Sober Afterworld

Don’t make the mistake of believing someone is going to throw a parade when you get out of rehab. It isn’t going to happen. Those outside of your loved ones, for the most part, are supportive to your face. They may congratulate you if you’re open about your struggle and seeking help. You may receive a hug or high five. That’s it. After that the initial kudos, you’re on your own.

Life goes back to being life, quickly. The relationships are still hard to manage. Your kids are loud and need lots of attention. People bother you. Drivers cut you off in traffic. Money is tight. The winter is cold. Coworkers and colleagues demand you produce quality work and meet your goals and deadlines. Brussel sprouts taste like rotten tuna and Game of Thrones failed to stick the landing.

The key difference is that the obstacles are a lot easier to tackle when you’re sober. Exponentially so.

I wanted nothing more than to leave the halls of Beauterre treatment facility as I neared the completion of 28 days. However, there have been dozens of occasions when I’ve craved the peace and tranquility of treatment when life has thrown a problem in my direction during the past year. It sure would be a nice escape – enjoy servants who cook and serve you three square meals each day, take a stroll on scenic walking trails on a whim, carelessly play games of cribbage with friends and spend hours of contemplative time in quiet and meditation.

That secluded pampered life isn’t living, though.

The biggest challenge in my immediate future post inpatient treatment was drinking again. It’s sounds obvious, but it’s easy to lose sight of your sobriety. I had an urge to become a rock star in all phases of life immediately. I needed to make up for lost time. I felt so good mentally and physically after nearly a month off the sauce, that my diseased riddled brain was constantly trying to trick me into believing I could drink again.

Fortunately, I’d failed quitting enough times and was now equipped with the education and science to know any amount of drinking is not an option. I didn’t want to drink. I wasn’t sitting in the parking lot of the liquor store gripping my steering wheel. But it takes the brain time to heal. I didn’t want to be obtuse about the mountain I was attempting to climb. I had to keep telling myself to slow down. I knew that post-acute withdrawal syndrome, more commonly known as PAWS, was in my future. PAWS occurs as the brain recalibrates after active addiction, according to Hazelden Betty Ford. Here’s how they describe it:

“These symptoms, unlike the first stage of acute withdrawal, typically involve more of the psychological and emotional aspects of withdrawal. Depending on the duration and intensity of alcohol or other drug addiction, this secondary withdrawal syndrome can occur a few weeks into recovery or a few months down the road. More important, even though PAWS is a temporary condition, the symptoms can become a driving factor in relapse. This is true even for people who are fully committed to staying clean and sober.”

I was the Michael Jordan of alcohol use disorder, so I desperately needed a reliable tool to help me sustain long-term sobriety and work through PAWS. Therapy and psychiatry hadn’t helped me. Medications didn’t work. My will power was useless. My friends from treatment weren’t the pillars of stability I’d anticipated. I couldn’t stay in inpatient treatment forever. So, I turned to AA.