How I Got Sober

It’s that time of year again. Eight years ago on New Years Eve I quit drinking. Fortunately, I didn’t make it a resolution because I always fail those. I couldn’t on this one. I have no idea where I’d be today if I didn’t give up booze. I have no idea where I’d be today if I had taken up ballet eight years ago either. No magic future prediction powers for me. If I had them I would have won the lottery a couple times already. Instead I tried a career in politics, which seems like it’ll wind up as another mistake.

No, foresight is not a particular skill of mine. But it doesn’t take a psychic to see where I was headed eight years and a day ago.

There are lots of reasons “why” I quit drinking. I only have to look through some of my Facebook memories to get sent back to that tiny, roach infested apartment I lived in when I hit rock bottom. I only cleaned up when the beer cans and stale wine bottles strewn on the floor made it too difficult to walk around. I would wait until the dead of night to take the trash down because of how embarrassed I felt. 

It’s also easy to remember the pain I caused my friends even though I was too drunk at the time to actually remember the events that led there. The pain came after, in the hungover light of day.

The “why” part of sobriety is easy to remember. Even though I’m so far removed from that person I used to be that most of the people in my life have forgotten he ever existed, if they even knew him to begin with. At least I hope that’s the case. I’ll never forget but I hope that others can. That’s the trick with memory. If you’ve ever thought of a stupid joke you said at a party fifteen years ago and felt the shame all over again, you know what I mean. I’m certain that everyone else there forgot there was even a party let alone remember what you said.

When new people find out I don’t drink it’s only awkward about 30% of the time. They usually ask how long I’ve been sober then say “wow…” when I tell them. Maybe they’ll ask why I quit to be polite and I’ll tell them that “I drank enough in my twenties to tide me over for the rest of my life” and that usually gets a chuckle. Often it’s best to move on from there.

I don’t tell them about the time I threw one of my best friends into a mirror and got him banned from his favorite bar. At least not at first. That story is a bummer so I save it for people I’ve known awhile. The ones who remember not to offer me a beer or a glass of wine. Some folks take longer for the concept of my complete sobriety to stick in their heads. Not a personal attack; drinking is so ubiquitous that I don’t blame anyone who defaults to thinking I drink.

Most people don’t ask “how” I got sober. The process. At least, in a serious context, not a “I don’t know how you do it, I can’t live without my happy juice” kind of way. I’m happy that more people don’t ask me this question though.

Because I can’t give them an answer. I just did it.

I could tell them that prior to my bottoming out I quit drinking for a month to “dry out” as the perpetually inebriated call it. So, I knew I was capable of existing without alcohol in my system. I had hoped I would be able to regulate better but it became evident that would be impossible. I had to reduce my intake to zero or nothing would change.

That realization helped but it doesn’t explain how I quit. 

It doesn’t describe the times I went to the supermarket and stood in the wine isle staring at the cheapest bottle on the shelf. My preferred form of regular indulgence. It would have been so easy to pick one up, pay the five hundred yen and be done with the whole stupid struggle.

It doesn’t explain how it felt to hang out with my old friends at drinking parties. 

In case you’ve never been to Japan before, you should know that many places have “all you can drink specials” where you pay a set amount of money and for a short time you can have as many drinks as you can order. Problem is the price is the same if you drink cocktails or just soda pop. And you can’t just not pay and have water or whatever, because what’s to stop your friend from ordering two drinks and giving you one?

Let’s just say it’s a great deal if you’re looking to get wasted. Terrible if you’re newly sober and poor enough as it is.

I stopped going to a lot of those events.

Not only did I give up what I considered to be the only thing that made me happy, I also felt like I was losing more friends than I did when I was on the sauce. It was a depressing time to say the least.

I stuck with it though. The cravings got easier. I got more practiced at saying no to my desire to drink. I didn’t go to any meetings, didn’t do any steps. I’m not saying those things aren’t worthwhile for some people, they just weren’t for me.

It was around this time that I got into improv comedy. I always feel weird recommending it to people. Back in high school, “improv” was for weirdos and that perception still remains with a lot of the general public today.

Totally true by the way. Improv people are the weirdest kids you’ll ever know. That’s why it’s so great.

I drank in large part because I believed that was the only way I could be an interesting person. I thought I couldn’t be funny or smart or attractive without having at least a few beers in me. Improv taught me that wasn’t true. It taught me that I could never be any of those things, sober or not.

Just kidding. I’m at least two out of three.

The point of improv is to accept that you’re going to mess things up from time to time. Nobody is perfect. It’s ok to have some flaws. It’s a hard lesson to internalize and more often than not alcohol is an easy way to shortcut your way to that type of headspace. It takes a lot of courage to fail but life requires failure at times in order to learn. Eventually, as the common wisdom goes, all that failing will lead to success once the opportunity comes around. 

At least I hope it does. I gave up a lot when I left Japan and if I’m being honest it doesn’t feel like I’ve balanced things out yet. I still have to constantly be on guard about ensuring I have a non-alcoholic option where ever I go. Uber culture has killed off the respected status of the designated driver. I get other people to order a ginger ale for me at the bar because I can’t stand the look of disapproval that comes from bartenders now. Maybe it’s all in my head but it’s a different vibe for certain.

Which speaks to the larger problem I struggle with. Without a doubt I’m better sober than when I drank but when you get right down to it all I’ve accomplished is “not” doing something. I don’t do heroin either, where are my accolades for that?

I don’t mean to make light of the opioid crisis, of course. And I’m sure most people can appreciate how hard it is to get sober. I can for certain. But the problem doesn’t go away. Deep down, everyone who isn’t in recovery has to think on some level that “not” drinking is easy. After all, they can pull it off at any time they want. I think this way and I’m an alcoholic.

Why should I get credit for not ruining my life? That’s what people are supposed to do all the time. 

It’s not easy living this way. The greatest accomplishment of my life is something that most people can do without thinking. The world is full of stories about heroic addicts overcoming their demons to go on to bigger and brighter things. Maybe someday that will happen to me and I can talk in glowing terms about my “struggle with alcohol” and laugh and smile about it from a place of comfort.

I’m not there yet to be honest. It’s taking too long for things to work out the way I had hoped.

Things could be a lot worse, I suppose.

I could still be drinking.