“So you don’t drink at all?”
I can see the light bulb turn on for her; she realizes that I’m an alcoholic without me saying the words.
“Do you miss drinking?”
I pause and smile. I’m honest and say “yeah, I do.”
“Not long… 13 months.”
“Cheers to sobriety.” She clinks her beer against my club soda.
My brain is broken. That’s the only answer for why I would ever miss it. But I did that night. I was in a bar waiting for my husband’s band to take the stage. I was feeling self-conscious and lonely. For a moment, I missed alcohol. I wondered how a shot of tequila would feel after abstaining for 13 months. I thought about how easy it would be to walk up to the bar and order a vodka & soda, instead of plain club soda. No one would even know.
My brain is broken, which is why I entertained these thoughts instead of immediately remembering how physical ill I was when I drank. I did eventually remember the reality of my alcoholism, but didn’t care. In the moment, the good things in life didn’t outweigh the booze. In the moment, I missed drinking.