What are these numbers, you ask?
Well, the first one is my age. I am 49 years old. That one's pretty simple.
The second one required some math. It's an estimate of the amount of alcohol I drank after I started sometime around my freshman year at college. Since then, my poor liver must have metabolized somewhere in the range of 13,5 tons of ethyl alcohol over 31 years.
Interestingly, 31 also happens to be my third number.
But it doesn't refer to the years I have been drinking, but the days I haven't drank since I stopped.
I wanted to reach this milestone before posting.
And I acknowledge now that I was
a natural member of this distinguised
club whose members' first drink will probably lead to their last one, with no real stops in between, whilst wreaking havoc along the way, causing harm and hurt all over, sadly and mostly to the immediate loved ones and one's own self.
So, as of 31 days ago, I decided to leave this club. Believe me, I needed to. And as you all know, it's not an easy club to leave. So easy to become a member, rise along the ranks, a semblance of true love and acceptance, cheers and hugs all around, up until you realize that it's The "Casa Nostra" Club, you may enter but it is sooooo hard to leave.
Well, I left. At least I haven't walked through its doors for the past 31 days.
And so I find myself a very new member of this other Club. One that is truly difficult to get into. Difficult to stay in. Struggle, struggle.. and struggle some more. The Sober Club. (by the way, at first glance some of the synonyms for sober are not very cheerful: serious, somber, grave, sensible and so on..)
They say that the human brain is conditioned to forget the bad and remember the good. I think I read it somewhere that it is genetic, in other words wired in our system because, well.. otherwise, women apparently wouldn't give birth a second time. And we must all admit that wouldn't be good for the propagation of the species.
So, when I look over across the street to the Club I left, and imagine in some incurable part of my brain that the good times will probably continue to roll over there, I stop. I push myself to remember the pain, to remember the hurt and the bad. Otherwise, it is so easy to slip back, slam open the doors and run right back in there... and I know what I will soon meet again: the pain, the hurt and the bad.
That's my story. I will continue making this effort. Who knows, with time, I hope to become a permanent member.
Anyway, there is really no alternative.
By the way, here are some other synonyms for "sober":
Earnest, responsible, thoughtful. Doesn't seem too bad now, does it?
Hence the user name I chose: 13,5 tons is roughly the equivalent of a small tanker. You know, the ones that transport milk, water and other assorted liquids.
Thanks for accepting me to the new club. I am happy to be here.
Hello all, my tanker is full.