Red wine use to be my boyfriend; he was
very obedient. I would keep him anywhere I wanted to and pull him
out for a visit whenever I chose to. He was bittersweet, full of
calories, and physiological turmoil. It was a dysfunctional
relationship, it needed some serious mourning. I needed a sufficient
replacement for that unfulfilled high I so craved, it was
inevitable and overdue.
And so my sobriety began, with
chocolate ice cream, and, well, basically anything chocolate. I
would take it to bed with me, that delicious half gallon, a pleasure
to cuddle. Regardless of calories, I was staying sober, even if it
meant gaining weight. I could hear my nurse practitioner in the back
of my head saying “moment on the lips, years on the hips,” it
didn't matter, it was my tongue that would enjoy the moment anyway,
not my lips. I craved sweets and carbohydrate during every waking
hour, and kept Reese’s next to my bed for 3 am, my midnight snack.
I had not experienced cravings of such since I was pregnant, which
was 19 years ago and it was the longest I had stayed sober until now.
I knew that scale was hitting the high end of double digits and I was
prepared (gallon of skim milk). It was a trade off; I would full fill
my need with another vise, this time one that ultimately would not
land me in the drunk tank or a with a DUI. It was a wiser choice
that eventually landed me at the gym, 30 lbs heavier, but I was
sober.
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