The first time I tried to get sober, I white-knuckled a trip to New Orleans. I compensated by eating everything in sight. I actually proposed a “weight-gain challenge” to my boyfriend, and although we never confirmed our progress on a scale, I was clearly the winner. I ate po’boys and alligator sausage and fried oysters and turtle soup and beignets until I thought I would burst. You can’t go to New Orleans without eating, but the fact that I had to make such a big thing of it, to actually propose “a challenge,” reveals how much sobriety scared me. I didn’t know how to be on vacation without overindulging in some way. Continue reading
It’s been a long time since I’ve gone over 24 hours without leaving the house. This used to be a regular thing for me. A couple years ago, I was living in the Boston area and working from home and would often go days at a time without going outside. The weather was a bitch, but I can’t just blame the weather. It’s not like New England shuts down in the winter. I’ve had a tendency to isolate since I can remember. Sometimes, I’d drink at home, but often, I’d just hide there, blocking out the overwhelming world. My two poles of existence were intoxication or isolation. I knew very little in between.