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I had to drive up to New Hampshire this weekend, and it was my first time ever in the state. I was only there for about a half hour, but it was an eventful 30-minute ride.
Traffic was rough, so I ended up hitting the state border going about 10 MPH on the highway. That meant I could check out every sign at the edge of the road, and here are the first three I saw:
Sign No. 1: Welcome to New Hampshire. Live free or die.
Sign No. 2: This portion of the highway is cleaned up by a local casino.
Sign No. 3: Next exit: New Hampshire liquor store. Lottery tickets available. Open on Sundays.
And then when I passed the actual liquor store, it was a pretty giant, multi-floor barn that was apparently full of booze.
Without even thinking about it, my brain immediately started riffing. “Damn, this is a badass state. Hit the casino, then the booze barn, get yourself some scratch offs and LIVE FREE OR DIE—on Sundays! How awesome is this place?”
That’s the alcoholic part of my brain speaking to me. But I’ve noticed that the disease part of my brain doesn’t tell me any more, “You should go do that.” I’ve been sober a long time and I love it, so that argument hasn’t worked in 12 years.
Instead, my inner voice now starts from a place of telling me how much fun it must be for other people to live free and get blasted and buy lottery tickets. That’s one neighborhood over from imploring me to do it, but I think that devil on my shoulder wants to ultimately drive me to that spot.
The good news is, all the delusional thoughts about drinking or drugging last one or two seconds in my head, then they’re gone. But they’re still in there. On the New Hampshire trip, I was laughing five seconds after that first thought, because deep down, that alcoholic/addict part of me still exists. It didn’t die just because I got sober. Its voice is diminished but it still can be heard. And I heard it briefly.
I had a good chuckle about it, though, because I know the truth. The truth is, God knows what would happen to me if I tried that gauntlet of vodka and roulette and $25,000-a-week-for-life lottery tickets. The sober part of my brain reminded me of what the local New Hampshire newspaper’s headline might be four hours after I went on that run: “Connecticut man dies in tragic fall from top floor of liquor barn.”
Or: “Connecticut man projectile pukes in multiple slot machines, arrested for disorderly conduct.”
I used to have a harder time accepting that I would have those ideas at all. I remember one time sharing with a sober friend that I can’t believe I still have drunk dreams or that my mouth sometimes waters when I see a beer commercial during football season. “When is that going to go away?!” I wondered.
His response has stuck with me for years.
He said something like, “Why are you beating yourself up for the first thought? That’s what we do! We are alcoholics and addicts. We think about drugs and alcohol. Just because you got clean and sober doesn’t mean you’re purged of the idea for the rest of your life.”
I nodded along. It made sense to me. Then he said the most important part: “What matters is what happens next. If that thought comes in and takes a seat and stays awhile, that’s on you. You know what to do to make sure your second thought doesn’t come in and pull up a chair, too.”
That’s the part I always think about—the idea that I’m not responsible for that first instinctual thought, but I am responsible for the next one. I have tools now. I can pray, get to a meeting, call a sober friend, read recovery literature, meditate for five minutes… something other than continuing to stare longingly at a barn of Smirnoff and Busch Light.
ALCOHOLIC/ADDICT JOKE OF THE DAY
This newsletter is a place of joy and laughter about the deadly serious business of sobriety. So, as I will often do, let me close with a joke.
A skeptical newcomer just couldn’t see how the first drink could get her drunk. A seasoned old-timer helped out. “When you get run over by a train, which kills you—the locomotive or the caboose?”
(Credit: AA Grapevine, January 2001, Anonymous)
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