I’ve discovered that dating is the greatest challenge to my sobriety.
It seems I have a troubling tendency to be amorous with men who don’t love or even like me–as well as guys I can’t abide. Getting drunk appears to be a way to force myself to show love to people whom I find repugnant, indifferent or even dangerous.
My sober self would never allow me to consort with the losers, addicts, misogynists, sadists, rageaholics and haters who too often hold a peculiar magnetism for me. If I want to be intimate with these louts, I have to disarm my personal security system by drinking until I don’t care what happens. Inevitably something does, and it’s usually embarrassing, revolting, depressing or worse.
Mornings after drunk dates are rough. I find myself reeling not only from the hangover but also from a seeping sense of self-loathing. Through my nauseating fog, I recognize one truth: My quest for love is blind and crippled–to say nothing of perilous– if I allow myself to drink on a date.
Sober is another story.
Sober is strong, clear, protective, beautiful.
I shine when I am sober. I don’t need a guy to tell me that I am a goddess–I know it. When I am clean I don’t care what some distracted twerp thinks of me. Instead, my alert and healthy brain inquires whether or not I dig him. I don’t want to kiss a creep and pray he will become a Prince. I want to wave goodbye–and escape. When I’m sober I examine which attractions are healthy and which are projections of childhood traumas, repetition compulsions, neuroses or low self esteem.
Without alcohol my choices become pure and transparent–like the water I am drinking instead of wine.