Cinco De Mio
Being ok being alone
Today was Cinco de Mayo, and being the alcoholic that I am, you would expect that I’d still be out downing Margarita and forgetting my oath to never take another shot. Shit, I’d expect that. As I type this I slightly considered going out to do that NOW.
But, in a big step forward for me, I am home alone and enjoying the company of one Kimmy Schmidt. This was an early step for me in my quest to stop looking for a root of happiness. To be honest my night in wasn’t from a total lack of trying, but I am unexpectedly content with it. I do not need other people, alcohol, live music, or a friendly bartender to feel as though I am making the best of my life.
It feels as though this has been an, admittedly small, first step towards reconciling my internal and external self. Ironically, when I am alone I feel less of a need to find myself. I already know myself deep down and I can be that person when I’m alone, as there is no image to portray. I don’t need to do, say, or think about anything to catch a girl’s intention or help my career prospects. I don’t need to sit awkwardly while the group of people I’m with say things I completely disagree with (sorry, but I didn’t vote for Bernie Sanders).
This is now the 2nd night in a row that I haven’t drank and the 4th in 5 nights. Oddly, it doesn’t seem incredibly difficult now, but once I have that first sip I know I am hitting a reset button. Unfortunately it appears an insurmountable task to quite completely as well as my social, work and family life very much revolve around the giggle juice.
I keep telling myself that I’ll be fine in the future and this is just a phase I’ll get out of, but a large part of me questions if that’s truly the case. I am in a race against my own health, both mental and physical, to get out of this jam. I have admittedly overcome many addictions before (story for another time) but the fact that I am back down this path exposed me the ugly grasping reality of relapse.
The scariest fact of my life right now is the great deal of success I have managed despite these struggles. This gives me an excuse to stick to my ways as well as an excuse to not get help. By admitting openly that I have a serious problem, would I undo everything I have built (or at least some of it)? It is a tall task to keep convincing myself through each weekend war that I can fight and advance, while I know deep down that the chicken will come home to roost sooner rather than later.
The saddest part about my addiction is how I find myself measuring my money in alcohol. “Should I buy these shoes? Nah, that’s an entire night out right there!” It’s embarrassing. Even now I’m thinking about how I can turn my $1000/month habit into a $200/month hobbie. I think about how once I’m out of NYC I won’t have all this pressure, all these expenses, all these amazingly spectacular options every night. But in reality all these things are just excuses I use to take the easy way out. Concerts, business trips, dinner with my brother; they’re all just a scapegoat.
If I can’t learn to limit myself, I am undeniably approaching a fork in the road: quit or collapse. It is my sincere hope that the fork is further away than it appears as it rolls over the horizon. But until I reach it…or it reaches me, cheers.
