No, I’m not in the middle of another relapse. I’ve simply sat down with my demons and renegotiated some terms. Upon revisiting the terms of my sobriety, I have come to an agreement that I can live with. Or die with, which I’m now realizing will be a likely outcome as I re-read this new arrangement.
Like any good contract, my sobriety should have some wiggle room. If Verizon can weasel out of every rebate I send in because the wrong box was ticked or the whole thing was soaked in Kentucky Gentleman, my sobriety should at least get a cheat day. And a cheat recovery day where we taper off. And anytime I smell cigarette smoke and start craving Yuengling for some reason.
Honestly, the shameful, headache-y way I feel as a result of breaking my sobriety has me feeling awful about myself. To be frank, the way my sobriety has reacted to my teeny tiny mistake makes me not even want to be sober. Sobriety is so fucking judgmental. Just like my drunk dad. Except my dad wasn’t as bad because eventually he’d leave me alone. I hate to say it, but I think my sobriety has codependency issues. Sad.
What even is “sobriety,” anyway? Not taking Tylenol? Caffeine? Meth? Where’s the line? Other people redefine sobriety all the time. Hell, I know cocaine addicts with longer AA chips than me! And that’s frustrating, because cocaine just makes me wanna drink more.
This isn’t fair. My sobriety holds me to such a rigidly high standard. And did you know sobriety is forever? You know who else holds unbreakable contracts for eternity? The Devil. And I bet Hitler wasn’t fond of amending things, either.