Two years sober. I am two fucking years sober. Twenty four months without a sip of alcohol. What a journey it has been so far....
Believe me, it has crossed my mind and is that one question I ask myself potentially too often, “Was I really THAT bad?” Did I really need to go all the way out and quit drinking for good? The answer is yes. My husband and I met just after I hit 1 year sober. Trust me, meeting the man of my dreams was the last thing I was prepared for. I had just learned how to love myself and all those flaws that I grew to hate and with no notice I had to learn how to love another human being. If learning to love myself was a challenge, imagine what loving someone else felt like… totally out of my comfort zone.
I’ve had an interesting 14 months in sobriety. When I think back to 12 months ago and how difficult the first 6 months were, I give myself a big pat on the back for sticking through with the program. Addiction recovery wasn’t an easy thing for me to combat, I was constantly bombarded with my demons and poison each time I stepped out of my flat. There were days I truly thought I’d never get through.
Each year on my birthday I’d blow out my candles and wish for love. The universe has a funny way of making wishes come true because seven months later I entered alcohol addiction recovery and started to fall in the deepest and greatest love of all, the love with my own self. You see, prior to sobriety I was drinking daily. I didn’t know how to sit at a table and simply drink a glass of orange juice, it always had to have something in it like vodka, make it a double too. Back then I was an expensive date, now I’m a very cheap one.
“I miss partying, the drugs, the drinking. I miss it all.” I said. So much so, I’ve been tempted to get a script for adderall just to be able to focus on everything else except this grief, the death of my old self. But that only defeats the purpose of this new journey.