It’s Day 20 and boy oh boy, am I feeling sorry for myself. The level of self-pity is impressive, really. The thing is, it’s not exactly because I want to drink. I kind of don’t want to drink. It’s because I want something else to fill that space and I haven’t figured out what it is yet. There’s no doubt that my life is better on every possible axis than it was 21 days ago, but also no denying that there’s a bit of a hole in it, too. I’m trying to be patient and give my new life more than half a second to take shape, but patience never has been my strong suit.
One thing that’s tough right now is that my hip flexor or psoas is strained from running–just a minor strain, but even a minor injury to the muscle you use to pick your leg up is not ideal. Exercise–a decade-long yoga practice (that’s right, I’ve been a serious yogi for ten whole years and still managed to develop a drinking problem 🙂 ), Pilates, and a rather slow, agonized form of running–is really important to me for stress and mood management. I’m a live-in-my-head kind of person with perfectionist tendencies and a very high-profile job, and that hour a day of just moving my body is the only kind of outlet I have sometimes. (Well, now it is. I used to have wine…) So here I am sober, tense, and with maybe 1.7 functioning legs. Make that 1.6 since I tripped on the sidewalk today on the way to buy myself some flowers at the farmer’s market and took a header, busting up my knee and my phone in one neat trick. So yeah–I feel like a giant, stressed, sober brain on a stick this week. And yet there’s really no question in my mind that I’m going to stay sober. I’m just going to be a big baby about it, I think.