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.