Ok. I made it to nine. I made it through a WHOLE weekend, including an 11 year old birthday party at a hotel with six kids (including the minister’s daughter which seems way, way more stressful than it should be). I thought A LOT about drinking.
Chardonnay. Please? Really. I am serious. I need/want/can’t possibly make it without one. Aaaahhhhhhhh!!!!!
But. Ha. I made it.
While I am proud of my accomplishment, I have started to have my first serious, “what the fuck” moment about sobriety. And it’s big. For me anyway. Something I didn’t see coming at all.
I am gaining weight. My brain is not wired to handle this at all. As I mentioned in a previous post, I have been through the eating disorder gauntlet already and I am well aware of the fact that although I no longer binge and purge, I live in a delicate balance with food and my body which is positioned to go in to red alert at any sign of danger. I mean, I am the girl who would rather miss work than not make it to my work-out. My kids gauge whether they should tell me something based on whether or not I have run that day. I plan hotel bookings based on whether they have a gym and track my running miles like it is life-dependent. I count calories with an internal brain ticker-tape I don’t even realize is running half the time… it just is. If they would redo the Price is Right to the Calorie is Correct, I would totally win. Hands down.
I have been a vegetarian, lactose-free, gluten-free, Atkins-afied, South-Beached, Weight-watched, Paleo-ed and beach bodied. I have detoxed, flushed, juiced and fasted. Hell… I have been a dairy-free-Atkins-Vegetarian; which essentially left me with steamed veggies and wine for the better part of a year. Granted, my weight has ebbed and flowed. I have never been stick thin, but, I have my guideline of 1) Goal weight where the world is my oyster and I have to be tethered to the earth and my 2) “Thou Shalt Never Exceed This Weight” limit. I am currently closer to #2 than #1, so, this sobriety weight-gain thing… it ain’t cool, folks!
The thing is I almost feel like a bystander in a dream right now. I am investing all this willpower to stay away from booze and it is like some robot version of me reaches for one. more. Hershy. Kiss. WTF?? I have always been able to be the hard-ass of food denial. I could walk away from the steaks and the starches. I have a deeply loving relationship with vegetables and anything generally low-calorie. But right now, my robot arms reach for cheese. And I eat it! And Nerds. And I eat those too. BREAD. Oh good God. The bread. How I have missed every little morsel of you.
Couple my maniacal, robot-eating with a newfound level of fatigue only rivaled by pregnancy and I feel like I am the heroine in a doomsday film. I save the world but I go out in a blaze of glory anyway… I know, I know. The important thing is not drinking. Right? That is the logical thing to say and think. The newsflash however is that there is nothing logical about alcoholism or eating disorders and when one of them works in seemingly complete opposition of the other, it makes for a roshambo of addictions that even I don’t quite know what I rooting for…
One day at a time.