17 Days

Today marks seventeen days since my last drink.

That may not seem like much to anybody. But considering I spent nearly three years drunk *almost* daily… that’s a pretty big fucking deal in my world.

I didn’t join a group. I didn’t make a solemn oath to never touch another drink. I’m not saying I will never have another drink.

What I am saying is that I’ve come to some sort of friendly agreement with whatever part of me I was trying to run from, or drown out.

I am saying that I feel more in control of “me” than I have felt in a long time. Maybe ever.

I am saying that the deep dark piece of my soul that made (makes?) me fearful of facing real life is coming to surface. In a good way.

My drink of choice was whiskey. Always has been. Always will be – whether or not I ever touch another drop. Whiskey warmed me. It made me cheerful. It made me feel invincible. It gave me social skills that I perceived to be astounding – in reality I’m sure I just sounded like an ass most of the time.

I used it as a security blanket.

I used it to hide the parts of me I felt were ugly or unacceptable or unlovable.

I used it as an escape from my own internalizations of things that have happened.

I used it as an excuse to make poor choices.

I am not an alcoholic. Honestly. I could always take it or leave it. But my preference was always to take it if it was there and then find some more when it ran out.

…Well okay maybe I have a few alcoholic tendencies…. heh.

I have had a rough fucking month. I won’t get into the how’s or why’s. It has nothing to do with the current state of the world (although if the end is nigh, I won’t lie – I’ll prob’ly buy out a damned liquor store). I’ve personally had a rough, emotionally down month.

On my very worst day, I wanted a drink so badly I was climbing the walls. I opted NOT to drink. Despite feeling like I could easily validate the choice. Despite being tempted in a number of ways and having opportunity basically handed to me on a silver fucking platter.

I opted not to drink.

On one of my Worst. Days. Ever.

Again, that may seem small. But to me that was a huge step. Massive.

I made this choice – initially – to honour a promise I had made to somebody so very dear to me. Somebody I love beyond words or reason or comprehension.

I am continuing to make this choice now to both honour that promise, and to honour myself. Because I owe myself a better version of me. And I won’t find that version in the bottom of a bottle.

I’m not promising to never touch another drop. But what I am promising is that I will never let it consume my days or control my world the way it did for so damned long. I am promising to address some of my inner voices and demons before I consider taking another drink of anything. I am promising to never again spend day after blurry day too drunk to function. I am promising to make better choices. For me and for my loved ones.

I am promising to keep myself accountable. Starting with small steps of self improvement. Like promising myself I will drink four glasses of water a day at minimum (well up from my normal half a glass of water a week…).

I am promising to work on getting my mind and my body *ahem*liver*ahem* healthy.

And part of that is staying away from my beloved whiskey.

Today is day seventeen. And that is worth celebrating.

With a glass of water.

I’ll keep y’all posted on the next step. ✌🏻


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