To All The Skeletons Drinking Coffee

The April Check-Ins from our readers have arrived.

The other morning, while I was under-rested and underwhelmed and standing in the kitchen, drinking coffee, I realized I felt an uneasy vulnerability I hadn’t experienced in several years. I was flummoxed: What must I do to feel like I’m back in my skin again? What must I do to feel like myself again?

Wait — who AM I supposed to be?

After almost a decade of sobriety, I still forget. But after close to a decade of sobriety, I realize that it’s okay if I’m still not fully formed, that I probably won’t ever be, and that’s an exciting prospect if I let it be one. There’s no reason for me to be so flummoxed, worried, and discontented all the time. Why suffer more?

Based on our submissions from our readers this month, many of you are feeling the exact same way.

To everyone else: Share!

Comment!

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ONE MORE THING:

If you are unfamiliar with our Check-In format:

All the Anonymous writers below are credited collectively as “The Small Bow Family Orchestra.”

The ***** separates individual entries, as do pull quotes.

And, of course, TSB looks incredible because Edith Zimmerman drew everything.

Let’s dig in. — AJD

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The Dirty Wins Count Too

by The Small Bow Family Orchestra

I’ve got seven years sober in July, a number that feels both very big — more than 2,000 days without a drink! holy shit! — and small. I’ve got another (knock on wood) 40 years to go, so we’re still in the early innings.

One of my kids was being a real asshole for the past two weeks — he’s got the same thing I do, loving to say no to authority with a twinkle in your eye. I always thought it was charming until someone did it to me. I did everything wrong: yelling, shaming, bribing. Finally went back to basics — positive reinforcement, ignoring small defiances, removing him when needed, sitting with him to breathe deeply and say, “You’re okay buddy.”

It worked like a charm, annoyingly. Which is the same as me. I want to think if I yell at myself enough — be happy! Plenty of people don’t get any of this, dipshit! — I’ll somehow emerge a bodhisattva. But it’s the small stuff that works: morning exercise, writing down what I’m grateful for on my commute, forgiving my moments of spiritual miserliness.

I need more service work, a good group, to find the spiritual cure. But I also need to breathe deeply and say: you’re okay buddy.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

*****

When I quit doing coke at the beginning of the year I started exercising. I managed to knock out some two-mile runs before an old knee injury flared up. I saw an orthopedist who ruled out any serious problems and referred me to a physical therapist.

The PT facility is a few miles east of my house. I get excited about my appointments and a big part of that is getting to use my body again. My heart pumps hard because I’m crushing Bulgarian squats, not because I’m railing lines.

I used to buy cocaine from a guy who lived about 10 miles east of my house. I had no reason to drive in that direction except when I wanted to pick up, which was all the time. Going to my PT appointments takes me down the same roads, in the same direction, that I would drive when I was buying coke. This coincidence always makes me smile. Not all roads lead to coke.

Recovery has been hard and scary, but it also kicks ass because I feel like I’m becoming myself again.

*****

I’m seven months sober, and my wife and I finally talked about the financial impact of my alcoholism. It was quite a shock to her, and honestly, more damaging to our relationship than initially learning about my disease.

It’s nearly impossible to explain why I waited this long to tell her, let alone how I could rack up all that debt. Not being an addict, she cannot comprehend how my disease was forcing me to hide my spending. That so many of my actions were in service to my alcoholism.

Also, I literally could not mentally process the debt, that I was in such fear and shame that I pushed it out of my mind. I was only able to start facing the problem when my doctor upped my Wellbutrin rx. Literally within two days, I suddenly felt I could accomplish things I’ve been putting off for years.

We’re in a hard spot, but we’re on the right path. We’re going to see a couple’s therapist. And both of us are seeing our own therapists. We made a plan to tackle the debt that is doable. And we’ve agreed to discuss finances for the first time in our 18-year relationship. I have hope.

*****

April marks half of my life spent in active addiction. It also marks my first real attempt at climbing out of it. I’ve spent brief moments in sobriety, and I remember feeling like a new person. For some reason though — that reason probably being me thinking the chaos of addiction was what I deserve — those clean months and the incredible lightness that came with them never stuck. The thing is, I am no longer fighting those demons I was when I was 14. I need my heart to know that my world is safe now, and I need it to know that just because bad things happened to me that doesn’t make me a bad person. It does not make me undeserving.

A ghost came to me. I remember his terrorizing, wide, empty stare. “I’m stuck,” he said, “and I need your help.” (I closed the door in his face.) Another one of my vices when I was a teenager, meeting this ghost again reminded me I am not my 14 year old self anymore, but there’s many things I still need to shed. I want nothing more than to shed him, shed my youth, to grow into my new life, to get old, to nurture more, love more, like love (or what I thought it was) never made me want to take my own life. I am deserving, and so I’m checking into rehab for the first time in my life. I’ll probably spend my birthday there.

This April, I will stop chasing ghosts. I will do whatever I can to stop these cycles of abuse, these cycles of addiction. It’s the least I can do for that mauled, vulnerable, sweet, godawful 14 year old. It’s time to let in the light.

*****

I don’t think this is going to be especially poignant but in the last week I turned 47 and got my one year chip. I went through rehab at Mountainside and went back there to pick up my chip. I felt like I needed to reconnect with the place that helped me get sober and it was worth the drive. While there I felt like I was at home, and it was my place. I wanted to tell all the newbies to throw themselves into the work and really use their time while there to sort through their shit. Sobriety wise, I’m doing great. My biggest struggle is work and the utter misery of my job (well, and dating in NYC. 0/10 do not recommend). But the best thing I can say about this week is that I didn’t let that work misery take away from what was a very important milestone and that’s progress. I worked hard for this year of sobriety and I refuse to let anyone take that away from me.

*****

I’m just shy of 10.5 years sober from alcohol. I haven’t been to any kind of AA meeting/meetup/online gathering in well over a year (probably closer to two years, actually, but who’s counting).

I regularly see people around me struggle to get sober and maintain sobriety. I end up asking myself, “Why me? What makes me so special? How have I stayed sober why others haven’t been able to? Why do I deserve this over others?” It’s a weird “sobriety guilt” that constantly creeps up and recedes in a repeated cycle.

I’m not sure what my future with AA holds or if I’ll ever truly get back into working the “Official AA Program.” It’s not that I can do it on my own. I admit I can’t. I’m just unsure of how to reconcile the tenets of the program and my own sobriety and outlook on it. At some point in the recent past, I’ve owned up to this and admit it.

I try not to dwell on it.

But the “Why am I so special?” nags at me. I just be sure to take my anti-depressants each morning, love my kid and wife the best I’m able, show up to work and put in my best effort that day, be on time for my therapy appointments, be a good friend to those in my life, be helpful when I can and smile. Maybe I’m not special. And doing all those things are just fine. And that’s ok, that’s enough.

*****

We put my dog to sleep this week. She had developed an inoperable tumor on her head, and it was the only option. It was just me and the vets in the room with her. It was a peaceful passing, but her slight stumble as the sedative kicked in will replay in my brain for a while. Most days, I don’t even think about drinking, but I’m worried this grief might break my sobriety. I bought a pack of cigarettes for the first time in a decade as a sort-of stop-gap, so I’m holding for now. I’ve mostly tackled sobriety solo — no groups — over the past 2 1/2 years, but I think it’s time for me to find one. No idea where to start, but I think I need something beyond my usual therapy sessions to help me through the next season.

*****

I am currently in pain, but something to be grateful for is that I was quickly remanded after I chose to handle my physical and mental sobriety indelicately. In a series of events that should be predictable to me, I began to believe I could be “normal” again after I began seeing someone for whom I had strong feelings. As my optimism grew, I let down my guard and I also started drinking. After all, what is the hard work of sobriety for anyway, besides just holding it together long enough to get someone to treat me the way I think I deserve to be?

A month later, this culminated in an all night binge and I woke up both drunk and hungover to read a text message from the woman I’d been seeing which said that she had realized it wasn’t the best match for her. Dating sucks, etc., but this was particularly painful as she was the first person I’d met in a long time with whom I could legibly see a future. I don’t blame my drinking for it ending — it didn’t actually last long enough for my behavior to go off the rails in her presence. But waking up in that state, which was as low as I’ve felt in a long time, was a stark reminder of what I am left with when I choose to place my self worth in others’ opinion of me. Sobriety is a gift I can give myself when I am alone.

*****

I had my shoulder replaced 3 weeks ago and I’m doing well, but sleep. I’m still taking pain meds for sleep and have tried not to take them, but I end up taking them because I can’t sleep. Even when I do take them, I have been up until sometimes 2 a.m., not able to get to sleep. I have also been using THC gummies (legal here) to help sleep. I don’t want to depend on these substances for sleep and I need to sleep, so it worries me. I’m worried about becoming dependent on them for sleep. But I will keep trying.

*****

I was promoted to partner at my law firm in December. Which is great! But lately it feels like every decision I make is somehow bigger or more important than it was four months ago. This feeling is not rational: My job has not fundamentally changed in the last four months. But I do feel a difference in the weight my words carry. I am not just making suggestions anymore. I am making decisions and that is fucking terrifying.

My first big arbitration as a partner starts on Monday morning. It is a case for one of the firm’s institutional clients and it is valued at well over $100 million. To say the team is stressed would be a gross understatement, and somehow I am on the leadership team responsible for running this thing.

Three years ago this situation would have required me to stop by the liquor store every night on my way home for two bottles of wine. Now this situation just requires that I remember to drink 60 oz. of water a day, eat at least one vegetable, and try to go to sleep before 11 p.m. so I am not a raging monster to the junior associates and support staff. Is it stressful and scary? Absolutely. But can I do it? Yes. And knowing I can do it better now that I am sober — and maybe even enjoy it just a little bit — has been an incredible realization that I am beyond grateful for this week.

*****

I’m a 52 y.o. single lady and sober from alcohol but not from cannabis. I fail to understand why I don’t stop smoking the 3 cigarettes a day that are for sure killing me and annihilating my face. I’ve not said this out loud, but I want someone to ask me to please stop smoking. I feel so much shame. Sometimes it is hard being in charge of loving yourself in all the ways a person is meant to be loved. I love going to TSB meetings because I miss some parts of AA. Not the dark parts of going when I was 17, 18, 19 and desperate to be grown up. Keep trying everyone, we are doing a good job!

*****

It’s been six and a half continuous months of waking up every morning to grief and fear, over one specific relationship rupture that finally maxed out my resilience. A number of other ruptures with other people came afterwards, and a flood of things came before it, but everything washes out in the shadow of This One Thing. I can’t make sense of it, I can’t hold it properly in my mind, and so it jangles around everything, all the time.

But in the last two weeks I’ve started taking gulps of air above the surface of it, now and then. I planned a hiking trip, and another to see friends, and another to get a tattoo finished by an artist who lives in a different country. I spend time on my own and feel peaceful about it. I think about the future and a tiny corner of actual hope creeps in — not just I-can-fix-this, let-me-fix-this, oh-god-why-did-you-disappear-there-must-be-a-reason manic determination, but actual hope that imagines a future where I can feel something completely unrelated to This One Thing. It’s fucking terrifying.

I still sit by the canal and cry a lot. I sit in my room and cry, I sit in parks and cry, I sit on trains and buses and cry and cry and cry. I walk through streets and forests and meadows and cry and hope that one day I’ll look back on this and feel like I was doing the right thing. I’m afraid, because despair made me oddly patient, and maybe I’ll lose the equanimity that allowed the frustrations of daily life to wash over me, under me, through me. But now my brain has both hands on the bottom rung of the ladder, and it wants up, and I want to give it a chance in the sun again.

*****

I’m on day 49 of sobriety and things have been hard the last couple of weeks. I’m on week five of an IOP and that has been immensely helpful and informative. Finding a sober community is something I didn't know I desperately needed.

Still, I’m working during the week and it’s been hard to set boundaries around my work life to ease the stress it imposes on me, some self-made in my head and some not. Said stress has been a major trigger for me in the past.

I went to a Recovery Dharma meeting this past Sunday and I think I’ll lean into more meditative practices for my recovery. Mindfulness and Buddhist philosophy in particular is something I’ve always been interested in but I think it’s time to really commit to learning more about it all and actually practicing it, instead of just daydreaming about it.

One moment at a time. One day at a time.

*****

My oldest daughter is almost six, and objectively as can be, she’s a healthy, happy little human rainbow. In one of my many mood swings the other night where everything feels grim and bleak and impossible to overcome, she put up a particularly verbose protest to my removal of her night time snack of Pringles. Like, a ferocious protest. Some combination of, “They’re so good . . . I can’t stop eating them . . . just one more.” And of course I thought — she’s one of us. It’s all my fault. My genes, my parenting. She’s doomed for a lifetime of addiction and self loathing. Projection, I think, is what they call this.

I’d seen her do it before with candy and had a similar reaction under similar brooding. Oh, did I mention her mother was in a horrible car accident while seven-months pregnant and the ensuing trauma and surgeries may or may not have contributed to her being born severely underweight and never quite hitting the “normal” curve of height and weight and trips to various specialists and lots of opinions about implementing a high-caloric diet for her and keeping tabs on every ounce of weight gained and inch sprouted and maybe she’s just a little, little kid. Projection it seems like, right.

And I’m entering seven months unemployed and $30,000 of savings disappeared and Pringles are fucking delicious so maybe I guess it’s just projecting.

*****

For the first time in my life, I can actually see a future.

Last month I celebrated six months of sobriety and my first birthday sober. Though my life is already nearly unrecognizable, I know the truth: that I am still the same broken man.

I am still stubborn, selfish, entitled, but I can feel the angry tides beating against the shore and I know how to steel myself against the storm. For a time, I took my foot off the gas and got lazy in sobriety, but I caught myself and redoubled my efforts to stop the worst of me from creeping back.

I’ve committed to growth outside of my comfort zone, to being useful. I’ve been chairing my most consistent AA meeting, I’ve been there for friends in need, and pushing myself at work. All with kindness, generosity, and accountability. These efforts would have been beyond foreign less than a year ago.

But here I am, one day at a time, sailing towards a once impossible future. Steadfast on calm seas under clear skies.

*****

This week marks 8 years since I quit drinking, 8 years since I hit the first of many rock bottoms. Emotional rock bottoms without the crutch of alcohol have been difficult and plentiful during this time YET somehow I survived and didn’t drink. That somehow was through hard work every day; I quickly learned that I am not someone who can just stop drinking and be done with that. 365 days a year I have to do something to stay sober from alcohol, from attending a meeting to journaling or crying. It is easy, hard, wonderful, terrible, and worth it. I keep doing the work even if I hit another rock bottom, and there will be more. Because I have lived a life of regrets but I have never regretted quitting alcohol.

*****

Over a year ago, a friend told me I was being a dick because of the way I was postulating on how to deal with a choice I was making about someone with whom I’d been on a date. She hasn’t answered my calls since. It must have sounded dickish, though I didn’t mean for it to be. I just wrote to her to explain that I had finally figured out what I was trying to say, that I know I fucked up with the boundaries but that I didn’t mean to hurt anyone. I haven’t sent it yet because I’m afraid I’m somehow being an alcoholic by bringing it up again.

I was hoping to have more healthy relationships by now. You know — except for my mom? And donchaknow alcohol is a depressant and does dog-knows-what to your brain? Apparently, consuming it is more of a priority than growth right now. But through TSB I have begun to see the ways in which — because of years of poisoning myself with beer, heaps of emotional baggage, years of social isolation, and the trust I have lost in people — I have become so completely delaminated from the decent person I once might have been, physically, psychologically, socially. The damage is bone deep. I worry that I will always be someone about whom people exchange glances when I leave the room, this person who consistently fucks it up, ends up alone, wondering what I did wrong.

Woe!

Still, there is a part of me that grows ever curious about what might happen if I quit. Would I have the same slow, sweet, clouds-parting-for-the-sun kind of experiences those of you in recovery have had? Is that even in the cards for me, or were those long lost on the bridges I’ve burned?

*****

March has been too much. I have been afraid of substance addiction my entire life (it runs in my family) but that fear hasn’t kept me from codependency, depression, getting addicted to my devices, etc. I tried sobriety this January (and February) to some success. The overwhelm of this month led me back to weed — for stress management and sometimes also pain relief and sometimes for “fun.” Mostly, it’s been okay, but it put a huge damper on an important event when I had terrible intrusive thoughts from a surprising interaction while on an edible. I had to disappear for an hour before convincing myself, with the help of a trusted friend, that I was okay and could be around people again.

I put so much pressure on myself to do/be “better” on a daily basis that sometimes it feels like weed is the only thing that can take me out of that headspace. I don’t like saying that. Now I’m finding myself craving it before work, and my job would NOT be okay if I was high during it. Do I need it to relax? Is that okay? I can’t tell if what I liked about my January semi-sobriety was not even about the sobriety but about other positive changes in my life, like going outside more often, having more structure to my days, getting treatment for chronic pain. It’s hard to reframe caring for myself as a good thing and not a burden or a problem that never ends.

*****

My husband and I are both in AA: he’s celebrating 3 years sober on Sunday, and by some Higher Power’s grace I got 4 years this past October. I didn’t mean to 13th step him — he didn’t mean to relapse twice! Anyway, the past 3 years have included (in this order) a nearly life-ending relapse, a surprise pregnancy followed by shotgun wedding, moving in together, and trying really fucking hard to figure out this married with a kid thing. I feel so desperately ill-equipped to be a wife, even though my alcoholic ego tried to convince me there was NOTHING I could fail at. I fail daily. I come up short, I snap at my son when I really really don’t want to and still somehow today I am filled with more gratitude than my body has room for. I have these beautiful women who call me so we can work the program together, my best friend is sober as well kicking ass several states away, inspiring me with her service. My mom got sober just in time for me to have my baby and learn how to trust her with him. My husband has 3 years Sunday (did I mention that already?!). I’m not sure how I/we got here (the steps, a sponsor, some Al-Anon, more prayer than I thought possible), but I read this thing today I love and here’s a piece: “I pray today that you will be more deeply in love than you were yesterday or the day before,” and holy mother of god each day I am more in love than the day before. As my husband reminded me this morning, “the dirty wins count too.” Whew. What a relief.

*****

fin

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OTHER RECENT CHECK-INS:

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This is The Small Bow newsletter. It is mainly written and edited by A.J. Daulerio. And Edith Zimmerman always illustrates it. We send it out every Tuesday and Friday.

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ZOOM MEETING SCHEDULE

Monday: 5:30 p.m. PT/ 8:30 p.m ET

Tuesday: 10 a.m. PT/1 p.m. ET (NEW MEETING)

Wednesday: 10 a.m. PT/1 p.m. ET

Thursday: 10 a.m. PT/1 p.m. ET (Women and non-binary meeting.)

Friday: 10 a.m. PT/1 p.m. ET

Saturday: Mental Health Focus (Peer support for bipolar/anxiety/depression.) 9:30 a.m. PT/12:30 p.m. ET

Sunday: (Mental Health and Sobriety Support Group.) 1:00 p.m PT/4 p.m. ET

*****

If you don’t feel comfortable calling yourself an “alcoholic,” that’s fine. If you have issues with sex, food, drugs, DEBT, codependency, love, loneliness, depression, come on in. Newcomers are especially welcome.

FORMAT: CROSSTALK, TOPIC MEETING

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A POEM ON THE WAY OUT:

Clarity

by A.R. Ammons

************************

After the event the rockslide
realized,
in a still diversity of completion,
grain and fissure,
declivity
&
force of upheaval,
whether rain slippage,
ice crawl, root
explosion or
stream erosive undercut:

well I said it is a pity:
one swath of sight will never
be the same: nonetheless,
this
shambles has
relived a bind, a taut of twist,
revealing streaks &
scores of knowledge
now obvious and quiet.

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