More about my story; what it was like and how I got here.
In 2004, I put down the bottle and substances and started my journey in recovery.
"The First 90..." is an essay about my experience during the first 90 days without booze or drugs, originally published in my zine.
The First 90 Days…Sucked
Many of the newly sober experience what is referred to as a “pink cloud.” For those fortunate alcoholics it’s like walking on sunshine, simply because the alcohol and/or drugs have been removed from their body. The pink cloud experience seems to be like putting on rose-colored glasses. For those drunks, it’s as if every goddamned thing in their lives suddenly became fantastic, so they smile and laugh all the time. La-tee-fucking-dah. Things did not work out that way for me and I resented those lucky bastards and their pink clouds. Instead, I spent my first 90 days of sobriety in misery, depression and insomnia.
Separating from booze (hopefully for the last time) was one of the most difficult things I’ve ever done. My life had centered on alcohol—drinking toxic amounts of it and getting annihilated every day. Without alcohol in my veins I did not know how to function. Simple, everyday tasks perplexed me.
Admittedly, when I stopped drinking this last time I had the “support” of prescription medicines for the first two weeks (although they were not prescribed to me). I realize now that the pills probably stopped me from experiencing delirium tremens and withdrawal illness from quitting booze “cold turkey.”
Recovery doesn’t magically happen. The steps involved to start my recovery process seemed insurmountable. At the time, I was cohabiting with a drug-addict. We were in a completely dysfunctional intimate relationship that existed only due to our partying of varying sorts. The only way I was going to be able to stop my boozing was to haul ass out of that dumpy apartment. To severe ties with booze, I left much of my crap behind and shared a bed with my little sis for a few months before finding a place of my own.
Physically, my body ached from the tractor-trailer tread marks accumulated over 16 years of hard drinking. My head throbbed all the damned time. My days passed so slowly that at times, I even had trouble making it from hour to hour. I was told to “live one day at a time,” which thankfully tricked me to get through each day by telling myself I could always go back to drinking tomorrow. People in recovery programs use this mantra to push through the day, which becomes multiple days, which adds up to 90 days…
Insomnia and I were pals. My eyes burned from lack of sleep. Those were my zombie days. Sometimes I hit the jackpot and slept a few hours, but most nights my mind raced from the moment I put my head down on the pillow. Just to get myself together enough in the morning could be a nightmare. Picking out a pair of socks became a crisis. Thinking clearly was a struggle, and at times I could hardly form intelligible sentences. My eyes were hazy and glassy and my skin had a yellowish tint. But I forged on like a good zombie. I would go straight from work to a 12-step meeting. Since I had no appetite, eating was not on the to-do list. In those early days I dropped 12 pounds because the smell of food made me ill. I remember that I was happy just to make it through the day. Alcohol occupied my brain every single day. During those first 90 days I thought only about drinking or about how I was going to not drink. That obsession kicked my ass—I was completely miserable. Obsessing over drinking or obsessing over not drinking was exhausting and kept me on edge for months. All these questions flashed through my head: How could I not drink at my sister’s wedding? (She wasn’t even engaged.) How would I be able to deal with the death of a loved one? But I continued the journey holding onto other people’s hope. I saw people who were not sleepless miserable zombies like me, and I franticly wanted that freedom, which I hardly believed possible.
And though I wanted desperately to feel better, I resented those people who did not feel miserable like I did. How were they sleeping eight or more hours? How were they able to smile and laugh? Was it real? Did they really get through their days without substances? My life was over: my mind did not allow a future without my closest friends Jack [Daniels] or Jim [Beam]…Ketel One or Patron Silver by my side.
Each night, I dreaded lying down to sleep because closing my eyes brought on a different type of terrors. Thoughts of my many mishaps, disasters, car wrecks, debt, destroyed relationships, guilt and extreme embarrassment kept me from a moment of peace. The inconsiderate selfish girl I had been for many years threatened me, and I did not want to deal with her and her mess. My emotions were a roller-coaster ride. I felt so alone and lonely. At night I would curl up into a ball and hug my knees into my chest and wonder what the hell I was doing, because at least I could sleep when I was drunk.
Somewhere around 70 days sober, I nearly slept through the night. As the dry days accumulated, restful nights increased. I continued going to several recovery meetings a week. Around the same time, I was able to eat without getting sick. Physically, I started feeling like a human being, yet the reality of the person I had become kept me ill. As my “90-Day Celebration” approached, I became tenser and anxious, wondering, is this all there is? The ball of ice in my stomach grew exponentially as I recalled the many people I lied to and the pain I caused my mother. I could hardly look at myself in the mirror because I was so ashamed of who I had become. I felt the most hopeless the night before my celebration and I was at what the drunks call “the jumping off place:” I couldn’t picture my life with or without alcohol. I was hopeless yet I preferred the comfortable misery of the bar stool— at least then I knew what I was in for. I couldn’t imagine going on like I was, and suicide seemed a viable option.
Somehow, I made it through that long restless night. The next day I heard a woman share some things about her that sounded a lot like me. I identified with her feelings. This woman smiled even though she had gone through some tough times. Her bright eyes expressed hope. After the meeting, I tracked her down and we sat on the church steps talking for hours. That woman gave me hope to hang on to and became my sponsor for several years thereafter.
"The First 90..." is an essay about my experience during the first 90 days without booze or drugs, originally published in my zine.
The First 90 Days…Sucked
Many of the newly sober experience what is referred to as a “pink cloud.” For those fortunate alcoholics it’s like walking on sunshine, simply because the alcohol and/or drugs have been removed from their body. The pink cloud experience seems to be like putting on rose-colored glasses. For those drunks, it’s as if every goddamned thing in their lives suddenly became fantastic, so they smile and laugh all the time. La-tee-fucking-dah. Things did not work out that way for me and I resented those lucky bastards and their pink clouds. Instead, I spent my first 90 days of sobriety in misery, depression and insomnia.
Separating from booze (hopefully for the last time) was one of the most difficult things I’ve ever done. My life had centered on alcohol—drinking toxic amounts of it and getting annihilated every day. Without alcohol in my veins I did not know how to function. Simple, everyday tasks perplexed me.
Admittedly, when I stopped drinking this last time I had the “support” of prescription medicines for the first two weeks (although they were not prescribed to me). I realize now that the pills probably stopped me from experiencing delirium tremens and withdrawal illness from quitting booze “cold turkey.”
Recovery doesn’t magically happen. The steps involved to start my recovery process seemed insurmountable. At the time, I was cohabiting with a drug-addict. We were in a completely dysfunctional intimate relationship that existed only due to our partying of varying sorts. The only way I was going to be able to stop my boozing was to haul ass out of that dumpy apartment. To severe ties with booze, I left much of my crap behind and shared a bed with my little sis for a few months before finding a place of my own.
Physically, my body ached from the tractor-trailer tread marks accumulated over 16 years of hard drinking. My head throbbed all the damned time. My days passed so slowly that at times, I even had trouble making it from hour to hour. I was told to “live one day at a time,” which thankfully tricked me to get through each day by telling myself I could always go back to drinking tomorrow. People in recovery programs use this mantra to push through the day, which becomes multiple days, which adds up to 90 days…
Insomnia and I were pals. My eyes burned from lack of sleep. Those were my zombie days. Sometimes I hit the jackpot and slept a few hours, but most nights my mind raced from the moment I put my head down on the pillow. Just to get myself together enough in the morning could be a nightmare. Picking out a pair of socks became a crisis. Thinking clearly was a struggle, and at times I could hardly form intelligible sentences. My eyes were hazy and glassy and my skin had a yellowish tint. But I forged on like a good zombie. I would go straight from work to a 12-step meeting. Since I had no appetite, eating was not on the to-do list. In those early days I dropped 12 pounds because the smell of food made me ill. I remember that I was happy just to make it through the day. Alcohol occupied my brain every single day. During those first 90 days I thought only about drinking or about how I was going to not drink. That obsession kicked my ass—I was completely miserable. Obsessing over drinking or obsessing over not drinking was exhausting and kept me on edge for months. All these questions flashed through my head: How could I not drink at my sister’s wedding? (She wasn’t even engaged.) How would I be able to deal with the death of a loved one? But I continued the journey holding onto other people’s hope. I saw people who were not sleepless miserable zombies like me, and I franticly wanted that freedom, which I hardly believed possible.
And though I wanted desperately to feel better, I resented those people who did not feel miserable like I did. How were they sleeping eight or more hours? How were they able to smile and laugh? Was it real? Did they really get through their days without substances? My life was over: my mind did not allow a future without my closest friends Jack [Daniels] or Jim [Beam]…Ketel One or Patron Silver by my side.
Each night, I dreaded lying down to sleep because closing my eyes brought on a different type of terrors. Thoughts of my many mishaps, disasters, car wrecks, debt, destroyed relationships, guilt and extreme embarrassment kept me from a moment of peace. The inconsiderate selfish girl I had been for many years threatened me, and I did not want to deal with her and her mess. My emotions were a roller-coaster ride. I felt so alone and lonely. At night I would curl up into a ball and hug my knees into my chest and wonder what the hell I was doing, because at least I could sleep when I was drunk.
Somewhere around 70 days sober, I nearly slept through the night. As the dry days accumulated, restful nights increased. I continued going to several recovery meetings a week. Around the same time, I was able to eat without getting sick. Physically, I started feeling like a human being, yet the reality of the person I had become kept me ill. As my “90-Day Celebration” approached, I became tenser and anxious, wondering, is this all there is? The ball of ice in my stomach grew exponentially as I recalled the many people I lied to and the pain I caused my mother. I could hardly look at myself in the mirror because I was so ashamed of who I had become. I felt the most hopeless the night before my celebration and I was at what the drunks call “the jumping off place:” I couldn’t picture my life with or without alcohol. I was hopeless yet I preferred the comfortable misery of the bar stool— at least then I knew what I was in for. I couldn’t imagine going on like I was, and suicide seemed a viable option.
Somehow, I made it through that long restless night. The next day I heard a woman share some things about her that sounded a lot like me. I identified with her feelings. This woman smiled even though she had gone through some tough times. Her bright eyes expressed hope. After the meeting, I tracked her down and we sat on the church steps talking for hours. That woman gave me hope to hang on to and became my sponsor for several years thereafter.
On Traveling Sober, originally published in the Huff Post
Many people book their vacations with Mai tais and margaritas in mind. Others relish the thought of late night carousing, bar-hopping, or all-night clubbing while away from their job and their daily life stressors. While it is true that most vacations are meant to be stress-relieving, it is difficult for some to imagine this without the help of alcoholic beverages. People have straight up asked me, how could I “bachata” into the wee hours of the night in Cuba, yet not drink their rum? I experienced Pura Vida on the beaches, volcanoes, and mountains in Costa Rica without a drop of alcohol or drugs in my system. Booze-free travel is possible.
Travelers are usually on holiday or traveling for extended periods of time and are not on a regular schedule. So, I am asked, why wouldn’t I want to drink and celebrate during my holiday? I understand the confused looks I receive. The thing is, I was that person over 20 years ago, stumbling and bumbling through Europe and the UK and boozing it up everywhere I went. Drugs, all night parties, and blackouts happened constantly while I traveled around foreign countries back then. In London, I blacked out and lost my passport and wallet. In Munich, I awoke in a giant circus tent hostel with some new friends. An officer and I got into an unfriendly disagreement in Prague that almost led to a jail stay. And Amsterdam, oh Amsterdam, oh how I lost my mind. I finally managed to leave there days after my intended departure. A fierce and banging hangover led to a rash decision to work on a farm in England with some South Africans I had just met. There were a lot of hangovers and moments when I needed booze more than I cared about experiencing life in these new places. Fortunately for me, I made it out unscathed.
I have been sober several years and have traveled a good number of those years. My first sober trip was to attend the wedding of a friend in France, at the time only one month sober. The traditional French wedding took place on the Ile d’Oleron and involved three days of reverie including the wedding night. Not one person at the wedding could understand why I could not indulge in a glass of fine French wine or bubbly. No liquid courage for those moments of anxiety, no crying in my beer over frustrations; I experienced a completely new way of travel on that trip. Initially, it scared the crap out of me, but since then I have put together tools of coping methods to keep on the water wagon whilst on the road. Starting in 2005, I have taken summers to make my way through Central America, one country at a time. The trips I take are usually solo, sometimes to smaller, remote places, and for a few weeks at time.
There are certain things I do to keep myself sane, safe and sober. One of the first things is, I “out” myself as a recovered alcoholic to other travelers whenever possible. By stating that I do not drink or do drugs, I feel like it takes the pressure off people asking me to have a drink. However, many times people forget or they just don’t get it. Hostels are a wonderful and cheap way for solo humans to travel and meet others. However, many times, there is a crowd of partiers at these places and it can be difficult to establish my non-drinking status.
Another method to staying sober while traveling is finding others like me. I look up support meetings before I visit a new place and see if I can make at least one while traveling through that country. If emails are listed, I email ahead of time and try to make contact with a real live human. Although recovery meetings aren’t for everyone, they work for me and I enjoy finding community in far flung places away from my homeland. It is also really interesting to see how things are done in different countries.
I bring my morning inspirational readings, because I do these at home. Consistency can be very stabilizing on the road. Each morning, I luxuriate over coffee and mindful literature. If possible, I squeeze in meditation time before I venture out exploring the new glorious day.
Even though I try to disconnect from the interweb and its distractions while I wander the Earth, I do try to stay in contact with at least one person, usually my sister. I send her updates every few days or weekly (depending on how remote the country is) on my mental state and what I am doing. This also keeps me accountable and connected to my life back home, so that I don’t all of a sudden think, “what happens in Vegas…”
Additionally, I try to follow basic travelers’ rules and not put myself in dangerous situations, like going to a bar alone. I do go to restaurants, clubs, and bars while I travel, usually with other humans I have met along the way. When I do go to a bar or club, I immediately buy myself a juice or club soda so that others do not buy me drinks.
Waking up clear-headed and knowing where I slept is extremely satisfying to me. Rising with the sun, rather than the moon, enables me to really get to know a place that I am visiting. Being coherent allows me a much safer journey than my previous way of traveling. Sober travel allows me to recall sunsets over Volcan Masaya in Nicaragua, Green Turtles laying eggs in Costa Rica, swimming on Starfish Beach in Panama, and participating in a Mayan planting ceremony in Guatemala. The absence of a hangover allows me to savor museum exhibits rather than rush through so I can find my next cocktail. Not always needing to find a toilet is a plus, too. Certainly, traveling sober is a heck of lot cheaper than when I was a boozehound.
Travel has always been freeing for me. Being on the road allows me to disconnect from electronics, frees me daily stressors and work responsibilities. There is no pressure to respond to a text or return phone calls. Travel enriches my life, by forcing me to engage in face to face conversations with people I would not normally meet. Alcohol can unite many people, especially strangers. But I have found that I meet, remember, and enjoy company better now that I’m sober, and that is a freeing feeling.
Many people book their vacations with Mai tais and margaritas in mind. Others relish the thought of late night carousing, bar-hopping, or all-night clubbing while away from their job and their daily life stressors. While it is true that most vacations are meant to be stress-relieving, it is difficult for some to imagine this without the help of alcoholic beverages. People have straight up asked me, how could I “bachata” into the wee hours of the night in Cuba, yet not drink their rum? I experienced Pura Vida on the beaches, volcanoes, and mountains in Costa Rica without a drop of alcohol or drugs in my system. Booze-free travel is possible.
Travelers are usually on holiday or traveling for extended periods of time and are not on a regular schedule. So, I am asked, why wouldn’t I want to drink and celebrate during my holiday? I understand the confused looks I receive. The thing is, I was that person over 20 years ago, stumbling and bumbling through Europe and the UK and boozing it up everywhere I went. Drugs, all night parties, and blackouts happened constantly while I traveled around foreign countries back then. In London, I blacked out and lost my passport and wallet. In Munich, I awoke in a giant circus tent hostel with some new friends. An officer and I got into an unfriendly disagreement in Prague that almost led to a jail stay. And Amsterdam, oh Amsterdam, oh how I lost my mind. I finally managed to leave there days after my intended departure. A fierce and banging hangover led to a rash decision to work on a farm in England with some South Africans I had just met. There were a lot of hangovers and moments when I needed booze more than I cared about experiencing life in these new places. Fortunately for me, I made it out unscathed.
I have been sober several years and have traveled a good number of those years. My first sober trip was to attend the wedding of a friend in France, at the time only one month sober. The traditional French wedding took place on the Ile d’Oleron and involved three days of reverie including the wedding night. Not one person at the wedding could understand why I could not indulge in a glass of fine French wine or bubbly. No liquid courage for those moments of anxiety, no crying in my beer over frustrations; I experienced a completely new way of travel on that trip. Initially, it scared the crap out of me, but since then I have put together tools of coping methods to keep on the water wagon whilst on the road. Starting in 2005, I have taken summers to make my way through Central America, one country at a time. The trips I take are usually solo, sometimes to smaller, remote places, and for a few weeks at time.
There are certain things I do to keep myself sane, safe and sober. One of the first things is, I “out” myself as a recovered alcoholic to other travelers whenever possible. By stating that I do not drink or do drugs, I feel like it takes the pressure off people asking me to have a drink. However, many times people forget or they just don’t get it. Hostels are a wonderful and cheap way for solo humans to travel and meet others. However, many times, there is a crowd of partiers at these places and it can be difficult to establish my non-drinking status.
Another method to staying sober while traveling is finding others like me. I look up support meetings before I visit a new place and see if I can make at least one while traveling through that country. If emails are listed, I email ahead of time and try to make contact with a real live human. Although recovery meetings aren’t for everyone, they work for me and I enjoy finding community in far flung places away from my homeland. It is also really interesting to see how things are done in different countries.
I bring my morning inspirational readings, because I do these at home. Consistency can be very stabilizing on the road. Each morning, I luxuriate over coffee and mindful literature. If possible, I squeeze in meditation time before I venture out exploring the new glorious day.
Even though I try to disconnect from the interweb and its distractions while I wander the Earth, I do try to stay in contact with at least one person, usually my sister. I send her updates every few days or weekly (depending on how remote the country is) on my mental state and what I am doing. This also keeps me accountable and connected to my life back home, so that I don’t all of a sudden think, “what happens in Vegas…”
Additionally, I try to follow basic travelers’ rules and not put myself in dangerous situations, like going to a bar alone. I do go to restaurants, clubs, and bars while I travel, usually with other humans I have met along the way. When I do go to a bar or club, I immediately buy myself a juice or club soda so that others do not buy me drinks.
Waking up clear-headed and knowing where I slept is extremely satisfying to me. Rising with the sun, rather than the moon, enables me to really get to know a place that I am visiting. Being coherent allows me a much safer journey than my previous way of traveling. Sober travel allows me to recall sunsets over Volcan Masaya in Nicaragua, Green Turtles laying eggs in Costa Rica, swimming on Starfish Beach in Panama, and participating in a Mayan planting ceremony in Guatemala. The absence of a hangover allows me to savor museum exhibits rather than rush through so I can find my next cocktail. Not always needing to find a toilet is a plus, too. Certainly, traveling sober is a heck of lot cheaper than when I was a boozehound.
Travel has always been freeing for me. Being on the road allows me to disconnect from electronics, frees me daily stressors and work responsibilities. There is no pressure to respond to a text or return phone calls. Travel enriches my life, by forcing me to engage in face to face conversations with people I would not normally meet. Alcohol can unite many people, especially strangers. But I have found that I meet, remember, and enjoy company better now that I’m sober, and that is a freeing feeling.
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You can check out my writing on the Huffington Post.
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