I’m on the iPad – must really buy myself that keyboard – so this will be brief. I’ll save the anecdote about my Friday night, during which a lady with a microphone literally exhorted me to drink wine, try the delicious cider, loosen up – for tomorrow. Tonight I just want to say that every night for the past four nights has been pretty much a struggle. The forever thing is kicking in. I’m thinking about wine at ten am. About opening a bottle and drinking it all, sip after sip, glass after glass, sinking into mindless pleasure. Sofa, blanket, salted pistachios, Pinot Gris.
I’m not going to drink it. And I’m certainly not kidding myself that I can moderate. Mostly I just keep thinking why did I decide to give up now, why couldn’t I have put it off for another year?
Because here is the truth about getting sober. There is never, ever, any going back. The days when I could drink and enjoy it are over. Any drinking I do from now would be done in guilt and shame. The days of innocence are long over, they’ve been over for years. But this is more than that. If I drink again, then the days of knowing I can stop if I want to are also over. If I drink again, each sip will be bitter with regret.
So I’m done. There’s no way back.
But this weekend, I wish I’d waited before I burned the bridge.