Three Years and Three Days
Three years and three days.
Three years and three days since I took a drink of liquor.
Three years and three days ago I walked out of Taylor County Jail, took a drink, and made a decision about my life that changed everything. Some things got better. Some things blew the fuck up. Not everyone made it to the other side with me.
That part still hits.
Three years and three days feels like it should be nothing. Not a milestone. Not a chip. Not a room full of people clapping because nobody drank today.
Sometimes sobriety culture feels like twenty people sitting in a circle congratulating each other for not poisoning themselves. I’m not bitter about it today, but I’m not pretending either.
The hardest part isn’t not drinking.
The hardest part is realizing how many people loved me when I was drunk who don’t love me as a sober man.
I can’t mask as well anymore. It’s too exhausting. Holding the line all the time takes more energy than the alcohol ever did. So I don’t do it unless I have to. I’ll toe the line at work. I’ll toe it when something’s on the line. But creatively, I can’t live there.
I’m not going to be one-dimensional for people anymore. I’m a multi-faceted guy. That’s not branding. That’s survival.
Let me breathe.
My doctor says I don’t have multiple personalities or anything like that. It’s a spectrum. Multifaceted. People don’t understand that, and I can’t control how they see me.
Lately I’ve realized that if I want to move forward, I need a team. That means getting closer to people. It also means being closer to situations that could put me in danger.
I didn’t know how that would feel until I was in it.
Smelling whiskey. Hearing ice clink in a glass. Seeing reflections. All of it. That didn’t trigger a desire to drink. But it triggered something.
So I went to group.
I guess my trigger now is to go get support instead of making a bad decision. I’m okay with that.
That all really happened.
After group, I went to Steve’s.
Andrew told me the other day that going up first makes you a better comic. You don’t get to ride momentum. You have to create it. You have to shape the room.
So I got there early and signed up first.
Did I want to go first? No.
Did I do it anyway? Yes.
That’s the deal.
I went up first. Worked old material and new material. I didn’t think it was a great set, but people liked it, so whatever. That’s comedy. Sometimes you’re too close to it to judge it accurately.
Energy was weird. Not bad. Just off. I didn’t overthink it. Evidence says everything’s fine.
After Steve’s, I went over to Platypus.
Different room. Same night. Same headspace.
Did another set. Reasonable. Not magic. Not bad. Just more reps. More information. More data about where things are landing and where they’re not.
Laugh Track Labs is moving. First show booked. Comics locked in. Venue locked. It’s going to work. There’s no other option.
I’m curious what bumps are coming. I’m confident I can work through whatever shows up. That’s kind of the point.
I’m fidgety tonight. Don’t know why. I’ll figure it out.
I’m going to play basketball for an hour, burn this off, and try to sleep.
Three years and three days.
Still here.
Still sober.
Still doing the work.
Good night.
I love you.
