Day One.

Originally posted July 3, 2013

Part of the problem is that I haven't told you everything.

And this morning, I'm sitting here feeling muted and bumpy and squishy - somehow all of these weird feelings together - and I know that I need to say things. 

In March I stopped drinking.  Like, for real.   

And a month or so ago, I started going to meetings.  Because I needed camaraderie and understanding and the looks in the eyes of the people who get what I'm saying. 

Who understand the crazy-making that thinking, "Do I have a problem?" can bring.  Who can relate to the teary confessions, the shame, to the desire for a steadier, clearer future. 

I started going sporadically, here and there, just touching my toe to the water.  I asked a dear friend to sponsor me, to be The One to hold me accountable. 

And that was that.  Sophisticated, clear progress, right?   

Then the other night at work, a friend from one of these meetings came up to me and asked what my day count was.   

I had no idea what she was talking about - the cultural lingo is not familiar to me yet.  I did the rough calculation - somewhere around 100 days - and she congratulated me.  "You need to celebrate that number.  Keep track of it.  You're worth celebrating."

And then, the next night.  I took a pill.  A Percocet.  Because I wanted to sink deeper into something that was feeling good, because I'd chosen to convince myself - very clearly and level-headedly - that taking a pill to relax was a separate thing.  It wasn't a drink, and so it was fine, totally fine, just this once.

After the warm glow of the short high, the subtle panic set in.  I planned how I wasn't going to tell my sponsor, how I didn't really need to be doing the steps anyway, how there are plenty of people who don't do the steps and and and. 

And then the abrupt clarity of: the jig's up.  You can't consciously lie to yourself anymore, at least not like this.

Which drove me immediately toward my e-mail, toward my confession, to her and to myself.  Which drove me into fear and defensiveness. 

And which simultaneously drove me into the heart of my sponsor-friend, who loved me despite me curious choice, who was able to see me  instead of just my decision.

:::

Last night I walked into a meeting.  I was oozing shame and anger and frustration.  It became my turn to speak and I struggled to get the first word out.

"My name's Emily.  And this is Day One." 

*E