I have been grateful to share this information with my DRY friends. From 3.9.10 MSN.com
The hardest thing about not drinking for one month is five o'clock. Or seven o'clock. Or whenever you would usually have your first drink. There's no physical craving to speak of. It's just that you've gotten used to having a drink. You've been drinking for a long time. Years. Decades. You've grown used to relishing the anticipation of the first one. The first drink is the one you've been waiting for, and it's just plain weird the first few times you deny it to yourself. In fact, the most difficult thing is not not drinking; it's saying to the bartender, "Club soda on ice, with a piece of lime." It's a little embarrassing.
The other hardest thing about not drinking is eleven o'clock. You've made it through your day and you're gonna watch some Jon Stewart. Or you've done the dinner engagement foisted upon you and now you've landed, spontaneously, at the house of some friends who are watching a late-night sporting event on the television, and nothing would be better than a nightcap or two. Or you've actually hosted a dinner party without drinking (no sweat; no one even noticed) and you just want to begin that slide toward sleep, maybe even nod off on the couch. Those are the moments when the drink not in your hand calls out to you.
Or sometimes, you just decide to sit down and ponder the vagaries of life. You know, you go out onto your back deck. Maybe there's a sunset or something. Without a drink in your hand, you're doing nothing. You're just sitting there. People will worry. With a drink at your side, though, you're doing something: You're having a drink.
And then there are times when having a drink would just make your situation better. Say you go see one of your favorite musicians and his large band play and say that you are with the woman you love and some friends and say that one of those friends is a beautiful woman who — just as the music swells — sits down next to you. And say that she smells just fantastic and you're actually thinking, Well, this couldn't be much better. And just at that moment the guy in the row in front of you returns to his seat carrying two tumblers (real glass tumblers) containing ice and amber liquid and you can hear the clink of the ice against the glass (or think you can) and, moments later, you swear that you can smell that the liquid is, in fact, bourbon. Well, that's when you realize that this moment actually could be better.
Overall, the first eleven days are the worst. For the first eleven days, it's all downside, no benefit. You don't need a drink, but you also don't see any real reason not to drink. But as the days crawl toward the halfway point, you begin to see some upside. You have no trouble falling asleep, which is a surprise. Your mood is better; you feel more optimistic. If you're an athlete, you become better at your sport: You see the ball more clearly, you are a little quicker, the next day a little less sore. You work out harder — and feel better afterward. It's nice, at the end of the night, not to have to think about whether you can drive home or not. You're hungrier, which may be a mixed blessing. You sleep more, not less. And as the month of your estrangement from alcohol winds down, each of the positive effects get a little more pronounced. (The surprising thing is that you don't lose any weight. Your cholesterol level changes only slightly, though for the better.)
In the end, on the last day, you have mixed feelings about that first drink. The day after your first day back, you decide not to drink. The day after that, too. But then you slide back into your old life. You get drunk a lot faster than you remember. (This remains true for some time.) As much as anything, the month teaches you that not drinking is an option. Just not an option that you will choose all that often.
My last drink was my last. January 2009.
Sober recovery
One Love
Bryan
