Six months. 181 days. 4356 hours, 261417, and 156685075 seconds without drinking alcohol as of this writing on July 5, 2015, as I ride back with my family to Georgia from Florida.
I did pretty well over the weekend and interacted more with people than I normally do. I thought I would be able to continue the social trend and spend yesterday doing things with my family, but that didn’t happen. I really don’t like the heat, and the heat in Florida at this time of year is pretty intense. At least, it is for me. I can’t walk outside without bursting into a full sweat within five seconds, so the idea of going with everyone to a water-slide in town wasn’t exactly appealing. Nor was going on the boat to fish, or going to my sister-in-law’s to watch fireworks. I spent the day inside, writing stories, poems, and music, taking my dog for brief walks, and telling myself that everything was fine. I wasn’t drunk and avoiding people; isolation wasn’t my goal. Spending some time alone with my passions was a goal, which is fine, and no one had a problem with it. In fact, I would have shocked everyone if I’d jumped up and said, “Woo hoo, let’s hit the water park and fire up the boat! Go go go, I can’t wait!”
Of course, I would never say that, but they would have still been surprised if I’d simply agreed to go along with everything. I remain an introvert in sobriety, and I maintain my general dislike for water activities. My kids are building great memories with their grandfather, who loves the water and all things outdoors. I’m sure I’ll continue changing the longer I’m sober, but I doubt I’ll become a water-loving, camping, fishing kind of guy. It’s possible, but folks shouldn’t hold their breath.
I’m grateful for my sobriety and grateful to be riding in the car without having to sneak drinks before climbing in. My thinking is relatively clear, though I’m still dealing with post-acute withdrawal syndrome. I feel kind of peculiar as I write this, but that’s all right. When the symptoms hit, I don’t freak out. That would only make them worse. It’s just something I have to go through.
This entry isn’t as celebratory as I expected it to be. In fact, it feels rather flat, but I’m going to post it anyway.
My name is Robert, and I’m an alcoholic. I have six months of sobriety today. Here’s to many more sober days and months and years.