Solitary in Sanity

Through the amazing interwebz (more specifically, the blogsphere) I came across a young lady who is also new to sobriety. She prefers to remain anonymous so this is where my love for baby names comes in: I will name her Georgia. The following in an excerpt from an email I sent to Georgia in regards to my Saturday evening.* What did I do on Saturday? Oh, thank you for asking!

My husband is in a cover band (and an original band. i know it makes for conversation confusion. “wait, which band?”) They had a gig in his hometown at a wine bar. Let me repeat this for emphasis. A wine bar. Looking back, it was an okay time. How did I feel about it last night? I wanted to rip my insides out. Here is the letter, complete with omissions for a bit of anonymity on my part.

The funny thing is…I didn’t want a drink. When I first walked in and saw those beautiful, giant wine glasses filled with red, I longed for one briefly. It passed very, very quickly. For me the hard part was dealing with drunk people parents while sober. My anxiety is soaring after giving up the Paxil that I was on since November. My ‘bottom’ involves (AnyTown) and (a group of people). It seemed as if ALL of them were there.  It was too much of that, too soon. That was on Halloween and this was the first time I have been out in that town since.

So, I guess I can say I am proud that I didn’t want a drink. Staring at those drunk people gives me a glimpse of what I once looked like…and well if I never look or act like that again, I will be very, very content.

I really enjoy your latest posts. Read them all. Though, I think it shows me that really working the program isn’t for me. 90% of everyone I know drinks. I could never, ever leave them behind. I need them now. They’re not holding me back or bringing me down. My battle with sobriety seems to be somewhere inside of me. My terrible, terrible nights have all occurred at home, when I was alone. Left by myself with my thoughts and insecurities? The only time I want to get totally, fall down drunk is when I’m alone.

It appears we’re on two alternate paths to sobriety, but I enjoy having you just across the way…

*Dear Georgia, I hope this doesn’t cheapen our lovely, sober, email romance. I’ll call you. I promise ; )

How I have managed to coexist in this house with several delicious bottles of craft beer for sixty+ days – yet just had to walk a garbage bag filled with a package of double stuff oreos and a half-eaten, 1lb bag of peanut m&ms to. the. curb. –  is beyond me.

Today marks sixty days sobriety for me. That’s all.

I know I should be cool like Jay Z, with the ability to brush my shoulder off to the people who look at me strangely when I talk about my alcoholism. I don’t need to prove to them that I am alcoholic. But at the same time, I do. It’s like they just don’t believe me. Like I’m exaggerating. Like they want to say, “So when will this all be over so we can go out for a drink?” I haven’t been giving them the satisfaction. I haven’t told them about the two mornings that I brought a sippy cup filled with a bit of vodka with me to work. I stopped at Wawa and picked up a Spicy Hot V8 – instant Bloody Mary. Or the times I drank whatever wine was leftover from the night before on my way out the door. Or about the countless times that Jim and I went to daytime parties or gatherings and I snuck a beer or captain & diet for the car ride. My bridal shower is one event that stands out. Another low was when I got drunk at my niece’s third birthday party. (hi, sister) As I left, I took a beer from the the refridgerator in her garage. I wanted to drink it on the way home. I don’t know how I thought I was going to get that past my parents who had taken the ride with me. I thought my brother in law spotted me taking it and I was so ashamed the next morning.

I could go back, way back. To my college days. But then they would just say, “Oh it was college, everyone was drunk.” Sure everyone drove to work still drunk. Everyone put a sign on the door of the eye doctor’s office they ran that read “be back in 20 minutes” just so they could take a nap and try to shake the hangover. Everyone got kicked out of the same bar – 5 times. Everyone carried on a relationship with someone for nearly a year before realizing they had green eyes, not brown. That’s what happens when you’re plastered by the time you get together.

I spent most of my adult life in a fog. No, I was never arrested – but I certainly could have been. No I never missed work because I was hungover, but I left a few times after getting sick in the bathroom. I spent hours of paid time with my head in my hands, wishing the day would hurry up. I never lost anyone that I loved because of my drinking. But three months ago, my husband packed a bag and returned to his parents home. My text that read “I want to get help” along with a plea from his parents to go home and work things out, is the only thing that kept me from that.

So, while I haven’t given them the satisfaction of these tales, I guess I just gave it to you. Then again, none of you needed it.

Thank you for reading and for your support.

I wrote this a few days back and I wasn’t sure if I’d actually publish it. Then I started reading Mary Pipher’s Writing to Change the World. Clearly, I have no intentions of saving the world here, but her introduction alone forced me to come back here and finish this post. She talks about writing to coax readers to expand their references, writing to connect and to influence. She talks about the kind of writing that I believe Stefanie Wilder Taylor is doing right now and the kind of writing she shares with us every (Don’t Get Drunk) Friday. If I could change one person’s opinion about alcoholism, then sharing personal, embarrassing tales that I’d otherwise keep to myself, is so, so worth it. No I am not a smelly bum or a broken down old lady. I’m not even a mom or a dad or a troubled teen. I’m a late-twenty-something with a pretty blog, who hangs out in coffee shops and eats organic eggs. I have a passion for style and a cool freelance career. I’m also an alcoholic.

Writing to change minds…kind of makes you think differently about your own little blog space, doesn’t it?

Never in my life did I imagine that Fridays would be more difficult than Mondays. The luster of eye makeup, fancy shoes and dining out dulls when I know that they won’t be accompanied by a cocktail of my choice. Staying in has been the most effective method for dealing with sobriety. If I can just get through these dreary winter months, I have to believe that it’ll all get easier by the time the season changes over.  Then again, I’m only supposed to be thinking about today

I know that Shakespeare quote is so overused, it’s ridiculous. I can defend my love for it by saying that I have tried my best to actually live it since the very moment I heard it many moons ago. It sure is tough. Especially when you’re a bad ass like me….haha.

This is just a little follow up to this post about AA. I made the decision on Monday not to go to AA…ever.

I have lost so much of myself over the course the past 3 months. Brooke drinks. Brooke goes to parties. Brooke loves craft beer, breweries and BYOB restaurants. Brooke likes to sit at the bar to dine. Brooke considers a night with a glass of red and her laptop a really good night. Yes, Brooke has discovered she has a drinking problem. {ok, i am done with the third person} I am an alcoholic, and thus far, I have not seen any proof that this will ever change. I know that for now I have to “lose” that part of myself. Cool off. Discover the joy in life without alcohol. However, going to meetings, joining a group, discussing a higher power? No way Jose. This is not me. That is not Brooke. I generally don’t like people. I believe in the depths of my heart that the average person is an asshole and I like that about myself. So why in the world would I join anything? Become a member of a group? I wouldn’t and I’m not. That would be losing even more of myself, compromising my beliefs even further, and probably turn me into a complete weirdo.

I have read a lot about AA and I do believe that it works and it does wonderful things for some people. I don’t even doubt the fact that I would get something out of it. I just don’t do people, groups, face to face discussion. I don’t do causes and I most certainly do not do organized religion or higher power.

So, that is that. No way AA.

As the prospect of 30 days of sobriety approached, I began writing out this post in my head. Part of it written while in bed, on the toilet, driving in the car. Then Wednesday happened and it was as if the disease stopped me dead in my tracks and said, Not so fast sweetheart. You didn’t think you were getting off that easy, did you?

What I had planned to talk about was how much the happiness has outweighed the bad moments over the past month. How I could count more instances where I found my face covered in a big cheesy smile rather than jaw grinding frustration.

Wednesday’s panic attack and the crazy cravings and general malaise that ensued was like a large sign that reads: This shit is supposed to be one day at a time.


On day 27, an alcoholic cannot think about day 30. Day 27 is all you have to be concerned with.

What ‘bad’ has come out of the past 2 days? Well, I realized that man, oh man, I miss my life. I miss going out. Dinner with Jim, nights in Philly, drinks with friends, tasting a new beer, curling up on the couch with my laptop and a bottle of red.  I also miss my friend that helps me when I am feeling anxious or overwhelmed. As one might expect, “dealing” all on my own is far more difficult.

What ‘good’ has come out of the last 2 days? I recognized how much my relationship with Jim has improved. He immediately noticed a change in my behavior this week and expressed concern. Really, what more can a wife ask for than a husband who is in tune with her emotions? Three months ago, if I began acting this way, for whatever reason, if he had even noticed, he would have been all “what the fuck is wrong with you?” Now he wants to help…and by help, I mean listen. Which is just the best (and only) thing he can do for me.

So now that I am at 30 days, what can I say about the road behind me? Can’t say much, because all I can think about is today’s leg of the journey. Let’s hope it doesn’t involve another designer purchase.

I need to extend a super sized Thank You to my new followers and supporters. Your kind words are always encouraging. To those who’ve been reading for a while, thanks for sticking around…even if Solitary in Sanity jumped the shark with this whole sober thing.

Today I attempted to attend 4 AA meetings. Yes, 4. The first one wasn’t going to happen because my nails needed serious attention and then I had a dentist appt at 1. I didn’t want to just be squeezing in my first meeting. Hi, I’m Brooke and I’m an alcoholic. Can we speed this up? My cuticles are a mess! I had no intention of walking into the second meeting. It was in my neighborhood and well, this isn’t the prettiest neighborhood. Literally, there are some ugly mofos around here and I just wasn’t in the mood to look at them that closely. I sat outside and watched people walk in. All men. I told myself that if I saw one woman, I would go in. Just as I pulled away and got to the traffic light, I saw one. But she had one of those long wool coats on and I just don’t like them.

My third attempt was after I realized that if I didn’t leave the house and go to a meeting, I would crack open a beer immediately. But, I was late. Three minutes late. It’s a shame too, because I could see through the window of the giant HOPE church, and those people were pretty good looking.

The 4th try was going to be it. I was walking into that goddamned meeting. I did go in…and walked right out. Everyone was in little circles and all chummy and I was so afraid someone would talk to me. In the hallway I saw this thin young woman in workout clothing approaching. I told myself that if she went in, I would too. She stopped at the door and asked me if I knew where the OA meeting was (OverEaters Anonymous). Was she fucking kidding me? What was she overeating? Lettuce? Air? Water? She asked what the other meeting was and when I told her AA, she repiled “Oh, I should go to that too, hehe.” I immediately thought of Helena Bonham Carter from Fight Club.

After all this, I broke down, cried and then found my way to the mall. I picked up a fresh pair of Ray-Bans. An alternate form of therapy, if you will. The way this is going, I better get my ass to a meeting. I can’t afford to drive around all day and shop just to avoid drinking.

Tomorrow marks 30 days of sobriety. Expect a sappy post.

(Of course, I was being very cheeky about the whole looks thing)

I’ve been reading enough books about addiction you think I would know the answer to this…

I wonder if my incredible urges and cravings are a result of missing the drink? Everything I do comes with this incredible want.need.must devour. Especially with food. Then there are moments when I don’t know exactly what I want, but I know I need something very badly. I spend hours thinking, “what will I eat? Where should I go today?”

Am I sounding bat shit crazy? Hello?

This evening I was quite peppy. Singing lots of songs, speaking in funny accents. After several hours of what was probably annoying behavior, Jim finally looked at me and said:

“Man, you’re on a roll today.”

“Yea, yea I had two biiiig cups of coffee at the coffee shop today. I am chock full of pizazzzz” … then I broke into song.

“Well, I’ll take this over you on two cups on vodka any day.”

Hence, the big cheesy smile.

(then we made a pizza at 10pm to celebrate…ok, we made it just to make it, but i rationalized by telling myself it was a celebration)