Monthly Archives: January 2014

14 Thoughts Running Through My Head at Almost 1 Year Sober:


Your Brain Not on Drugs

Your Brain Not on Drugs


1.  Why am I doing this again?

2.  Why is that newcomer more sober than me?

3. Why do I listen to my sponsor when she “suggests” I don’t get an impulse tattoo?

4.  What’s Step 1 again?

5.  People are fucking stupid.

6.  No wait…I love sobriety.  I should celebrate my one year.

7.  I should celebrate my one year by drinking.

8.  I should come up with my own AA where alcoholics can drink.

9.  Am I sure I’m an alcoholic?

10.  I wouldn’t have anything good in my life if it weren’t for AA.

11.  This will probably pass.

12.  I should call my sponsor.

13.  I should pray.

14.  I need candy.

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Yuck the Fankees…And the Red Sux


Day 346

I used to be a baseball fan; now I’m more of a crestfallen, half-assed spectator.  By half-assed spectator I mean if I happen to turn on the nonexistent TV in my house, or walk into a bar I no longer go to, and a game is on, I’ll root-root for the home team.

That said – I’ve never been a fan of the Yankees, which according to my geographic is the home team.  Erroneous.  I don’t like the Yankees for the same reason I don’t like the Red Sox anymore (or any major leagues) : lots of sports, no real teams.

The first time I fell for baseball was 2004.  My mom’s boyfriend at the time was a Red Sox fan; he gave me the lowdown of the players, the history behind their curse, and the unconformity of the Soxs’ raggedy scraggly ways.  As a 16-year-old pothead-wannabe-anything-chameleon-outcast, I could relate to their rebellious “we don’t wear pinstripe” ways.  Pinstripes to me were the equivalent of Vineyard Vines, and since I really needed things to hate besides myself, the Yankees and popped collars seemed like good places to start.

The year 2004 was the beginning of my dedicated relationship with drugs, alcohol, and a balanced diet of Beerio’s and bong rips for breakfast; “Beerios” being Cheerios with beers in the place of milk…ok I never did that (in high school) but you get the idea.

Anyway.  I came to know the players that season. I came to love the game.  And then…THEY WON!  The curse was broken! Red Sox for life, bitches!  Yuck the Fankees! Johnny Damon was my hero!  Beers and bongs for everyone! And then!!!……He joined the Yankees.


What kills passion quicker than a paycheck?

That was my first and last affair with “pro” sports.  Doesn’t sound very “pro”fessional to me, nor inspiring.  I could probably trace my rock bottom nearly 365 days ago to Johnny Damon’s soul selling contract in 2005.

…..Clearly I forgot to put some people on my 4th step.

There’s a point to all this, and that is, Johnny Damon is just as bad as A-Rod.  The End.

Ok just kidding. This was intended to be a post on the similarities between A Rod and alcoholics.  (Now that I’m an alcoholic I get to point the fingers at everyone else) but my emotional wounds of MLB are still open.  (Insert crying emoji here.)

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Difficulties type 1 & 2

mouse strongLast night I went to a much needed meeting. I hadn’t been to one since Saturday, and it’s amazing how quickly my thinking turns.  There was no impending doom of drinking, but when my thoughts turn more selfish less selfless I know it’s time to get my butt to the rooms.

The best part about the meeting was that someone else got me there.  All it took was one text message:  Is there a meeting at 5:30.  I was promptly and positively informed of the time and location of a group I’d never visited.

There were familiar faces in the room and the chairs formed a circle.  I always like when the chairs are in a circle.  It feels personal.  It also feels like a stereotypical 12-step meeting…like in FightClub.  Or 28 Days.

It started with a 5 minute meditation.  I used to think meditation was hocus pocus stuff–seriously.  It was a firm belief of mine that anyone who practiced meditation was full of “it,” or slightly mad as a March hare.  Now, it’s a practice I value, respect, and work on daily.

The lights in the room were turned off and a candle sat in the middle of us on the floor.  There’s something undeniably magical about candlelight.  Meditation is not something I’ve “mastered,” (if that’s even proper mindfulness terminology) so I keep it real simple; usually breathing in love and breathing out patience.  Anyway..the lights turned on the leader read from the 24 Hour book.  The gist of the reading was “welcoming difficulties.”  At first, I thought, huh?  Then I realized that sobriety has completely redefined my idea of difficult, and there are two forms.

1) The ones I bring upon myself — I can take a traffic jam and turn it into a catastrophe. I can launch a diatribe against one person for several no good reasons.  It’s not difficult to make a situation even more difficult.  It’s actually my nature to take aspects of life and transform them into obstacles…but the program has given me tools to counteract the titanic thoughts. Perspective…that’s the tool I’m thinking of. It allows me to realize that some situations in my head are just not true.

Life on life’s terms, however, is full of uncontrollable adversities.  This is difficulty type 2:

The world can be a cankerous cold habitat…and/or completely laden with challenges. I don’t welcome anyone dying.  That goes without saying, but I said it anyway.  I do, however, welcome difficulties that give me strength, and those difficulties take form in  infinite numbers of ways.  Yesterday I went in for a follow up on a job I’m thrilled and nervous to start.  Holding my own in terms of wages and displaying my knowledge without panicking was difficult!  I made it.  I made it through friends’ deaths and family illnesses and times where my heart feels like it’s going to drop out the bottom of my chest. I’m not saying that life gets easier, but I read a quote once that said:

“Hope is the key that unlocks the door to discouragement.”

For Difficulties type 1, I need to recognize my own defects.  For Difficulties type 2, I need to remember and hold onto the message above.

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Twenty things that scared the crap out of me before getting sober


  1. The future
  2. DUI checkpoints  
  3. Sounding insecure
  4. Small talk without a drink in my hand
  5. Checking my call history and outgoing texts the morning after.  (The worst was when I got “smart” and started deleting my outgoing texts during my blackouts)
  6. Losing my cell phone
  7. Looking people in the eye
  8. Being alone
  9. Not being alone

10. Failing as everyone around me succeeded

11. Eating.  My motto was often: “Eating’s cheating.”

12. Fear of letting myself down, and my family

13. Scared of getting caught in my own lies 

14. Fear of leaving the pot farm

15. Not being able to afford the material possessions that felt crucial

16. That everyone knew what I was thinking

17. Missing out

18. Maladaptation

19. Monotony

20. Extreme fear of never having enough–especially drugs and alcohol.  There was nothing more terrifying than that last line of coke, the last beer or bottle, and the knowledge that the strung out feeling of reality was about to hit again. 

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Good News! Bad News…

Bad news! It’s been weeks since my last post. Good news!  I celebrated 11 months of sobriety yesterday!!!!!!