Pretty Ugly

Last Sunday marked four years of not drinking. I didn’t remember. Which I guess is wonderful – but also a little rude, considering how hard I worked for it.

I did remember earlier in the week, and the month before that the anniversary was coming up. Thought about it a lot, actually.

If we’re being honest, I also think about drinking a lot. I’ve come to the realization that I probably always will. Intrusive thoughts swindle their way into my head as easily as someone casually mentioning cough medicine can mess you up.

Instantly, my brain goes: Am I getting sick?

No, Jen. You’re not.

I crave something that ruined so many good things. Not my best logic, I know. The range of feelings an adult beverage hands out varies on the good-bad spectrum.

First, the warmth.

Then the bravery.

Then the ‘I-shouldn’t-have-said-that’ reactivity.

And finally, the grand finale. Usually the next day, violently puking in a public parking lot.

It’s a very specific, very predictable itinerary.

I used to get black out drunk, on the regular. If I was asked to name who’s the happiest these last four years, I’d easily say my liver. My brain cells that managed to survive are a close second.

Waking up with little to no recollection of whatever it is that happened the night before is insane. And what’s even crazier is that my tolerance allowed me to be upright and having legit conversations with people…. all while a part of my brain is completely, 100% checked out.

Alcohol stole a lot of time, and even more of my dignity.

Some people thought I hid it well, while others could tell you stories.

One morning, after tying one on at the local dive bar I had a friend who was aggressively suggesting I get some food in my stomach. In a kind gesture she brings me to get a burger at Tom’s Drive In. While parked in the drive thru line… I felt it.

My mouth started to salivate. My forehead felt clammy. We all know what was about to happen.

Pro: I was able to exit the car.

Con: Losing our spot in line.

Hunched over in the bushes planted in rocks, I proceeded to throw up in front of, at minimum, 10 strangers. Ignominiously, I mosey my way back to the car, and let me share with you the kindness of one of those strangers.

They saved our spot in line.

Pure gold of a human. While the world could have easily kept moving while I was checked out, this person paused.

Anyway…

I got my burger, she dropped me off at home and what happened after that I’m not totally sure. We can all agree that I should have learned my lesson, but I certainly did not.

Not even a full moon cycle later I was dry heaving outside a dollar tree while a different friend was inside getting me Pedialyte.

This was after we had gone out for lunch, following a night out. One bite of salad was all it took and I ran to the public bathroom to empty my stomach.

Have you ever done that? No? Mmmkay.

I would rather puke anywhere. A public bathroom? I literally could have been done, but realizing I’m on the floor, hugging a communal toilet, prompts the only thing left – stomach acid.

Can we talk about that first vodka gimlet after a long serving shift? Ugh. I miss it the most. The relief it provided was second to none.

And ya know? If we could have just left it right there, soaking up the relaxation, this would be a different story. The issue starts after that. Once you feel like you need some sort of reserve stash, in case that wonderful feeling starts to wear off. The goal? To stay in a continuous loop of that first drink feeling – like it’s a race.

Which doesn’t make any sense, I know.

But here we are. Four years later. And I’ve done a lot of talking, making light of, and crying over the past. What I haven’t done is talk about all the good things and what my life looks like now.

I get to raise children in a home where alcohol is not present, ever.

I never have to wake up in the morning and play detective.

My skin looks great.

I haven’t laid on the bathroom floor in years.

Turns out, the life I have now is a lot quieter. And apparently, that was the goal the whole time.

I don’t miss drinking. I miss the version of me that thought I needed it. And some days, I still have to remind her she doesn’t live here anymore.