A Dry Drunk
There is a phrase used in recovery circles: a dry drunk.* This refers to someone who has stopped drinking, so they are technically sober, but are not working a program (whether AA or some other program). So while they have sobriety from alcohol, they do not have “emotional sobriety.”
That was the path my recovery took. In the beginning of my sobriety, I was literally just figuring out how to get through a day and not drink. I was going to recovery meetings, but I didn’t have a sponsor and I hadn’t started working the 12 steps. I was just trying to not go to a bar after work, which took about all the energy I had.
After about six months, I looked around the recovery rooms and realized that I wasn’t drinking, but I was still pretty miserable. Yet the other people in the rooms didn’t seem to be. They had a sense of ease and calm that I yearned for. They had emotional sobriety. That’s when I realized I had taken my sobriety as far as I could without additional help, and I found a sponsor and started working the steps.
While I do believe alcoholism is a disease—a sort of allergy of the body coupled with an impairment of the mind—the actual drinking of alcohol is still just a symptom of the underlying “causes and conditions” of the disease. That is, there is other shit going on in our lives, our heads, and/or our hearts that drinking helps ease the pain of. But once the tool of alcohol is gone, you better find some other tool or else or you’re going to be miserable.
That’s what the 12 steps were for me. A different blueprint on how to live life. I applied the 12 steps to alcohol first, as that was my most pressing problem. But as I learned how to live without alcohol, I then learned how to apply the 12 steps to other areas of my life. Without the 12 steps and my emotional sobriety, I wouldn’t have trusted the Universe or myself enough to quit my job last year, sell my house, and hit the road. I wouldn’t have trusted the Universe or myself enough to quit another job and move again when the man I loved was dying of what I believed was cancer. I wouldn’t have trusted the Universe or myself enough to end the relationship when I learned of his betrayal and lies. And I wouldn’t have trusted the Universe or myself enough to feel all the pain and grief of losing him in such a violent and heart-breaking way without alcohol.
In a meeting a few weeks ago, a friend shared that when they get overwhelmed, they break the program down into four pieces: (1) Trust God; (2) Clean house; (3) Help others; and (4) Pack the stream of life.
One. For me, trusting the Universe (Higher Power, God, whatever) is paramount. I don’t believe everything happens for a reason. I don’t think my ridiculously handsome man (let’s call him RHM) died to teach me some sort of lesson or because he deserved it or I deserved or whatever. I believe some things just happen.
But I do believe that if I trust the Universe, accept this life on this life’s terms, and do the next right thing, I will probably be okay. I have to accept that RHM is gone. I have to accept that I could not have done anything differently than I did; turns out, I cannot change the past. And then I ask my gut-intuition-Universe what I should do next, and usually I get a nudge. Sometimes its to let myself cry. Or take a nap. Or write a blog post. Or do my damn homework for my master’s program. But there is always a nudge, always a “next right thing.”
Two. Clean house means to take care of those things that are in my control that I am responsible for. Like, my two dogs. Feeding myself. Paying bills. Maintaining my car. Literally cleaning my house. It’s doing that boring shit that no one really wants to do but it needs to be done and there is no one else that is going to do it. These things are the only things that are actually in my control, and I always feel better when my house is clean.
Three. Being of service and helping others gets me out of my damn head. My head is not the safest neighborhood for me to be in alone. I’ve been back at work for two days now, in a public service role, and now that I am around people and doing work that matters, my brain has gotten a break from spinning out about RHM. And it can also be as small as asking someone else how they are doing. Being of service to anyone—big or small—gets me out of myself.
Four. Pack the stream of life means…. well, I’m still puzzling what this one means. But what I think it means—at least right now—is that we are in this stream of life. We are going with the flow. But why not put things in the stream that we enjoy doing? Learn that new language. Read all of Stephen King’s books. Through hike the Colorado Trail. Get a masters in public policy and administration. If it brings you joy and you’re curious about it, fill your life with that. Because why the fuck not?
With those four tools, life is a little bit easier. A little bit more manageable. The day a little bit more bearable. It’s not perfect. And I don’t always do it perfectly. I forget. And buy all the clothes, books, and jewelry from instagram ads (damn those algorithums!!) to make myself feel better.
But when I remember and use these tools, these tools do more for me than alcohol ever did. And if I didn’t have them, I would have gone back to alcohol by now. No question about it.
And I still may.
If these last few months have taught me anything, it’s that alcohol is “cunning, baffling, and powerful.” All I can ask for is a “daily reprieve.” I know I won’t drink today. I’m pretty sure I won’t drink tomorrow. It is for this daily reprieve that I stay close to my tools, my friends, and my community. I feel all the feelings. And I take it all just one day at a time.
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*These opinions are all mine and not related to any institution or any other organization.