5 years on the yellow brick road

I stopped drinking five years ago. I tried to stop countless times. I'd wake up and think, "I'm not doing it again; I'm so tired of feeling like shit." But then, as the Advil kicked in, and I gulped glasses of water and coffee, I started to feel slightly better, and soon I'd convinced myself that I just overdid it. Somehow as the day progressed, I'd decide that a glass of wine would take the edge off, and I'd keep it under control. Reconvincing myself that it was completely normal to medicate the way I felt with a nightly happy hour. Only it wasn't so happy anymore.

I tried diets that had cleansing periods with no alcohol. I'd cut out alcohol for a week, 14-days, (if I cheated, it was a surreptitious vodka on the rocks that didn't count because I'd somehow convinced myself that vodka was healthier than wine.) In April of 2016, I'd completed a 30-day challenge and made 30 days alcohol-free. So, I was positively sure that I could control my drinking, and I didn't have a problem.

Ok, so what was so different about October 16th, 2016? We have to go back two days to figure it out. On Friday, October 14th, 2016, I got my hair cut. Miranda worked some magic that day. She cut my hair in a cute choppy bob, dyed it a burgundy red, and I was feeling spunky and fresh with my new do. My husband had soccer practice that night, so when I got home, I mixed myself a vodka martini to celebrate my new look, put on some music, and danced and cooked in my kitchen, having a party-of-one. One martini probably led to two, and then I opened a bottle of wine. At some point, Chris came home with my stepdaughters; I'm sure we ate dinner, and then, well, who knows?

On Saturday, I had my daily call with my mom. She told me all about a new show that she watched called Designated Survivor starring Keifer Sutherland. As she recapped the premise in detail, I chatted back about how that sounded right up our alley. After hanging up with her, I found Chris and told him we should give it a watch. He looked at me. He blinked a few times. He said, "how much did you have to drink last night?" I began to feel the heat rising into my cheeks. What had I missed? I'm sure I cleaned up the shaker before he got home and put it away; for all he knew, I'd only had a few glasses of wine. "Sarah, we watched the pilot last night. You don't remember?"

I didn't. I didn't remember any of it. Blackouts had started to happen all the time and without warning, regardless of my tolerance and the fact that I was drinking amounts that had never caused blackouts before. I'd be walking, talking, having conversations, watching tv shows, and no one would know that the lights were on, but no one was home.

I drank that night. I drank because I was filled with shame, and the only way I knew to quiet the voices in my head was to numb and muffle them out with more alcohol. I drank because I knew that I couldn't keep going. I drank because it was the only thing I knew how to do. But, this night was different. Because like that old The Verve song, "The Drugs Don't Work," they didn't. I had seen behind the wizard's curtain and found the tiny man controlling the show, and I couldn't keep fooling myself that this was living.

October 16th, I woke up and knew it was the day. It wasn't the first of the month like I'd convinced myself it had to be. The election was coming. Then Thanksgiving and Christmas. All things that I usually coped or celebrated with alcohol. It was simply The Day.

Like Dorothy, I returned to myself. I woke up and realized that the heart I needed all along was mine, that the humans I loved were waiting for me to show up, that the colors were there; I just needed to cease muting them in an alcohol wash.

If any part of you resonates with my story, trust me; the voice you hear is yours. That voice may be tiny and quiet at this point. But if you hear it, maybe it's time you answered the call. That's you. You are reaching back through time to wipe the sleep from your eyes, sit up in bed, put your feet on the floor, and take some steps. You have no idea where that yellow brick road will lead, but trust me, it's going to be brilliant and amazing.

This post was inspired by Guster's song, Come Downstairs and Say Hello