I have to stop making kombucha and other fermented drinks, which has been pastime I have enjoyed for years. Drinking them the last two days woke up my inner addict and she took over the situation while I stood by watched. So surreal.
Two days ago I drank a lacto-fermented orange juice I had made and, I have to say, I got a little buzzed from it. Yesterday on the walk home, I started thinking about getting home and "enjoying" my homemade kombucha. And before I even turned on any lights or unpacked my grocery bag or let Dog Face out after being alone for 12 hours, I had to pour a glass and take a good chug of it, hoping to start a little buzz.
As this happened I was split into two versions of myself:
1. One side was justifying my hurry to drink this healthy homemade drink. "I'm going outside with Dog Face for a bit and so I should bring my drink outside with me. Oh, um, yeah...I don't need the lights on yet because I'm about to go outside." "It's healthy, its homemade, it isn't booze."
2. The other side was standing by, fascinated by what was happening. It was just like recovering alcoholics talked about! I thought for a split second, "I should just pour this down the sink." And she retorted, Nah, don't waste it, it took you 3 weeks to make this one little bottle, there's only one bottle so there's no danger. This can be the last time for a while until things are more under control.
And I tried to argue with my inner addict:
And then I drank it. And got the tiniest little buzz. Trigger. I was so hyper-aware of where this buzz went and how it felt. Tingle in the front side of my thighs, a warming at the base of my skull, a weight to my head and glow at the bottom of my cheeks. I like it a lot, I've missed it, and I wanted it stronger.
That is why there is never one drink for me. And a good pour of whisky would have really got the good feeling started after the kombucha. But I stopped. I did not feed the buzz. I stopped. And now I'm telling on my inner addict Shelly.
I'm being honest with myself. Nope, can't do it. Can't get close to it no matter how it is dressed up. I can't drink alcohol even in a naturally fermented homemade drink.
My internal dialog itself is a warning and a sign for me: it was definitely a "we" talking. Not a you and me. She isn't separate from me, she is me and she's not going anywhere no matter how long of a break I take. I can dry out one side of me, but never the other. She will always be thirsty, she will not wilt from a lack of watering and die off. She's strong, resourceful, wily and will hunker down for the long haul and wait it out, waiting for the kink in my defenses. That was a bit scary.
I used to drink with the best of them, but I don't anymore. My life is so much better for it.
-Drinking: A Love Story by Caroline Knapp