ON “TAKING A BREAK”

This Time, Four Days In

And I feel like I’ve been sucked inside out

Vertigo. Stomach upset. Lightheadedness. And a feeling that I’m stuck in a “damned if I do, damned if I don’t” mode.

I haven't “enjoyed” my usual nightly schooners of wine in four days. I decided that I want to take a break. Note, I didn’t say “quit,” as I only set myself up for failure when I make such pronouncements. I’m hoping some of you understand this.

For once, I was truthful with myself and had to face the unfortunate reality that sucking down enormous quantities of an alcoholic beverage, even one made from grapes…would ultimately be injurious to my health. As I stopped drinking vodka, I thought I was “doing better” by sticking with Cabernet.

But, truth be told, I just can’t handle the “mornings after” like I used to. Not a kid, I can’t snap back and snap to it. Although, and oddly enough, while drinking, I’ve always been able to operate at a relatively high level so I can’t help but think about what I might achieve if I hop on the wagon for a while.

Certainly, many of you here will tell me that I’m lying to myself. That it’s “quit booze altogether, or shut the hell up.” And you’re probably right, but again, my brain isn’t wired like that. I can’t adopt the mindset that “I can never have another glass of wine,” but I do need to understand its control over me. Like a vise that’s grip only tightens as I get older. And fans the flames of the OCD and anxiety I’ve dealt with my whole life.

The thing is, I don’t like to appear weak, like I’m not in control. No one does! And the fact that I seemingly, can’t cork the wine bottle after a single glass, or two at the most, makes me feel like a wimp. I don’t know what happens. It’s like a switch that goes off in my head, telling me, “It’s okay. You can handle a little more.”

I’ve been trying to figure out what, exactly, drinking does for me. I don’t think it makes me smarter, or funnier, or better looking. Certainly not that last one. So what is it? I can only conclude that it helps dull those thoughts I’d rather not deal with. Thoughts about life, and mortality, and the future in this surreal new normal we’re dealing with.

To top things off, I’m writing this as two guys upstairs are replacing our kitchen and family room floors and the pounding and sawing and drilling are making me want to gnaw on the edge of this desk. Certainly, the upheaval has something to do with my overall malaise. I’d like to think so, anyway.

Yesterday, I forced myself to work out like a demon in order to help the “detox” along and vowed to escape to the gym, today. So far, things are looking iffy.

And last night, because I couldn’t endure feeling like complete shit for one more hour, I hit the sack at seven, after throwing together some soup that I could barely get down.

After taking my usual sleep cocktail of Xanax and Seroquel, I was out like a light and drifted off with the optimistic hope that today, I’d be feeling like a champ.

With that said, I’m upright, and I’m writing this but I’m no champion. Not today. Of course, it’s early yet, here in Chicagoland.

Four days ago, when I embarked on this latest journey, I rifled through my stash of supplements and found a bottle of the prescription drug Naltrexone, which is prescribed for a myriad of issues, most commonly, alcohol and opioid addiction.

Several months ago, my shrink wrote me a script for this med when I told him that I was having a “little problem” with the drink. I asked him for something that would quell the cravings and in return, I got a little pill that made me sick as a dog. I don’t tolerate medications well and consequently, experienced nearly every side effect Naltrexone has to offer, including dizziness, nausea, blurred vision, stomach pain, and more.

But, I decided to give it another go, and for my effort, was nearly down for the count, again.

How the hell do people tolerate this stuff? I’ve read tons of reviews where similarly addicted folks call it “life-changing,” and the road to “moderation and a ‘take it or leave it’,” attitude toward booze.

Hell, if that’s how I’m going to feel while trying to quit drinking — I’d rather keep swilling! And yes, you can kick me in the ass for that one.

Anxiety. What an evil bitch, is it not? I realize the fact that mine is through the roof right now is exacerbating my physical symptoms. You see, tomorrow is my yearly mammogram, and I always get hinky beforehand due to the fact that I was diagnosed with breast cancer five years ago. Thankfully, I have no reason to think that it won’t go well. It’s just…what it is. I’m sure every woman here gets it.

If only. If only I didn’t feel like I was picked up and dropped into an alternate universe. Once the floor guys are done, and the noise abates and my husband and I and our three cats have our home back, and the mammogram has been set aside for another year…surely I’ll feel like myself, again.

But maybe, this is me being myself. I suppose the only way I’ll find out is to keep off the sauce. One day at a time. And see who emerges.

One day at a time.

© Sherry McGuinn, 2021. All Rights Reserved.

Sherry McGuinn is a slightly-twisted, longtime Chicago-area writer and award-winning screenwriter. Her work has appeared in The Chicago Tribune, Chicago Sun-Times, and numerous other publications. Sherry’s manager is currently pitching her newest screenplay, a drama with dark, comedic overtones and inspired by a true story.

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