On day 33 I had a different experience of the “seize.” I received a stressful email from a client. I was in a strange city and was juggling buses and noisy streets on a hot afternoon. It would have been the ideal time to head for a bar and down two or three cold beers in an attempt to counteract the stress. Counteract it. As in a reversal, a U turn, a return from a bad place. This time, though, I looked at the situation and recognized that adding alcohol to my stress would be adding another layer of stress onto the first one. For the first time, I saw the stresses as arranged in series and not as cancelling one another out. Continue reading
That desperation to drink, usually around 3 or 4 p.m., I call the seize. It’s an unbearable tightening, a contraction of seemingly my whole being, centered in my chest. I want to record a description of it here since it seems to be slipping away. It hasn’t come in a month. But I know it will again and I don’t want to have forgotten its power.
During my last big effort to quit drinking, in early December, I went for about 10 days and then one Saturday I felt pushed to the wall. Continue reading