36 Days off The Apps

A near slip up

The dream world, sleeping or awake, can play tricks on our soft, squishy minds. This is what happened Saturday night. That almost led to a backslide.

In the dream, he has shoulder-length dark, unruly hair. Green piercing eyes. He is trying to fit me in between appointments. Not hair cuts or checkups. Other-women. In the dream, I am [still] vying for his attention. I’ll take whatever seconds he can spare. A panting dog in heat. In the snapshot of the time we spent together (was it inside a broom closet?), there is a vivid intensity of connection. What it was like in real life. The same intoxication that kept me returning even after the ghosting and the neglect. Being with him was forgetting my insecurities. Even for thirty seconds. What blissful relief. For a snippet of life, it felt worth it to risk the most tender parts of myself for this uneven exchange, this guaranteed check-out time. Becuase I was checking in with someone who turned me on. Made me feel alive. He was a drug. And I awoke from the dream craving. Needing a hit.

The first thing I did that I’m not proud of was unblock his number from my phone. We had plans to meet up in November. Vague ghostly plans, but this was his way. I wondered if my ESP might prompt him to reach out. It wouldn’t be the first time that happened. I willed it so. But resolved to sit on it without making any moves I knew I couldn’t take back.

In the meantime, I posted something new to my Substack. Something scary. A newsletter. Where I called myself a Sober Scientist. It felt risky, and I spent hours and hours making it something I was proud of. I made art to go with it. I loved every moment of production time this took. Certain, because of the heart infusion, it would be a success.

In the meantime, it wasn’t. In the meantime, while I’m sitting in the frazzlement of discomfort, wanting to reach out to Mr. Dazzle Pants, I create a story where I’m getting ghosted by my Instagram audience, my subscribers, too. I make up a story and play it in my head like a stop motion. My posture is closed and I’m walking around the scenery of my life like a loser. I know I’m not, but my imagination is as powerful as my night dreams, and it felt so real I wanted to crawl out of my skin. I just wanted to run away. Check out of this day, this morning, this goddamned feeling.

Instead, I reached out to my teacher, my healer. I told her what I was feeling. Asked her to please remind me this was a bad idea. She did. This is what she said exactly:

“Reaching back is not the direction. That’s your brain trying to take you to a place it’s familiar with bc you’re uncomfortable right now.”

I immediately felt a sense of relief. I knew she was right. Sometimes, we just need that backing, like hands holding us upright in the face of danger. One of the tools I use when abstaining from anything is reaching out and letting someone know where I’m at. This is the number one most potent method for success: tech support.

The feeling didn’t go away completely, but I made it to day 36. Today. Feeling proud and more solid. Feeling like this is just another form of sobriety. Another layer of the onion peeled back. Another piece to completing the jigsaw. I woke up smiling and alive.

I want to become my own everything. My lover, my provider, my support, my best friend, my cheerleader, my biggest fan. Getting there. One wobbly step at a time. We are getting there.