Re-reading my previous post, to be clear, I am still sober for nearly a year and a half. I won the battle, not the booze. It was just a brief thought that was surprising because I really don't think about drinking or drugging much anymore.
I honestly forgot how much I love books.
Books are a great time filler. For me I need to be in a state of boredom to be motivated to read, and boredom is difficult when surrounded by other, less valuable time fillers. I'm still working on using the internet less as a crutch to prevent boredom. That desperate fight against becoming bored has a branched path that leads to wanting to drink, for me. That's kind of why hotel rooms and vacation homes do it for me; there's nothing to do that I would normally do, so my impatient self scrambles for something to save myself from becoming bored. Learning to sit and do nothing and become bored is a good practice. I guess that's my version of meditation.
I still love "retard alcoholic mental gymnastics" where wether you're sober or not your brain goes into over drive figuring out the exact logistics, down to the finest, most pointless detail (such as driving distance, traffic, closing/opening hours) and is then just like "nah I think I'm all good" (if you've become sober)
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I'm sure it fades in intensity at the very least at some point
I never really experience that anymore, but I know the thought process. I used to think of it like wings on my back that started growing the more I did those gymnastics in my head. As soon as I let the plan fully develop, there was no stopping me once I was enroute to enact the plan, even if I was screaming in my head "I don't have to do this, I can just go home" on the way. The wings were carrying me and I no longer had agency. Kind of like that story posted a page back; I became an observer to actions that I was horrified by, and it was me doing it. Very confusing.
Supposedly it also helps retrain some connections between the prefrontal cortex and the limbic system that don't see much use during addiction, or something like that. I don't know.
Whatever the brain function, there's just a weight lifted off my psyche whenever I confess the thing I really don't want to admit. The more I share things that are difficult, the less I want to do things that are difficult to share. If I hold myself accountable to the standard that I have to be honest about myself to God, myself and others, then I end up doing/saying/thinking less regrettable things. It's tough, and yea things like suicidal ideation would play constantly in my head for a long time and I never really told anyone. But I withheld that information about myself for the same reasons you probably do - fear. Fear and lies feed off each other; I lie because I'm afraid of something, and I'm afraid of all the lies I tell. The fewer the lies, the less the fear.
For the kiwis still strugglin', it gets better. I'm sitting here with a glass of gin in my hand. I was doing pretty well, and had been booze free for a few months. I caved after a particularly awful week at work.
But you know what? Come Monday, I'll stop again. I've quit a thousand times before, and each time I get better at it. So I'll do it again.
What are ya gonna do different next time come Monday?
