The pink cloud has burst

Posted on May 16, 2009


For some reason, I thought this no drinking thing would be a walk in the park. Easy peasy japanesey. But I see today, after the explosion of my pink cloud yesterday, the failed logic in my thinking: nothing that is “worth it” is easy.

They say in the early stages of sobriety that we, the newcomer, arrive bright eyed and on a pink cloud. It’s the high from this pink cloud that pushes us forth in the first days, weeks, or months if you happen to be so lucky. But something made my pretty pink cloud burst yesterday, a combination of things actually, and right now I’m just trying to hold on to the shreds of hope inside my sober mind and provided by my loving support group.

Yesterday, Thursday April 14, 2009, is the first day I’ve had an overwhelming urge to go out and get blasted. I didn’t want a jack and coke. I wanted four shots of jack and then double jack and cokes till I fell on my face, unthinking, unfeeling, completely numb. The day started off semi-well, I overlooked an angry comment and let the words pass through me, but did not retain them. At least I thought I didn’t retain the ugly words. Guess you never know what will affect you most. Not that the silly comment from a stranger made me want to drink, but it did put the thought in my head. I pushed it away, and tried to move on with my day.

Then there was a little tiff with Duncan. Nothing serious, I selfishly bothered him while he was showering and asked for computer access, and he irksomely let me know the nature of my overstepping. He wasn’t cruel or mean or anything of that nature. And he was right in his being annoyed. I wouldn’t want to be bothered when showering either. So I knew it was my bad. I tried to move on again, apologized and decided to make a living amends by not doing such selfish little things like that anymore.

But then night fell, and I found myself completely and totally alone. And utterly lonesome. I’ve been alone many times in my life, but have filled the empty space with men, or women, or friends or booze or sex or jacking off. Even television has come to my rescue on the most lonesome nights and me and Rock of Love hung out while I smoked pot and filled in my blanks. But last night, after 38 days of trying to live differently and accept that there will be moments were I have to sit with my “self” and my thoughts, I started to panic.

All I could think about was going out with Porno Dan, getting dumb retarded drunk, and passing out in my bed still dressed, with nothing to look forward to in the morning but a pillowcase covered in the previous nights black eyeshadow and HD 140 foundation. So I went to a meeting. A late night meeting in WeHo so that by the time it finished I wouldn’t have the energy to pursue a bottle. Or three.

Fortunately, the meeting was hilarious. The speaker young with a long time of sobriety, and the crowd equally as young, laughing and enjoying their Thursday night being sober. It felt good to be surrounded by so many happy people, so many kids and young adults that are working through the same things I am and can still crack a smile, evn though they may feel like cracking open a beer. And as good as it felt to be surrounded by these people, I couldn’t help but feel the cold blaring light of reality. The reality that at this point in my life my circle of friends has decreased dramatically. I mean I went through my phone with my therapist and deleted every single person whose real name I did not know, and then all the other people I thought would not be good numbers to have on lonely nights, like last night. The contacts in my phone went from 657 to 174. And I know 174 is still a ton of contacts but why is it that I couldn’t even call those people to come hang out. How can I have one hundred seventy four people in my phone and nobody to call?

I suppose it’s the same as television. You can have every channel known to man, flip through them all, turn to your dog and say “there’s just nothing on!” because there is nothing on that suits you at the moment. I’ve seen every Rock of Love. Brett Michaels just isn’t going to find it, no matter how many of the exact same women he dates or fucks or makes out with on some pink or blue bus. New York will scream at everybody on her new jobs and won’t want to touch anything icky. Daisy will have to read cue cards, even though it’s a reality show. American Idol, someone will win and millions will watch, and lose. Top Model the girls will worry about eating anything, someone will steal anothers candy bar, and panic and riots will consume to Top Model House. Biggest Loser people will work out, cry and go from fat to skinny. Even the history channel and shows like “lock up: San quinten” will be the same as they always are. Planet Earth is never on when I’m looking for it, and that’s the only
Thing I want to watch. But it’s just not on.

So I came home from the meeting feeling less like I want to drink and more like I want a friend. Not even someone to talk to, just someone to sit with me because I have a hard time sitting with me, and only me.

Jill says it’s okay to hug myself and cry. To tell myself, my inner child “Im going to take care of things. Everything will be all right. I love you. You are special and valuable.” but I feel like an idiot. I guess the truth of the matter is that I don’t feel like everything will be all right. I don’t understand self love or self worth or self value because these are things I am trying to build within my own mind, my core.

So I hugged Saucy last night for an hour. I told her I would take care of her, that I love her and that everything will be all right. And she believed me.

I just wish I could believe myself.