Tag: anxiety

Autobiography

In Review

Ruby Pipes1 Comment
"Winter's Tale" © Doug Wheller, 2008. CC BY-NC-SA 2.0.
“Winter’s Tale” © Doug Wheller, 2008. CC BY-NC-SA 2.0.

Over the last few years, I’ve lost a majority of my year-end traditions. Most of that is because I don’t like crowds, hanging out with drunk people, or staying up past 10 PM. The rest of it is because I know that nothing actually changes when the calendar turns over. The first of the year is no more of a new beginning than any other day. I don’t see what the big deal is. Except, of course, all the cheesy jokes we get to make (“I haven’t showered since last year!”).

But I am a huge fan of data. And “by year” is a great way to organize it. So on the last day of the year I tend to look back and see what I can learn from the last twelve months. This year, I’m especially struck by my exercise log. Continue reading →

Personal Development

Daily Paradoxes

Ruby Pipes9 Comments
"The paradox of choise" © Andrei Zmievski, 2007. CC BY-NC-SA 2.0.
“The paradox of choice” © Andrei Zmievski, 2007. CC BY-NC-SA 2.0.

Yesterday, I was proud of myself. I was still in a minor state of disbelief that I’d made it a year without drinking, but I was proud. And that was such a strange feeling for me.

I tried to let myself bask in it. To not push down that feeling of accomplishment with reminders about how this is a process and I still have a lot of work ahead of me. I smiled big, received hugs, and every time someone told me they were proud of me I tried to remember to say, “Me, too.” Continue reading →

Addiction

Reflecting on my first year sober

Ruby Pipes26 Comments

"The Bottom of the Bottle" © Nathan Stang, 2011. CC BY-NC-ND 2.0.
“The Bottom of the Bottle” © Nathan Stang, 2011. CC BY-NC-ND 2.0.
As of today, I’ve been sober for exactly one year. My previous personal record was about three months, I think. And even then I can’t remember if it was complete sobriety or if I was on a “it’s okay if I only have one or two drinks a night” stint.

I started drinking when I was thirteen years old. That’s crazy to think about, isn’t it? I’m twenty-six now. So I spent half my life getting hammered. It came in waves, of course. Some times I drank more and at others I drank less. Getting sloshed every day or a couple times a month. But, for my entire adult life, I tied drinking tight to my identity. Continue reading →