Letting Go

 When I first stopped drinking last February, I was hesitant to get rid of my alcohol. My bar remained intact, and I kept a cask of wine in the fridge - so it would already be cold, just in case.

 
8 months sober. I was getting ready to move house. I wasn’t sure what I wanted to do with my alcohol. I looked at it every day, trying to figure out whether I would keep it or not. It was one of the last things I packed; kept, but labeled to go straight to the garage. 

My first time moving house without cans of pre-mixed vodka, instead taking Thermoses filled with black coffee or cold brew iced lattes as I set up the basics and took measurements to figure out where furniture would go in the new house. 

At the new house, my bar becomes my coffee station. I kept a single bottle of Rosé on hand, stashed at the back of the fridge, behind my assortment of sugar free soft drinks. Just in case. 

14 months sober. I deep clean the fridge. When I put my soft drinks back in, I look at the bottle of wine. I think maybe it’s time. I leave it out, sitting on the table, unsure of where to put it. It no longer belongs anywhere.

It sits there for months. During a home visit, Psychologist spots it and tactfully asks “Is that a bottle of wine?”. I no longer look at it when I’m in the kitchen. I don’t even see it. It’s become invisible to me. 

18 months sober, this Wednesday. I go out to the garage, to the stack of boxes I no longer need. I go through them to check for the things I want to keep, pieces of paraphernalia I rather like. I can almost taste it; the Shiraz, the vodka, the Kahlua. 

Then, I let go.

S has a friend or two who would appreciate a large donation of drinks for their parties. Two dozen bottles of wine, plus maybe 30L in casks. A dozen bottles of spirits and liquor. What can’t be rehomed, I have asked her to dispose of. It fills the boot of her car, plus the backseat. 

I always wanted to be able to moderate, to be able to occasionally have a glass of wine with dinner. But it’s simply not possible for me. I’ve never been able to moderate my addictions. If it was there, I needed to have it all. 

I kept a small cask each of red and white wine, for cooking purposes. Though I don’t cook much these days, I do like certain dishes with alcohol in them, and I still want to be able to cook and enjoy them. Admittedly, this is something I haven’t done in the past 18 months, so I’m unsure how I’ll feel about pouring the wine. I try to think of it as: they aren’t drinks - they are ingredients. It would be like drinking soy sauce. 

(I did also keep my Absinthe, purely for aesthetic purposes.)

* * *

I haven’t had any appointments since my last post, due to things shuffling around. I know I need to tell my team about the laxatives, probably Dietitian first, as she’s easiest to talk to. New GP will find out immediately from the notes anyway. If I’m feeling particularly brave one day, I might email Psych, as it’s always easier to make confessions through text.

I did tell S. I wasn’t even really planning to. I was having a Good Fire day, and was explaining to her what I shared in my last post, how some days it feels like my brain’s on fire. Then I told her about the laxatives. I did feel better having told someone.

I haven’t taken any this week. Mostly because I feel like the amount I took didn’t hurt enough, and getting more than two bottles requires planning in advance, shopping at multiple retailers to get around the limit. Plus the idea of spending $40 on one OD is insane. It’s not a sustainable habit. 

Part of me just wants to see if it’s possible to get the kind of pain I want. Three bottles? Four? I tell myself I’m just sating my curiosity, just once, but I know that’s a lie. I’ve even been considering trying the little pills again, wondering if my body might’ve forgotten the instinct to throw them back up, even though the thought of them makes bile rise in my throat. 

One week until my next appointment with New GP. I just hope increasing the seroquel further will stop this madness. 

xxBella