Unwasted: My Lush Sobriety

by Sacha Scoblic / Zimmerman

It was the dumb kind of thing one can only discuss when totally blitzed because it would be too inane a topic for anyone with a shred of self-awareness to even broach.

You haven’t hit bottom until you stop digging. Bottom isn’t skid row or the heartbreaking sound of a child coughing; bottom is just where you happen to be when you stop tunneling and start climbing.

All of those games I played to control my drinking were moot. Once the first sip of alcohol registered, the jig was up. Little addicted synapses all over my brain demanded more—no matter how sober I was after just one sip. Here’s a secret: Alcoholism isn’t all Leaving Las Vegas or the slurring mothers of after-school specials and Lifetime movies. I used to think that I wouldn’t be an alcoholic until I woke up with the shakes or couldn’t physically go a day without booze. But those are just the very visible and longer-term effects of the addiction.

Now that I was dry, was I still the rock star? Was I still the chick who took any dare, who stayed up the latest, who laughed the longest? Being dry was like being a blank slate. I had no particular traits ascribed to me, no particular habits or likes and dislikes. Would I still like to dance if I wasn’t drunk? Would I still be funny? How much of the me I had come to know over the last decade-plus was even real?

Exactly.

What I had yet to learn was how little people cared about whether I drank or not—and how little I needed to concern myself with what people did think.

And, in that moment, as moisture streaked down the side of the beer bottle, I thought, Why not? If I do this, then immediately, everything will go back to normal. I won’t be the New Kid. The mist will lift,

I saw House of Leaves waiting for me—a cult horror novel that you can only read to the point that you are either scared out of your gourd and shivering in the corner or else driven utterly mad and left cursing the dozens of pages of labyrinthine footnotes, whichever comes first—I had only one thought: Fuck, yeah.

Living like two people had been my choice and living as one whole person would have to be as well. I had to choose sides. And choosing sobriety gave me myself back; without having to hide one set of friends from another set, without having to juggle work and partying, without having to tend to hangovers as part of my morning routine, without having to worry that my worlds would collide, I could be a single solitary person without the vampire inside. I knew who I wasn’t supposed to be—barely employable, unproductive, financially reckless, unreliable, a liar. Now I could try and find out who I was supposed to be. I could peel the old onion.

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once read that the only way to “cure” a sociopath is to show him that his behavior is no longer working for him.

Or her

So the “cured” sociopath finally adapts to society because he realizes it is simply in his interest to do so, because, hell, it’s easier—not because he’s a new man. Acknowledging that I needed to get sober was a little like that. I just was so exhausted, so tired of the consequences of drinking, so over the hassle, the headache, the hangover, the insanity of it all, I said, Okay, okay, I give up. I’ll play by new rules.

“Dude, you never come out anymore!”

It is, in its own way, a kind of brilliant twofer. In one fell swoop, my father has simultaneously staked both sacred cows I have asked him to steer clear of. What’s more, it is perfectly obvious that he has no idea at all that he has said anything provocative

That’s why I’ve taken to smoking imaginary pot.

Ha!

I clasp thumb to forefinger, lift a fake joint to my lips, and deeply inhale. I was never much of a pot fan, always preferring alcohol, but something about channeling my inner surfer dude totally relaxes me.

who wanted to keep “us” a secret, I knew I’d never let a good pal stay in that relationship. Why wasn’t I taking advice I would self-righteously and even indignantly extol to others? More important: Why are the most toxic people in my life always the biggest drinkers?

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It’s a lot harder to make friends sober. You’re pickier because you’re not drinking through their flaws; but you’re softer, too,

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You don’t get to shroud every interaction with your partner in alcohol and then pretend you have an authentic relationship.

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Nothing quite helps me achieve serenity more than the knowledge that I have done nothing wrong that day, that I have lied to no one, that I have nothing to feel guilt or panic over. Nowadays, I just tell the truth and brace myself for what I

Yep

when every night is ours—that is when I know why I am sober. Because I remember all of it. Because none of it is relegated to a blackout, because none of it led to drunken drama, because at no point did I feel like I needed more. When you finally realize how much you have, it’s pretty hard to feel entitled to more.

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So does the grand magician wear long robes and twirl the end of his white beard in a gnarled finger while keeping score of our good deeds and bad? Doubtful. But does God have a consciousness? It must—because we simple humans do. By definition, a higher power would at least have what we mere mortals do. And that’s pretty hard for me to conceive. But maybe it’s a kind of evolved consciousness that defies human logic and language. Perhaps God is just an intensely potent force comprised of dark matter that existed before the universe, that has always just existed. That higher power may not require my worship nor care if little old Sacha drinks or not; that higher power cruises by Planet Earth on its celestial way while good things happen to bad people and really horrible things happen to truly wonderful people. That God may not be worth my worship, but maybe it is worth getting to know. Maybe when I try to talk to this galactic power surge, I, too, become more powerful, more energized, more peaceful.

Huh

I have faith that there is a scientific explanation for just about everything; maybe, for example, human beings appear to be relative solids instead of swirling and transient particles as a defense mechanism that prevents our brains from exploding. And I have faith that every scientific explanation will be matched by a new mystery of the universe that needs unraveling. And I have faith that the more science reveals, the more in awe of the world I will be.

I don’t have God, but I have awe.

Today, I am so grateful that I stopped comparing myself with other peoples’ levels of addiction and just looked at the mess before me and came in from the storm. What kind of alcoholic am I? What level? The one where you can never drink again.

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