Day One of Sobriety

Photo by Nik Shuliahin on Unsplash

Day One of Sobriety: the Aftermath, aka I Feel Like Roadkill

The 7th of January, my first day sober, didn't dawn as a joyful new era in life with a bouncy red ball of sun bursting into the sky, birds singing with joy, and pep in my step. Rather, it was the first day of my stepping into the light after a long illness that had left my physically and psychologically beaten. I was not filled with optimism or determination. I was exhausted and depressed and knew I had to face those things and my old foe of insomnia without my drug of choice. 

Day one of recovery looked less like waking up in Oz and more like coming to my senses after a tornado had ripped through my life.

Habits, Health

There was no immediate drama in the wake of the storm. I realized that I'd trashed my body and needed to care for it gently to return to health. The first step was to learn how to drink fluids again. I leaned heavily on icy cold sports drinks because that was the only thing that would go down and stay there. I did so hourly with the aid of an alarm. I slept whenever I could in the beginning, assuming that it was the best was to begin healing. 

The next step was getting reacquainted with food. This was and remains tremendously difficult. My body was no longer used to digesting, so even foods that stayed down caused other kinds of discomfort. First foods were frozen banana, cold cooked rice, and cold cooked potato. Even as I have come to be able to eat a wider variety of food, I've realized that my taste buds have changed entirely. I used to be all about cheese, fatty meat, and salty treats. Now, I've yet to eat any dairy, everything tastes too salty, fat repulses me, and even though I've been a lifelong dessert hater, I suddenly like sweets. My preferred foods are roasted vegetables on chocolate.

During the worst of my latest bout, I spent no fewer than three months entirely horizontal. Whereas I'd formerly excercised daily and enjoyed running and lifting weights, my affair with the bottle had left my muscles the texture of wet oatmeal. At first, it was all I could do to sit up for a few hours at a time. It took nearly a month before I attempted a walk. That first walk was barely 3 blocks, and it took me almost an hour to do because it exhausted me.

At two weeks, folks started to remark that I looked better. At two months, several noted that I looked like myself again.

Finding my way back to health has been a ploddingly slow progression of good habits. It is not at all exciting. There have been lots of baby steps, lots of alarms set, and victories that look like "I did a 10 minute beginner exercise video today," and "I went to bed 15 minutes earlier." 

I'm not unclear, though, that I've been extraordinarily lucky. I made it out alive this time, and my resilient amazing body seems to be bouncing back. Considering that I had poison pumping through my system 24 hours a day for several months, a quiet return to something that looks like normal health is extraordinary to experience.