What I'm missing

I miss the first weeks of sobriety, when drinking held no appeal whatsoever. As I've noted for the past month or so, I've been experiencing periods of intense longing once or more every day. It's okay; the feeling passes. I haven't come close to an actual slip, though my imagination has gone there. But my days were sure as hell easier without that rueful sense of nostalgia.

It's not that life that I want back, just in case anyone's wondering. It's not the reality; it's the remembered fantasy of what drinking could be like for me if I could backpedal to the days when one glass of wine was enough. What I want is the warmth, the sense of relief, the relaxation. The social ease, relative to my usual awkwardness. The taking off of the proverbial edge. The chance to check out for a little while from my emotions and my messy life.

I recognize that even when one glass was enough (or when I was able to pretend it was, anyhow), I was living in an unhealthy and dishonest way. I was medicating my emotions as a lifestyle. I never, ever felt neutral toward alcohol; I could never take it or leave it. Even during the years when my intake looked manageable on the surface, I drank with the same kind of longing I feel today. This is yet another reason I know that my problem is a permanent part of me. I can arrest the progression of the disease by not drinking, but I can't get rid of it.

I still haven't been around alcohol, incidentally, since I left A. No closer than the next table in a restaurant. I didn't set out to avoid it so entirely for all this time--it's something I'll have to deal with sooner or later, after all--but my new life, with its new people and new behaviors, just hasn't exposed me to situations where people are drinking. That'll change over the next few weeks, as I'll be at a couple of events where alcohol will be served. My expectation is that I'll (a) wish I could drink and (b) not do it. And life will go on.