Sober Still (or, rather, not drunk)

Well, it’s been a month now (or 29 days) sans alcohol. Not a drink, a splash, or a twist. Nary a drop has passed these lips. I don’t think I miss it. I certainly haven’t experienced an enduring lust for wine or whatnot. I do have moments when I think “oh, a bit of Glenmorangie would be delightful right about now,” but these thoughts are brief and vanish as quickly as they arrive. Such moments usually have something to do with a raw throat; I expect I could justify a sip or two of whiskey with the “medicinal purposes” canard, but no. I do hope that some day I be able to enjoy a whiskey, a martini, or a fine cabernet now and then, but that must wait. Besides, you can’t truly enjoy a nice scotch with a raw throat.

This change was prompted by a therapist’s, perhaps overblown, concerns about my alcohol consumption undoubtedly, was excessive and approaching--if not arrived at--the prodigiousness of a Christopher Hitchens or a Richard Burton). In late January, I told her that I wished to stop drinking (admittedly, I was hungover at the time), and she, anxiously, asked me to see a doctor because, if I were to just stop, I’d experience hallucinations, seizures, heart irregularities, and so on. If she was trying to scare me, it worked--my mind filled with images of RayMilland in The Lost Weekend, and then switched over to Lee Remick in The Days of Wine and Roses (and I was Lee Remick!).

Like any fool with an Internet connection, I went home and Googled “alcohol withdrawal,” which resulted in lists of frightening withdrawal symptoms. Holy cow, I could die if I quit the booze! Inspired by fear, I visited an MD, who promptly gave me a prescription drug and scheduled a week-long tapering off, and that was that. Actually, the tapering off was a bit of a joke: from one bottle of wine, to ¾ of a bottle, to 2/3 of a bottle, to half of a bottle, to two glasses. After five days I shifted to beer (two beers one day, a single beer the next). Ultimately, rather than a gradual process, the “tapering” schedule created an abrupt rupture in my habits. Even so, it served its purpose (I got weaned!).

I don’t whether the tapering worked because it staved off withdrawals or because it forced me to change my evening rituals (note: I don’t miss the drinking, but I do miss my rituals. Peculiar). I hated the medication he gave me, so I quit that after a week. Since then--nothing. Well, far too much coffee and tea, but nothing fermented. So then, I’m sober. Whatever that means.
I didn’t join AA, nor did I visit other addiction groups. This is not because I distrust their methods (indeed, I researched several groups, including AA, which prove effective for many people). I simply didn’t want to be labeled as an “addict” with a “disease” to grapple with the remainder of my days. Although I willingly confess to abusing alcohol, and I recognize my tendency to self-medicate with booze, I don’t see it as something uncurable that can only be put into remission.

The upshot: you can stop drinking without all kinds of accompanying psychosis / illness, you can do it without meetings, and you can do it without declaring yourself under the control of alcohol.

Disclaimer: This ‘blog post is not intended to dismiss anyone whose experiences with alcohol have been emotionally or physically traumatic. Nor is it intended to dismiss organizations like Alcoholics Anonymous. Rather, these are my experiences; moreover, who knows--maybe I was on the cusp of something more full-blown and caught it in time.

No Memories Fluttered Out

I opened a book of poetry today, and a dried, red scab of a thing fell out. It was a rose petal that I’d stuck between the pages years ago; I don’t know why I placed it in the book.


I’ve been seeing a therapist regularly; well, for two weeks anyway. Two sessions. I’m unsure about her; she seems kind enough, but it all seems so awkward. We’ll see how it goes for another month or so. I don’t know. We talk about current things rather than the past. I don’t want to go there with her just yet.

My Nerves Are Bad Tonight. Yes, Bad. . .

I have a trapped nerve in my neck/right arm. It’s not good. I’ve had difficulty working for the past week. Woe. Alas. Etc.

In other news:

After a few weeks of being “good” with drinking, it’s back with a vengeance. That is, I’m back on the bottle with a vengeance. Part of this is because we had a friend staying with us this past week, and he’s a heavy drinker. I’m not saying he’s forced me to drink too much wine (two hangovers this week), but his presence made an easy excuse for myself. The thing is, I’m not serious about quitting drinking. I don’t really want to quit. I like it. I just don’t like how I get carried away with it. Last week, while watching Dexter, I experienced some discomfort as the eponymous character attended an NA meeting. He called his addiction "The Dark Passenger." I'm not sure that title applies in my case. It's no passenger. . .it's me.

Anyway.

More On the Asperger's thing. The clinician I spoke with the other week got back in touch with me (it was a follow up to our meeting; I hadn’t told her about my little foray into contacting one of the therapists she’d recommended). She knows of a therapist who is interested in exploring AS with me. I am happy. I’m not looking to get some official diagnosis; I just want some help figuring things out.

To those who have reached out--thanks.

Black Ice on the Head Trip

This has been quite the week. Following a twenty-year boycott of therapy and therapists, I "reached out," as they say.

I visited the university’s counseling center trying to get the ball rolling on this Asperger’s thing--I just want to investigate the possibility that I’ve got this condition. So I spent an hour with a young clinician. A nice young woman who listened and responded rationally. Then she gave me a list of resources outside the university. She gave me three names that I duly Googled.

One recommended name belongs to a kind of hypnotherapist (no way. I spent several of my teenage years with a hypnotherapist who convinced me I was way more unloved and unwanted than I was. She told me my mother had wanted her first baby to be a boy, so I was being punished for being a girl. A bit fucked up, no? I stopped seeing her after that business).

Another recommended name belongs to a well-qualified fellow who specializes in “educational testing” and men’s psychology. Um, guess that one’s out then.

The third recommended name seemed promising enough, so I phoned her; her phone went straight onto voice mail. I left a name and all. She phoned me back not twenty minutes ago. In an extremely rushed exchange, she pushed me to set up an appointment immediately--tomorrow afternoon. When I asked her if she didn’t want to know why I wanted to meet with her, she paused. So I explained there was some minor depression, some anxiety, some family and social issues, and I was interested in exploring Asperger’s.

Silence.

“Well, you know Asperger’s’ got a lot of press lately.”

Silence.

“I can’t help you. But thanks for calling.”

Implication: I’m attracted to the hot new disorder / syndrome / whatever. I hear about something “new” or "glamorous" in the news and jump to self-diagnose. Well, I’m not like that--not typically, anyway. My mother is like that. But on reading about AS--everything seems so right. My long-term partner has read AS materials and agrees. My office mate has read the same AS materials, and she agrees. . . . I can't be totally delusional here.

I've been advised to try the psychiatric department at my university. The problem there is the department prioritizes students who require medication. And I don’t want medication. I just want grounding (does that make sense?). Besides, I think that the uni’s mental health facilities should prioritize undergraduates. They go through such hell--especially the freshmen. I feel guilty absorbing any of their time.

So, I’m unsure as to what to do now. Do I keep trying? There seems to be no one local who knows about Asperger's other than “it’s in the press.”

Maybe I am just going for easy answers. Lord knows, every time the head-health people tried to stick something on me (bipolar, depression, schizophrenia, etc.) they were wrong. I’m likely just as wrong as they. Just paint me angry, frustrated, disappointed, and rather lonely as hell right now.