By John Staley
Sobriety is a pain in the ass – inconvenient in other words. When I decided to quit drinking ten years ago, I just wanted a break from the hangovers. I told myself I just needed a week to clear my head and get things back to normal.
Three beers in the morning – normal. Constantly broke – normal. Alienating friends and family by avoiding morning messages about expletive-laden late-night phone calls. Daily paranoia of getting caught drinking at work. Shaking anxiety about getting pulled over, driving home after work. Doomsday-prep levels of stockpiling booze so as not to run out. Only to need more the next day – normal. You know – normal. Alone, exhausted, and ready to be done – one way or, yes, that far more permanent other.
Really wanna know what your problems are? Quit drinking. My list was longer than my longest bar tab. And, like a cast-iron skillet left out in the rain, I am still scrubbing it to this day.
In true late-to-the-party fashion, getting emotionally sober has only happened in the last few years. I started to get my shit together just in time for the end of the world. But a clear head and my penchant for cardio will surely help in the coming (current) apocalypse.
Although late to the party, I have learned the importance of leaving early. When speech slows and the stories start to repeat, it’s time to split. Besides, I’ve heard this one before.
Life is still hard. I’m still lost, and every Soberthday the only thing I’m certain of is my naïveté about what’s to come. This has to apply to the good as well as the bad. It is about expansion and not restriction, no matter what my brain might tell me.
My life is infinitely better than it was a decade ago. I am loved and capable of love that was not possible before. I even love myself. Well, I’m still working on that one.
Things are easier. I do the dishes, pay the bills, keep up on the maintenance of my teeth and vehicle. It is this previously scoffed-at responsibility that allows me the freedom in sobriety I so desperately wanted in drunkenness. I still feel miserable, but I also find joy. Mostly, if I’ve done the work, I find contentment. And that is the goal: to be content with what the last decade has given me and what the next one might throw my way.
Sobriety is hard, exhausting, painful but worth every minute of every bad day. It is ultimately rewarding in a way that I would have sworn was impossible before. Instead of feeling like dying, I feel life’s worth living. I don’t claim to have the answers, but I now have a solution. If you are ever curious to know how I learned to leave the party early, I am always happy to share. No one does it alone. You can reach me at [email protected].
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