Cheating on Sobriety

By falling off the wagon

This is a scary piece to write. Because essentially I’m publicly admitting failure, at least in a traditional sense. To make a long story short, I’ve been drinking again. Not a lot, but enough to feel like a failure. And a success. This is as completely open and honest as I can be. I’ve written about my drinking with the half-assed intention of abstaining, though I haven’t told you about my failures.

And there have been plenty.

Let me explain.

It started back in the winter when I tried dry January. I knew at the time I wouldn’t be able to continue it forever, but it was a start. It was a way to see what life would be like without alcohol at all. Since summer began, I’ve had beers with my dad by the fire. And drinks with my wife by the pool. I’ve had a whiskey now and then with friends, and I’ve had a bit of wine with dinner with family. Only once or twice did it get a little out of hand, but the guilt haunts me. I’ve had many moments of weakness, though I still feel I’ve made great strides.

But strides are only steps towards a finish line. What is the finish line? I’m not sure, and that’s probably why I’ve cheated — fear of the unknown. I supposed I haven’t fully committed, though that contradicts what I’ve written about it to this point.

Drinking is just what people do, right? Society has made it acceptable and alluring. That’s fine, unless you don’t want to do it anymore. The draw of alcohol is plenty of trouble on its own, let alone the omnipresence of it.

Everything is an excuse to drink. A pandemic. A lockdown. A holiday. A birthday. Sitting by the pool. Sitting by the fire. A birth. A death. A bad day at work. A good day at work. Hey, I’m not…

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