Navigating the uncharted waters of sobriety
How I learned that you give up more than booze when you quit drinking
by Sean Murphy
It had been just over three years, and I found that I was ready to come out of my self-imposed hibernation. It was time to start the process anyway. Apart from going to work, I had become too comfortable sitting at home, drinking copious amounts of coffee, strumming my guitar, and watching tv. Not the most exciting life by any stretch, but it was necessary for the time.
I knew I would have to re-enter society again at some point, only now as a new, improved version of myself. However, I was nervous to unveil this new sober version to the world. I wasn’t sure how people would react to the not quite as loud and crazy version. There was only one way to find out.
I thought a proper step forward would be to go back to my hometown, buy a couple of tickets to a baseball game, and invite an old buddy I hadn’t seen in years.
Establishing a connection with a childhood friend seemed like an excellent way to break the ice and be beneficial in a few other ways. It would remind me that I wasn’t as alone as I had led myself to believe, having spent a couple of years very much alone. It would also serve as a reminder that there were still some friends out in the world and that all I had to do was take the initiative. Lastly, it would help me prove that it was possible to participate in some of my favorite activities. I would just do them a bit differently than before.
The plans were set. I would pick up my buddy, we’d grab a couple of deli sandwiches, and tailgate for a spell before the game. These were timeless rituals that I’d participated in before with him, only this time with a twist. I picked him up at his house, and right after exchanging greetings, the very next thing he said was, “Let’s go grab some beers for the game.”
I froze. Even though the suggestion to grab beers came right on cue, I still didn’t feel prepared for this moment. I remained nervous about breaking the news to my buddy, to share my own little secret that I had kept to myself for a few years. But this was the moment of truth.
“I actually quit drinking,” I said matter of factly. As the words left my mouth, I felt a sudden sense of pride and an unexpected surge of power. That may have been because it was the first time I had actually spoken those words out loud into the universe. His eyes widened, and he seemed to be waiting for the punch line, as I was known to tell tall tales from time to time. But this was no tall tale. This was a cold hard fact that went over about as well as I thought it would. Our friendship, or whatever it was at that point, would be put to the ultimate test with my revelation. I felt like I was being judged, but afterward, I realized that’s because I was.
There was an awkward silence, one that I tried to cut through with a half-hearted chuckle. “I’m not kidding,” I added for good measure. The longer the silence filled the space between us, the more I realized that my words were sinking in. There wasn’t a word spoken for some time after that; it felt like an hour. I was apprehensive, but the way I looked at it was that we still had sandwiches and a ball game to attend. Plus, he could drink all the beers he desired; I didn’t mind at all. In fact, I agreed to buy him a couple, which I happily did.
When the initial awkwardness finally dissipated, it turned out that it was actually a fun evening at the game. We had good conversations and some laughs as we reminisced about the good old days. There were moments when it felt as if no time had passed since we last saw each other.
Unfortunately, as the evening wound down, the elephant in the room still loomed largely. I knew that this would probably be the last ball game that I would be attending with my old friend, and I was unfortunately proven right on that point. In the subsequent years of my sobriety, this was something that I not only anticipated but had gotten used to.
One by one, whether it was an acquaintance or a co-worker in a social setting, the moment that I mentioned that I was sober, an instant change would befall them. The phone calls and the invitations eventually dried up. There wasn’t room in their lives or social circles for the sober version of me. I totally understood that point of view: there’s nothing like a sober person to ruin the party. I can’t say that I wouldn’t feel the same way if I were in their shoes. But everyone’s feelings and opinions aside, I had to make decisions based on myself.
That was the conundrum I found myself in towards the end of my drinking days. I wasn’t really happy outside of those few hours at night when I was actually in the act of consuming alcohol. But when the time inside of those few hours began to shrink, resulting in the majority of my evenings of fun just being drunk and out of it; that’s when the walls started closing in on me. I didn’t even realize it. I knew that I needed to make a drastic change.
There are so many strings that attach you to alcohol. One, in particular, is the strange comfort in having a favorite bar to go to, a place that eventually becomes a second home. The faces who occupy it soon become so familiar and comforting they become like a second family. But I inadvertently broke that string one night and, in doing so, set off a chain reaction that steered me towards eventual sobriety. The night in question, I was thrown out of my bar and received a lifetime ban. The incident details are foggy, but they certainly included some loud words followed by some pushing and shoving, standard fair drunken behavior. I remember getting the news that I was no longer welcome there, and I was heartbroken over it.
In hindsight, that bar actually did me a favor by issuing me a ban. It opened my eyes to the fact that I had spent significant amounts of my hard-earned money in their establishment and received nothing in return. In the end, I was just discarded like a piece of trash. It was a common theme that revealed itself over and over as I got sober. The realization that these things that seemed so important to me, that I held in such regard, were so meaningless in reality that it was laughable.
I’m happy to have awoken from those years of slumber and be mentally clear, putting my money into worthwhile investments and my time into more satisfying ventures.
However as the years go by, I reminisce back to when things seemed to be nothing but fun, as I’m sure most do. The truth is that I did have a lot of great times with those who I considered friends. Unfortunately, the reality is that alcohol was front and center in my adult life most, if not all, of the time. But that window of time closed a long time ago. I can easily recall how hard it was for me to shutter that window back then, and I know that it’s hard for others, too. Some folks I know are still out there searching for a party.
I haven’t seen my old friend since that game, or anyone else from my bar days, for that matter. That was the part of my new reality that I didn’t want to face and why I was reluctant to start the process. I knew, in essence, that I’d be saying goodbye. I knew it meant an official goodbye to an old version of myself, to beer, and to all of my friends. It sometimes makes me sad to know that I’m not welcome in those circles any more, but I will always have fond memories to fall back on.
If someone asked me today to trade in all those good times that I had way back when I would simply say, “Not a chance.” Conversely, if someone asked me to drink a beer with them right now, I would also simply say, “Not a chance.”
