89 Days
Well, shitfire, I’m one day away from the big 9-0. I’ve been absent here, mostly because of extra work and the fact that I can’t remember the log-in to post from my phone. I have to be careful because I do think jotting down my thoughts here is extremely helpful.
I broke up with my sponsor (or, I’m even fine saying she dumped me because she rightly stated I wasn’t sticking to the program). She wasn’t a good fit, and I was fine with it but I sought some validation from the Kindly Orthodox Jew, expecting a high five of sorts. Instead I got, “Well, we’ll see if it was the right decision if you don’t go back to gambling.”
That was not what I wanted to hear. This is the truth, of course, but what I wanted to hear, “Yes, very mature. You’ve got this thing licked. Well done, you.”
No go. But he did, after some forcing, finally tell me that most people get sober from whatever it is they’re trying to get sober from on their own, without the aid of a 12-step program. So, he confirmed that, yes, I could do this without a sponsor … but that I probably shouldn’t try.
He suggested I get another sponsor, one who I could convince that my gardening and helping the neighbor and going to church were the equivalents of going to meetings. It sounds ridiculous as I write it, but in my head it makes sense. Self care and caring for others should be the equivalent of a meeting. But it’s not, and I know it’s not. So.
But we did agree that it was probably best I sit out this season’s fantasy football league, because it sure sounded an awful lot like gambling to him (and to me, and my fellow GA members, as well).
But I tell you what: I’m not fearful of gambling again. I’m more fearful of my 90-days no drinking being up tomorrow. I have found a lot of strength and resolve in this 90-day challenge. After this, I’m kind of worried that “feeling better” and “getting more shit done” and “not spending $150 a week on booze” and “losing 10 pounds without trying” and “liking myself more” and “having hope and excitement for the future again” aren’t going to be enough to keep me away from the sauce.
It sounds stupid, but it’s true. All those good reasons may not be better than, “Man, I just want to numb the fuck out.”
Which is exactly why I should keep on trucking with this. I don’t know what’ll happen. One day at a time, as they say.