LIFE IN THE LIMINAL

I have really wanted to start drinking again. And when I say “really” I mean…REALLY. Getting sober while living abroad has been the downright most challenging thing I have ever done in my life. It’s a catch 22 – I don’t think I ever could have gotten sober in Chicago. Not at my old job, and truly not with most of my friends from home. Everything about my life in Chicago completely revolved around drinking – it intimidates me to even think about going home because Chicago doesn’t make sense to me without a boozy marinade. 

I believe I had to move across the world, away from everyone I knew, and start over in order to get sober. And yet, being away from my best friend, my sister, and my soul sisters has been unbearable most days. Admittedly, I haven’t made many friends in Korea. It’s been the most difficult part about living abroad. Especially, because I consider myself a social and generally fun person who normally has an easy time making friends.

“I fucking love that about myself – I’m a go-getter, fun-seeker, life of the party.”

I was the person who would go sit at the bar at a nice restaurant after work, have a few glasses of wine, and make all of the friends. It was genuinely one of my favorite things about myself. I’d love getting off work and heading into a gorgeous restaurant in downtown Chicago, sitting at the bar, and chatting people up. I’ve met German writers, French ballerinas, I’ve bumped into two men traveling from Switzerland and showed them all around Chicago on a complete whim. I fucking love that about myself – I’m a go-getter, fun-seeker, life of the party. 

Sobriety has revealed another person. When I got sober, I did what all newly-sober people do. I assured my partner and the few friends I have that “I won’t ruin the party! I’m still going to go out and have fun! Nothing is going to change!”  But it does change. Everything changes. I don’t want to sit at a bar and watch people drink, and slowly (or sometimes rather quickly) get intoxicated. It’s not fucking fun. 

To which I say – OF COURSE THAT ISN’T FUN! I think it’s natural to feel this way. And yet, I feel like everyone, myself included, is waiting for me to bounce back and be that larger-than-life partier again. I feel like we’re all (notice I say WE because I’m on this bullshit too) waiting for me to assume my same self that I was while drinking, except sober and without the drama that I created while drinking. 

“I’m 9 months sober, and she’s not coming back. God, that really pisses me off.”

I’m 9 months sober, and she’s not coming back. God, that really pisses me off. But more honestly, I’m mourning that woman and it’s also making me panic. I’m so jealous that my partner is going out and drinking, and I’m sad that I don’t get invited out often because the few friends I have want to drink so they don’t invite me.

Thus far, sobriety abroad has looked like everyone going out and me staying home alone. For a little bit, that’s what I needed and it was great. I needed to rest my nervous system and recuperate. It was empowering to stay home and get some much needed rest, to not have to exert myself and not have to be anything for anyone. 

Now, I feel isolated and alone. I used to feel vivacious and sexy, now I feel like the kid the parents leave at home with a babysitter while they go out and have a wild night on the town. You’re probably thinking “Lex! Just go out! Grab that non-alcoholic beer and get yourself out there! You don’t need booze to be the life of the party!” To which I say, sometimes you’re right, stranger! Sometimes I can grab my ginger beer and still be the god damn life of the party. Sometimes, I sit out with friends with my tonic water and suppress a panic attack and want to jump off of the fucking Gwangan Bridge that everyone is gazing at in admiration. 

“This shit is not linear. Healing is not linear.”

This shit is not liner. Healing is not linear. Which brings us to now – God, I really want to drink again. I want to just say “fuck it!” and go out and have “fun.” I want to have a social life and drink and be the life of the party and get invited out on the town and be accepted. I want to go to bars and meet people and have a wild, vivacious expat life, damn it! Ugh – I really want to drink again. 

If you were in my life before I got sober, I bet you have some really great “drunk Lex” stories. Some real fond memories, some knee-slapping stories, some precious romp we’ve had. If you were in my life before I got sober, you also have some really scary memories. You have some really traumatic memories, ones where you wondered who the fuck the person was in front of you and memories of genuinely worrying about my life and safety. You have had at least one (most of you 10+) sit down talks with me where I offer you the deepest, most heartfelt, therapized apology. I got really good at apologizing. God, I’m so sorry for that. Every single one of you deserves better than that. You absolutely do. 

I quit drinking after a particularly violent, traumatic episode that occured. An event that only my partner and my best friend know about. I don’t think it’s honoring of myself to share that story yet, maybe someday I will. I think the worst part about the situation was I really didn’t want to quit drinking after it. But I couldn’t look at my partner the next day and say, “I’m going to keep drinking.” He never gave me an ultimatum, never said anything. But something about the situation was a mirror – how could I look him in the eye and keep things going the way they were? 

WAITING FOR POLAND

I became a vegan in 2016 (I’m not anymore), but for years I would eat eggs and cheese here and there. For no particular reason, other than I just wanted to eat something at a restaurant or with friends that had these items. Obviously, I’m a big traveler so whenever I was somewhere that it wasn’t convenient to be vegan I’d just take some Lactaids and tell them vegetarian food was fine. 

I went to Poland for a friend’s wedding in July 2019, and since I was staying with their family I told them that a vegetarian diet was fine. Except, Poland isn’t exactly known for their vegetables…I ended up eating (seriously) 6-8 eggs a day, a ton of bread, and a TON of cheese. The sudden influx of dairy made me gain an incredible amount of weight in a short time and I developed a skin condition where I broke out in eczema all over my face. Then, this eczema would somehow turn into an open wound and scab..it was painful and it was hideous. 

I got home, and every fiber of my being knew that I was NEVER EATING DAIRY AGAIN. I had such a traumatic experience my body finally caught up to my brain – I was completely fucking done with it. 

“The thing is, I HAVE had my Poland with drinking…but each time, I just want to drink again.”

I’ve said with my drinking that I’m “waiting for Poland.” Yes, I’ve had some horrible experiences drinking and in my head I’m aware this is not good for me, but I haven’t had a moment where my body has caught up and decided WE ARE FUCKING DONE WITH THIS. But the thing is, I HAVE had my Poland with drinking. I’ve had so many traumatic, terrifying, horrid, disgusting, and deeply sad “Polands” with drinking. But each time, I just want to drink again.

 I hate the term “alcoholic.” I don’t believe there is such a thing as an alcoholic, just like there’s no such thing as a “cigarette-aholic” (thank you, Holly Whitaker). It’s a drug. It’s a toxic substance that alters your body. This is how I know that whether I’m an “addict” or not, I don’t have control over this substance. 

I’ve really wanted to start drinking again. I’ve even thought of the blog or instagram post I would make, and how I would rationalize drinking again. How I’d lie and say I only quit drinking because it “kind of made me sad,” or it “kind of made me act out of my integrity.” I would rationalize it saying “it can’t be done living abroad!” and probably write some bullshit about how 9 months of abstaining have taught me how to control my drinking. But that’s what it would be – fucking bullshit. I don’t have control over alcohol. And that’s not a goddamn character flaw. It’s a drug that I don’t fuck with. 

I think of my life as a book sometimes, maybe it’s the theatre kid in me or maybe it’s something higher. I love a good story and I’ve clung to my drunk stories as badges of honor in the past. I used to pride myself on being the person that “does the thing normal people would never do.” I thought of myself as Ernest Fucking Hemingway, doing fucked up things and reporting them back to the normal, not-so-fucked up people. 

“What’s badass about being another person drinking their way around the world?”

I wanted to be this badass woman who travels the world with a glass of wine in hand, trying every food and wine and booze pairing under the sun – wine in Italy, beer in Germany, Mezcal in Mexico, and so on. But you know what? THAT is the story that is boring. THAT is the story that’s been done to death. What’s badass about being another person drinking their way around the world? 

I don’t want to read the story of the brave woman who is traveling the world, healing generational trauma, breaking molds, and living her god damn truth and then…starts drinking again? Because what? She’s fucking bored?!

“The book you need to write will be hard, but you have to write it anyways.”

I don’t know about you, but I don’t want to read that story. I want to read the story where the brave woman, the goddamn hero, holds herself in this liminal space. This space in between, this reckoning, this respite. I want to sit with her in this in-between space, and connect with her. I want to hold her and feel held in this space that everyone experiences, but no one talks about. 

I don’t know who I am without booze yet. But I know in my gut, something big is coming. THIS is the work. The work I don’t want. The work the universe has handed me and the work I want to say “no thanks, bitch!” to. But this is it. 

I have a favorite quote, and for the life of me I can’t find it anymore or remember who wrote it. But it goes something like this, “The book you need to write will be hard, but you have to write it anyways.” 

I really want to start drinking again. But I’m not going to. And that’s a mighty, brave act of resilience. 

All my Love,

Lex