then. When I think of weeding or wonder how the tomatoes are doing, out I go.

It's helping, keeping busy. It's distracting and productive and shows me something concrete when I want to see change and order and improvement. It feels like I'm tending to myself and my environment, and I like it.

Seven day itch

Seven check marks on the calendar so far.

Tonight I had to get up and do something because the thought of a drink kept circling around. I knew I wasn't going to have one, but it kept crossing my mind and irritating me, so I finished my book, did the dishes, put some laundry in, and at some point while I was sweeping the floor, the feeling disappeared and I exhaled.

Change in routine

The doctor was right about craving sweets. In the past I've had chocolate around so long it passed the expiration date, but the last few nights dinner has been followed by a Reese's cup and two fingers of a KitKat. Funny what the body wants and how it knows where to find it. I'm going to switch out the chocolate for olives tomorrow.

No real cravings for alcohol, and the six-pack in the fridge has become just something I look past when I reach for the iced tea or tonic water. It's hard to describe, but I feel the nights are missing something without feeling like I'm missing out on anything. I think it's simply the change in routine and each evening gets a little easier, a little longer, and a little fuller. The other night I spent a good twenty minutes on the floor brushing the dogs one after the other, then read until I was sleepy. And woke up feeling good.

Check marks

I'm engaging in a welcome new evening ritual and checking off each day on the calendar as it passes. So far there are 4 marks, but by the time the page is turned to August, those little check marks will fill up half the page.

Keeping busy

It's very easy to waste time when you're drinking. The hours slip by while you're reading or napping, and before you know it, the day is done and nothing much got accomplished. The leftover beer in the fridge caught my eye this morning, but since I couldn't pop one open at noon and get on the computer or sit in the front room with a book and a drink before taking a nap, I cleaned out the garage instead.

It started simply enough with moving the wheel-less wheelbarrow out to the street for anyone who wanted it. We've had it for seven years and haven't managed to put a wheel on it, so I figured it was time to give someone else a chance. I had to move a couple items to get to it, and I noticed dried out leaves underneath. Before I knew it, I had cleared everything from that section to sweep it out, and it snowballed from there. I organized shelves, wiped the dust from tools, and cleaned the bikes, lawnmower, and tacklebox.

I cleared the broken shop-vac and power washer from the garage, hauled out a roll of chainlink fencing, and with every item that was evaluated and either kept or tossed, I felt more and more in charge.

Just as I was finishing up, Matt came home and grilled up the steaks and corn I picked up this morning. Dinner seemed like a delicious reward after putting in a good day's work.

Today was a fine day.

Tomorrow, the basement gets its due.

Clever poo pun title

I don't care if you're crapping your pants every five minutes, stay on the Antabuse and take Kaopectate!

Those were my words when a certain someone complained about experiencing stomach upset and diarrhea while on Antabuse. Oh hello there, Humble Pie! May I eat a nice big slice of you?

The first visit to the bathroom was normal and satisfying and I had a moment to think Oh good! Yesterday was iffy but maybe my body is used to this now. Every half hour since I've been racing back to the bathroom. A couple times I left only to turn back before even reaching the kitchen.

Eight separate visits in three hours. You'd think I'd be crapped out by now, but I hear a distant gurgle so I'm staying close to home except to run out for some Kaopectate. And Pepto-Bismol. And Immodium-AD.

I hope things are back to normal by Monday.

********
As of noon, no problem.

I found a medical article on gastrointestinal disturbances with Antabuse, and although the study group was small, 7 of 8 people had complete turnaround (8th person reported significant improvement) by eating a high fiber cereal for breakfast, taking two teaspoonfuls of olive oil an hour before lunch, and then taking the pill with lunch. I've already decided to stagger the cyclosporine and Antabuse to see if some of the reaction has been due to taking them at the same time, but I think I'll add a little olive oil with the cyclosporine at 7:00 and then take the Antabuse at 8:00 with breakfast. In searching, I ran across other articles about the effectiveness of Antabuse, and they all said people who are highly motivated do well, which was heartening because I think I'll be even more motivated when I know the work week won't involve running off down the hall for half the morning.

Optimistic

Second day.

Tonight I met a friend at the bar and ordered a Diet Coke and a grilled ham and cheese. "You're not drinking?" she asked. "No, I've got this medicine that's messing with my stomach," I answered, and that was that.

Each time the waitress brought a fresh pint to the table, I could feel Self Indulgence rise up and prod me. Looks good, huh? Yep. It's Friday. So it is. But would just an inch or so hurt? Yes, it would. There's no cheating. The Antabuse is really going to help while I develop a defense against self indulgence, my Achilles heel. I don't know how easily those thoughts would have been quelled if I didn't have that to lean on, to be the mental backbone.

And I am trying very hard to note every single positive. How I felt this morning in the shower. Knowing throughout the day that if I yawned it was because I had eaten French bread, not because my sleep was disrupted by alcohol. Driving to the video store after leaving the bar, I realized how freeing it felt to not ask myself whether I was all right to drive. To just get in the car and go without counting drinks.

I leaned in the fridge when I got home and saw our friend had brought over a 12-pack. You're kidding me! He never brings beer, and I'm going to miss out on this? Yes, and you're going to be just fine. You need time under your belt. You are establishing new habits.

So I did the dishes and made some iced tea, ripped a few CDs and made a pot of chai tea. I wended my way around four dogs lying on a dark carpet in a dim room and didn't give it a second thought until just now.

Here we go, into the wild blue yonder

It starts today.

I am waiting for a call back from the dermatologist office before I pop the first pill, because the pharmacist gave me a warning about a minute amount of alcohol in the medication I take for psoriasis. Google couldn't find any contraindications between the two medicines, but the pharmacist strongly suggested I call for the go-ahead first.

I've been thinking a lot about the Why of my drinking. Going back to 1994 or so, I've been inhaling or imbibing some sort of fuzzy-maker pretty consistently. I'm slightly concerned that when the veil lifts there's going to be some reckoning of feelings or anxiety or something, but then again, I have different tools at my emotional disposal than I did when I was 23. I have strengths that were non-existent then, I have done some growing, and I think I'll be equal to whatever my psyche wants to throw at me.

And if I am not, I will learn how to be.

Big day tomorrow

It may seem like I'm overstating things, but I am very excited about tomorrow. Excited to talk to the doctor, excited to get that prescription slip in my hot little hands, and excited to pop that first pill in my mouth.

I'm excited to say thanks, but none for me. If I'm out and want to drink, I like tonic and lime. If anyone gets nosy (and because I am a private person I've already thought this through), I'll just go with trying to get pregnant and/or doing a cleanse. I'll just have to make sure not to use the cleanse excuse while stuffing my face with junk food or something.

Yesterday I had the 40 oz. that had been in our fridge for about a week and was fine with that, knowing my drinking clock was running down. I also opened a bottle of wine and poured a glass. I took one sip of the most vile concoction imaginable and poured the rest of the glass and then the bottle down the sink. That was nice because it let me feel like I was doing it deliberately, even though you and I know that if the wine had tasted fine I'd have had two glasses.

I picked up my last six-pack at the store tonight at 5:00. I had three earlier and this is the third after coming back from our walk. The last beer for a good long time, at least until I know without a shadow of a doubt that I am done with daily drinking, that I can have a drink or two on the weekend or the odd night and be done with it.

And now the house is empty. No beer, no wine, no liquor. I moved a few things around in the cupboard so the Rum Goes Here spot won't be winking at me.

I expect I'll miss it some, but I think I won't miss it more.

Last hurrah, one hopes

To underscore my decision, I knocked back quite a few last night. Part was the same old once you start thing, but there was also a good chunk of get it out of the house quickly.

Of course, it strikes me now that I could have simply poured the stuff down the sink instead of down my throat, but you live and you learn.

Anyway, appointment with the doctor is set for Wednesday afternoon, and I am really REALLY looking forward to it. Nothing to drink today, but I've only been home an hour and a half and sure enough a couple of thoughts about the beer in the fridge have crossed my mind. I think it's going to stay right where it is, but if it doesn't I am not going to beat myself up or make it into a tragedy. There is not enough to do damage.

There is definitely a part of me that wants to drink it, especially knowing that 48 hours from now, it's simply not a possibility.

Thank you guys for the thoughts and conversation. You buoyed me.

Magic pill

Reached a decision and I'm going to ask about Antabuse this week if I can get an appointment. I'm just so disappointed in myself and am damn tired of feeling that way. Luckily I forgive myself quickly, but it still adds up and I'd prefer to feel proud of myself more often. And if I need a little help getting there? No skin off my nose.

I wanted to do it on my own, but am having a lot of trouble breaking the habit. When I decided to ask about Antabuse I felt a great sense of relief and peace, so I think it's probably the right decision. It should give me a leg up, allow consistent non-drinking time under my belt, and help me change some patterns. And that would be a remarkable gift.

My husband asked whether I had really tried and frankly, I don't know. It seems like if I'd tried, I'd not be drinking. But I am. All I know is that when the decision is left to me, I drink. To know that drinking is simply an impossibility would be such a relief. Remove it from the equation entirely. To have that time to establish other habits, to reroute myself ... that's what I want. And I think Antabuse can help.

With the exception of a recent night out with friends, I've cut down and been waking up feeling energetic in the mornings. But that is not what this month was meant for. This month was for me to determine the extent of the problem and be accountable and go for help if needed. I don't think I need to let the month run out, do you?

Vacation week

So. Still walking, still drinking less Diet Coke, still cutting down considerably (it feels) on the drinking. Yesterday, nothing. Not one drop and I didn't miss it. But today, driving into town, I picked up a six-pack knowing full well I'd enjoy it tonight.

And I did. But in a good (moderate) way. I had a couple while watching TV and congratulated myself on the restraint I was showing. In fact, I twice collected a bottle and went to tip out the drizzle left and poured out half a beer each time. The fact that I thought I was done with each speaks volumes. We walked the dogs, I drank minimally when we returned home, and all was good.

Yet after my husband went to sleep, as I was making fresh iced tea for tomorrow and running laundry and sweeping the dog hair covered floors, I mixed up two rum-and-cokes. And I can feel the second at this moment, truth be told.

This is exactly what I want to avoid. The feeling of one-more-before-I-hit-the-hay or the-laundry-is-going-so-I-have-to-stay-up-and-why-not-have-another-in-the-meantime.

I was so proud of myself earlier, but put it this way: I would not under any circumstances drive a car. And that's not good.

I've been on vacation for the last week and for the most part I've been pleased with my drinking or lack thereof. But tonight, just in the last twenty minutes, I feel like a line has been crossed and I don't like that.

Progress

Although it's been going better, I can't say I've quit. Except for that one day a few posts back, I'm still drinking every day, and rarely less than four. Sure, it's an improvement on six or eight drinks, but it's still not good. It's nothing to strive for unless you've been on the 6-8 drink side of things, and if you have been, you'll understand why this post is titled Progress.

So, on one hand, Yay me!

On the other hand, Awesome. Now try harder, please.

Clear-headed mornings

I think I've been doing better than I gave myself credit for.

I felt a little muzzy when I woke up this morning, a little slower than I ought to, but realized the feeling is becoming less and less familiar. All week I've been bouncing out of bed (late, but bouncing nonetheless) and feeling sharp at work.

I've been watching my intake, eating well, exercising, and getting to bed at a decent hour. Last night I ate well and exercised, but backslid on the other parts. Funny how being up late and drinking more than I should go hand in hand.

Back on the horse. I want many many more of those completely clear-headed mornings.

Wednesday

Short post because it's late.

Been doing pretty good lately, drinking less. Can't say I've stopped because I haven't, but both my husband and my best friend come down squarely on it being habit and something I do because I'm bored and like the feeling rather than alcoholism. I tend to agree, but would still feel better if I drank less. More nights sober, less nights buzzed - that's what I'm going for.

Tonight? One, two, three ... six, seven, eight. Yet I feel barely touched by it. On one hand, it's been a long, long night. On the other hand, eight drinks is not acceptable.

I keep thinking that's it, but then I think, Hell, you're still up, pour another! and before I know it, there is another drink in hand.

Tomorrow, right? Sheesh.

Sunday

Last night my husband and I visited friends. Since I was driving home, I only had two beers over the span of four or five hours. Not bad at all, but it's always easy for me to keep an eye on things if I'm out and responsible for a drive back, so I'm not patting myself on the back too hard.

Today I had a tall beer out at lunch, picked up a six-pack at the store with the rest of the groceries, and had three before taking a nap. When will I simply stop buying the shit? I know if I have in on hand, I'm going to drink it.

It's that first drink, you know? Leads right into the second ...

Day 7

Day 7 was yesterday and I'm already starting to get confused with the numbering system (mainly whether I'm posting at the end of the day or the following morning and referring to the day before) so I'm going to abandon it after this post.

This shit is hard, yo. If there's beer in the house, I'm going to drink it. Had one in the fridge left over from a previous night, and I cracked that right after getting home from work. Then I went to the store for another six-pack and went to bed early with one left over.

It's 11:00 a.m. now. Woke up around 7:30 feeling good, cleared the belly button lint, and started a pot of tea. My husband went to work and I shut off the burner because I'd just poured a soda and what do you know? A drop of rum in that for you, ma'am? Certainly! May I point out that it's 8:00 a.m., ma'am? You may. Keep pouring, please.

I walked up to the store for spinach and eggs and it's a beautiful morning. Sunny with a big blue open sky, but it's still cool enough for comfort.

Coming up on 11:30 and I've had 4 drinks. Four. I'm not sure what needs to happen for me to take this seriously and STOP. I am very very grateful that there have been no real repercussions from my drinking, but I obviously need a bigger kick in the ass or accountability that goes beyond blogging here and talking to my friend and husband about wanting to stop. I've been trying on a new exercise program (daily walking) and although it makes me more conscious of what I'm putting in my mouth or down my gullet, I need something else. Something more.

I don't want to go to AA. I have thought of asking my doctor for Antabuse, and if I don't see concrete change by the end of the month allowed, that's what I'm going to do. Left to my own devices I've been drinking, and when resolve should be at its strongest. That's not a good sign, but I hope that it's simply taking me a little longer to settle into change. I have seen some change, just not as much and not to the extent I'd hoped for. Drinking a half pint before noon on a Saturday is pretty clear evidence of that.

I've started that pot of tea.

Day 6

I definitely want more mornings like yesterday morning. It felt totally clear. I said I wouldn't get bent out of shape about drinking socially, but I am aware of a difference between this morning and yesterday morning, and my body and mind like yesterday morning better. It was hard to turn off the drinking when I got home last night, and I know I would feel better about myself today if I hadn't had any. Even though I allowed myself and planned for it, I could feel poor decision-making thoughts (one more beer before you go to bed? sure!) crossing my mind. I don't want to put myself in the position where I think that's a great idea anymore.

I think for now it's best if I just steer clear entirely.

Day 5

So yes indeed, I was able to say I did it today. I was pleased and alert and well rested. I think I could get used to that.

I went out with a friend tonight and as planned did have some social beers. That's fine. I still need to be in bed by midnight and there's no call to have another. And that's what I'll do.

There were two guys at the table adjacent to us tonight, and man oh man. One was completely fucked up, to the point where he was slapping the table, wrestling drinks, spilling things, and trying to pay with a library card. He accused his brother of stealing his drink, freaked out the waitress, and brought the entire bar to a standstill. They were eventually asked to leave by the bartender. It was awfully uncomfortable.

When I left a half hour later, their asses were parked on the curb across the street. Please God I never end up like that. Please.

Today felt so good that I want more and more and more of them. I want to stack them up, count them at first, and then just lean against them. Please, God.

Day 4

Looks like I'll be able to pat myself on the back in the morning. It's 11:30 and not a drop has passed my lips today. It's only one day, 24 hours, but it feels pretty fucking good.

My husband offered me a sip of his beer at a pool party earlier tonight, and for a split second I started to reach for it until I realized that what I wanted more than that sip was to go without it. I want to feel good and rested in the morning. I want to know that I can do this.

He and I talked later and I told him I needed to quit for the time being, to prove to myself that this frequency and amount has been habit, not addiction. I am going to be very careful from here on out. I am not going to get bent out of shape if I have a beer when I'm out with friends or my best friend is over for a movie. I am also not going to keep the fridge or wine rack stocked for awhile.

Day 3

It's not really struggling for change if I stop at the store on the way home from work to pick up a six-pack, is it?

Every morning I say, "All right. Enough." And then every evening I drink.

This is a new day. Infinite possibilities. How wonderful will it be to wake up tomorrow morning and think I did it!

I am going to find out.

Day 2

One step forward, two steps back.

Feeling okay and I think I'll feel fine tomorrow, but that might just be self-indulgence talking and I know damn well I'd feel better if I had stopped with the beer (big big mug of Miller Lite) at dinner and one glass of wine once I reached home.

Instead, I kept pouring myself wine, finished the bottle, and opened a Newcastle. Only one sip from that, and the wine just caught up with me, but dollars to donuts this beer is empty by the time I'm done with this post.

That's okay. I have tomorrow. And the next and the next and the next.

I finally spoke with a great friend of mine tonight about my concerns. We talked about diet and exercise and not drinking, and while we were talking about Weight Watchers I learned I'm drinking an average of 18 points a day. That's practically the total number of points she was allowed when she started Weight Watchers! I think she was a little surprised that not only am I drinking daily, but that it's 5-8 rather than 3-4 drinks a night. I need an ally here, and she is someone I can lean on.

I have a two-pronged thing going on here. One, I'm worried. I need to stop drinking. Two, I need to lose weight and removing 18 points right off the bat has to help. I eat well otherwise and am pretty conscious of my portions. Wouldn't it be simplest to eliminate alcohol or severely reduce it, so it's once or twice a week, one or two drinks?

Tonight is a wash and I'll pound water before I go to bed to dilute this shit, but let's see what happens over this next week. I need this. I need this for so many reasons.

Day 1

Two beers tonight and I feel done. Miraculous. Of course I'm not in bed yet and could still veer by the fridge, but I don't think that's going to happen.

I am going to try to keep myself busy with home projects and exercise and chores every night until not-drinking is as much of a habit as drinking has been. I have given myself a month to turn things around, and if I don't or can't in that time, I'll look into getting some help.

Side effects of non-drinking may include weight loss, better memory (and better memories), pregnancy, sharper thinking, and more money in the bank.

Sounds good to me. See you tomorrow.

I've had it

Innumerable nights of drinking. Too many mornings of while not exactly hungover, the gag reflex is a little strong when brushing my teeth. I am tired of this shit. I can't remember the last day I didn't drink.

I am tired of treating myself like shit. A beer when I get in the door after work. A beer while I read a book in the bathroom. A beer between my last beer and when I go to bed.

Honestly, is this how I pictured my evenings when I was a child? No. Tonight? Not bumping off doorjambs, but I wouldn't want to talk on the phone and I'm careful going down the basement stairs. Tonight, much as I'd like to state otherwise, is not an aberration. This is pretty much it.

My question is this: Is this alcoholism?

My answer is: Yes, sure seems to be.

I need help. I'd like to ask my husband to keep an eye on me, to give me a heads-up or ask, "Hey, is that the third drink you've poured?" to help me stay on the straight and narrow. Yet I still feel foolish/wrong/dependent/weak to ask for help.

So, we're starting an experiment today. I will be accountable here for every single drink. I hope that by doing so, it will help me focus and quit this shit.

Good luck to me.