Chemical Free ≠ Not Sober

When I was in ninth grade, we were required to take a driving safety course taught by a state patrolman. The course had only one topic: the dangers of drinking and driving.  I am sure that other students learned to avoid the possibility of killing themselves or others by listening to the facts and fear behind the presentation, but what I remember learning is that TIME is the ONLY way to get a drunk sober.

In fact, the state patrolman discussed some of the myths that were taught about ways to sober up a drunk, including giving the drunk a cold shower and cups of hot, black coffee. I remember clearly what he said next, “After you do that the best that you will have is a clean-smelling—wide-awake— DRUNK.”

Almost 30 years later while I was struggling through my first year of sobriety, I more fully understood the truth behind the state patrolman’s words and perhaps an understanding he never intended. I was again teaching English at a high school and I taught GED classes two afternoons a week. At the time, I was completely dried out. I had not had a drink in months and was attending AA meetings at least three days a week. I had friends in sobriety that I talked to on a regular basis, and I was trying to work with a sponsor, something I had avoided for 6 months. I will never, ever recommend that strategy to anyone.

On paper, I was sober and headed for long-term sobriety. Nothing inside me felt okay at all.  I was holding on to the last knot in the rope with one sweaty hand and about to fall back into the bottle, but even I didn’t know it. It manifested in a thought– a rational solution to a problem—and I had absolutely no thought of drinking.  I really don’t remember what set me off, but I remember the solution so well. I was going to get on the interstate with the clothes on my back, and the cash in my pocket, drive north until I ran out of gas, and start a new life.  See, totally rational.

Before I could start my plan, I had to get something to eat so I stopped at a Krystal’s. Those little burgers were a favorite at 2 a.m. during a night of drinking, and perhaps that should have been another clue that something was not right that day. While waiting for my order, I remembered that my sponsor had told me to call someone when I was about to make a big decision, but I certainly wasn’t going to call him. He might think my plan flawed.

I called a backup sponsor and someone I now consider to be a good friend, but he didn’t answer.  I remember thinking, “This is it! My higher power has spoken!! I’m doing the right thing!”

But before the excitement of the thought could even reach my face, I felt the buzz on the phone, and the friend had texted. “Is everything okay? Do you need to talk? I’m on the golf course right now, but I will call you in 5 minutes.” When I saw his name and alert on my cellphone screen, I began to formulate how I should explain my plan, and as the phone raised toward my ear, I realized beyond doubt, that I was an idiot. So I said into the phone, “Hey man! I was picking up something to eat before heading to a meeting and figured I’d give you a call to see how your day was going.”

I don’t really remember the rest of the conversation. I do remember thinking as I drove to the meeting, that I finally understood what my sponsor had meant when he said that in early sobriety he was “chemical-free, but not sober.” In meetings and porch discussions before and after, I had bragged about how good it was to be sober, and how much better life was SOBER. I’m sure every old-timer who heard me must have chuckled, inwardly. Only my sponsor mentioned being chemical-free, but noooottt SOBER. And, looking back, my sponsor seemed to always have a phrase or a story that matched what I was feeling or held a truth I needed to hear if I paid attention.

In this case, the truth was my brain was still healing and nowhere near ready to make sober decisions. I spent more than a year being chemical-free. Every day was a roller coaster ride of emotions. Checking the mail, a simple act of walking to the mailbox, retrieving what was inside, and taking it back into the house would give me a huge boost of confidence some days.

Other days, getting a sunburn from doing yard work made me stupid, and lower than worm spit, because somehow I was supposed to be more powerful than the sun

—the freaking SUN.

See…chemical-free but not sober.

It wasn’t just my emotional state that hadn’t been able to sober up. My thinking was cloudy. I could not concentrate on the task at hand, ever.  My brain seemed to be constantly buzzing with fleeting thoughts, plans for the immediate and long-term future with no idea of any path that would lead to them. For example, only weeks out of treatment, I was living with my parents for the first time in 25 years. I had no job, no savings, no prospects. I was a complete charity case who could only manage to consistently go to two meetings a day.

Yet, I had made up my mind that I was going to ditch my teaching career and make a bundle of money as a business manager– a job for which I had no experience or qualification—because I saw a want ad with the salary listed.  I had planned out my next car purchase, and I was looking through house plans for the house I wanted to build. Did I mention, I had no job, no prospects and no ability to do anything consistently other than drive myself to two meetings per day. I was chemical free but NOOOTTTT sober.

During this time, I would often talk about how I didn’t want to drink. In truth, all I could think about is drinking or more specifically not drinking. I was on constant guard to keep alcohol from sneaking up on me. I wouldn’t walk down the wine and beer aisle in store for fear that somehow a bottle would jump into my cart, and I would be forced to buy it and drink it. I wouldn’t go to certain convenience stores because I feared the clerk inside might hand me a bottle of wine with my gas purchase. Every waking moment was a struggle to do something, anything besides drink. All because I was chemical-free, but not sober.

And, I guess some people stay in that zone of chemical-free, not really ever getting a chance at true sobriety.  I remember talking to a friend when I was still not drinking but not sober.  He had about the same amount of chemical-free time that I had, but was a hell of a lot more honest. Perhaps his honesty came from being a retread who tried to cover his fears and thoughts the first time through. 

Perhaps he was just able to be honest when I wasn’t. We were talking after a meeting and he asked how I was doing.  I, of course, told him I was loving life, all rainbows and roses or something to that effect that was reeking with the smell of bullshit.  And he just said, “I hate this part. I hate having to think about drinking every day and this time when I get past it, I will never go back to drinking.  The effects of booze, the depression, the isolation and the shakes are bad, detox sucks, but this part of being in-between drinking and sobriety sucks the most.”

Right then and there I had hope again. And I am pretty sure I shared my sponsor’s wisdom of being “chemical-free, but not sober” in a way that made me sound like I was ahead in the game and somehow a shade better than my friend. I’m sure he knew I was right there with him, but he also knew I lacked the courage to admit it. And his simple admission that he was not sober, but knew he could make it to that point again, meant so much.  I then knew that chemical-free, like so much of living sober, is a stage I had to grow through.

And now that I can be truly honest, somedays I miss the excitement and struggle of being the equivalent of a clean, sweet-smelling, wide-awake drunk.