If I were left to my own devices, I wouldn’t give a damn about my own life. I’d likely be in a ditch somewhere with no clue to the whereabouts of my pants, wallet, glasses, or cell phone, but tightly cuddling a bottle of vodka with the top against my lips and the bottom against my heart. I’m not alone, though, and I never have been. I have great people. Wonderful people. People who, to their own detriment, love me a lot. There was a learning curve for an anxious, depressed, panic-ridden, person who only knew how to be either drunk or inadequate… but I’ve got it down now. Because they’re worth it.

But what about awkward silences? Bouts of boredom? Having to be vulnerable? A case of nervous jitters? Preparing for an uncomfortable, but necessary conversation? I’ll be honest, I did NOT see those coming. I was so focused on how to handle situations where I would normally get drunk, I forgot all about the situations that I used to handle with a couple glasses of wine. I know from experience now that there is an empowerment in looking amazing, feeling amazing, being amazing, and going up to the bar to order a seltzer with lime. I also know from experience now that there is a total helplessness in sitting across a dinner table from someone, feeling a lag in the conversation, reaching for your glass of pinot grigio to boost your wit and intrigue, but instead its fucking water.

I think it surprises most people, to not only find out what an aggressive alcoholic I was behind closed doors, but to find out that my drinking was at its worst when my life was at its absolute best. Do you have any idea how terrifying it is to just sit around with your hands tied, waiting for the other shoe to drop…? I found that out the hard way. I was loved. I was supported. I had intense laughter. I had every opportunity laid out before me. I had good friends. I had a great family. All of those things combined left me completely, unmanageably horrified. Being at the pinnacle of wonderful, meant that the pinnacle of awful was creeping just around the corner… and I was defenseless.

Blame is a heat-seeking missile. Its human nature. Really, it is. Blame is a hot, toxic, green, glowing byproduct of our internal need to explain, and therefore, prevent, bad things from happening to us. Seeking the origin of our problems has historically been a wonderful tool. The caveman’s butt itched, so he wiped with a different leaf. The Apache were getting nauseated and throwing up red berries, so they started eating blueberries. Humans honed and harped on the process overtime and were able to explicate major issues: cholera is in the water, plague is on the rats-- nay! The plague is on the fleas on the rats, a line of men with buckets can’t fire-retard a city block—we need trucks and an irrigation system, the girls at the radium factory are glittering and their jaws are falling off—they should stop licking their paint brushes.

I’ve said before that sobriety is this: life without an anesthetic. It sounds like a harsh exaggeration—like getting sober is equivalent to having your leg sawed off in the Civil War with nothing to ease the pain but poppy seeds and the yearning to return to the theme park under your beloved’s petticoat. … is it an exaggeration, though…? The drive to stay in active addiction is really just a drive to maintain a numbness and indifference to the world around us. Yes, we’re aware that numbness blocks the wonderful feelings along with the unsavory feelings. Depending on the level of torture brought by the unsavory things, it often seems worth it to detach from life entirely.

While we can all agree that arrogant=bad, “frustrated” doesn’t sound much better. “Frustrated” is the more constructive sister to “mad as Hell.” People think they are twins, but they just have a close resemblance and sometimes share clothes. Frustration has degrees. One of those degrees is, in fact, “mad as Hell.” Nobody takes up residence at the “mad as Hell” end of frustrated quite as often as a toddler. Psychologists and biologists alike believe that we can learn a lot about human behavior from studying the behavior or octopi. This particular Kara believes that we can learn a lot about drunk people behavior by studying the behavior of toddlers. Hear me out- they’re uncoordinated, inarticulate, insatiable, aggressive, unpredictable, prone to both mania and depression, and they cry. Like, a lot.

“Only through God can you achieve sobriety.”

God? Where dat bitch be? Do you mean my “higher power?” Cause Cher is on her 8th Farewell Tour and way too busy to come smack the cocktail out of my hand. God is not a hound, he doesn’t come every time you whistle for him. Someone should have told me sooner that a big part of early sobriety would be me and my harmonica in a cold, lonely cell playing the “AOTA Doesn’t Want My Liver” Blues.

I’m not the alcoholic Guru that I’d like to be quite yet, but I do get approached with a lot of questions.  I get one query constantly, in one form or another, which is this:  “how do we behave around a recovering addict?”  Do we hide all the liquor in the house?  Should we all abstain from drinking around you?  Do we need to throw separate parties- one for regular people and one for alcoholics and children?  Should we only throw one party and not invite you?  Do we stop doing post-work drinks on Friday and do coffee instead?  If we see people drinking around you, should we shame them?  Should we be extra tough on you: listen at the bathroom door? Check your pockets?  Pat you down?  Or should we treat you like nothing ever happened?