volume one hundred and forty-two

one thousand and ninety-five days

Apr 19, 2024

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📍Written from Kuring-gai Country otherwise known as Newport, North Sydney while more kookaburras than I think I have ever been around constantly fluttered through the luscious backyard and laughed in song.

This post details life before and after my sobriety. My sober pals and readers might choose to skip this week.

it feels strange to post these because i thankfully do not recognise this lonely, broken, sick person who made their own misery. this is right before everything changed.

Here I am, standing behind the bar on a quiet Monday night, playing both the role of waitress and bartender for the first time since my before times. The splash that falls into the glass sends a scent up into my nostalgic soul. Instantly, the Lauren I had known for most of my life appears, I see her so vividly. I hear the way they spoke, I see the way she danced, I feel the way they laughed. I miss them. It gets me. It pulls me under. I start to spiral and shake while my boss, none-the-wiser eats her dinner in the corner booth.

The smell is enough to put me under its spell and I haven’t even dared to do more than take a whiff. As the coke spurts from the gun, the sweetness meshes in with the smell of my once magic potion and my mouth fills with saliva, my heart fills with loss and my mind fills with the thought of “But what about just one?” as I pick up a second glass.

I start pouring the second drink. This smell brings back something else. There is sixteen-year-old me, her head buried in a bucket, her friend asking what happened, she was only gone for twenty minutes, what did they do to her? Nothing. They did nothing. She did this to herself without any pressure whatsoever.

This was not a scent of joy, it was a scent of regret. It was the smell of something that I could never think warmly of, or never give the time of day again. Unless, of course, it was my only option. Or unless, of course, it was being offered for free. Or unless, of course, it was at an open bar. Then yes, please. You never say no to a free drink. It was then I could stomach it and forget how it made me feel the next day while it was making me feel the way it was in that moment. The next day doesn’t matter.

I force my daydreams away, grab the drinks, one in each hand, and drop them at the table.

I just make it behind the bar when a voice behind me says “Excuse me, both of the drinks you just gave me are rum. One was meant to be whiskey.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, I must have put the wrong drink in front of you and your friend. He must have yours…”

“No. I tasted his, too. They are both rum. I need a new drink.”

My blood boils.

“I can assure you that one of them is whiskey, I poured them myself I —”

“I need a new drink, ma’am,” he says as he slams his glass on the counter.

How far am I willing to go? Am I ready to call him on his bullshit by revealing a lifetime of mine?

I know for certain that your drink is whiskey because I can smell it from here and it is like smelling an old friend. It might be the fact that you are several of these in and I am dead sober and because of that, you are mistaken. Your judgment is impaired? Your senses are lowered? Maybe you are wrong, sir? I know nostalgia, and I know that is what is in your cup. Your friend’s drink, however? Yeah, that’s not my first choice and it is not the smell of joy. Want to know how I know this? Because I am an alcoholic and the fact that I am here pouring you drinks is out of desperation to pay my rent, not because I want to be. So how about you shut the fuck up, sit the fuck down and drink your fucking delicious whiskey?

But I don’t say that. Despite being pissed off he called me m’am. Despite being pissed off we are staying open just for his table. Despite being pissed off because I know he is a cheap tipper and I am spending my night here for peanuts. Despite being pissed off because he gets to spend the night with a dear old friend of mine that I broke up with. Despite being pissed off because he was wrong and I was right and yet the customer is always right.

I pour him an identical drink as he watches my every move. The smell of that drink matches the smell of the one I pour down the drain and my eyes well up. Happy fifteen months sober to me.

I am dancing without thinking twice about it. My Doc Martens aren’t broken in enough for my feet to move as I would like them to but my hips make up for that. My day was filled with many deadlines that I met even though I spent the whole time believing I wouldn’t. On top of that, I managed to write a few more lines in my novel draft, submit my citizenship application and eat until my belly was full of poutine in celebration.

I throw my arms in the air and sing:

Riding high, I got tears in my eyes.

You know you got to go through hell,

Before you get to heaven.

The smile on my face could not be bigger. The sun begins to set and my sunglasses go into my handbag. I no longer care if people can see my tears of joy. The stage lights up with every colour and with it, lights up all our faces and the ocean that is our dance moves.

I take a large sip from my water bottle and exchange a smile with the person next to me as we yell and sing along.

I don’t know,

But I’ve been told,

If you keep on dancing,

You’ll never grow old.

I am the love of my own life. This is bliss I made sure of. I am happy on purpose.

I am climbing into bed exhausted at 10pm, much later than I am used to. I cannot believe that 10pm is late for me now. I remember when that was just the beginning of my night for so long.

This late-night is so very worth it. After a busy day, I worked late to complete everything I needed to.

I got to cook dinner for Nan and Pop. I got to clean the kitchen while they watched TV. I got to sit on the verandah in the after-dinner sun and in their company.

I got to spend hours earlier today with Nan making progress on respite carers for Poppy and cuddling her when she cried.

I got to wish Poppy a happy day this morning as he boarded his bus to take him for his day out.

I got to walk solo on the beach with the wind in my ears.

I read a lot.

Today was a good day.

“What are you listening to?” Dad asks me as I walk into the kitchen with headphones in and fill up my glass of water.

“Nothing, yet. I’m going to a meeting soon. ‘Tis the season where I need a meeting.” I reply cheerfully. Expressing my truth, but sugar-coating it with humour so that it is palatable to the family who is estranged from showing much emotion.

“Oh, I am sorry. We aren’t making it easier,” he replies. “It’s very cool what you’re doing. Good for you.”

“Thank you, Daddio. If I go and spend an hour in there, I’ll be a much nicer person the rest of Christmas night”

“How could you possibly get any nicer?” he asks. No sarcasm that is the signature family brand. No jest. No test. Just love. He means every word he just said and I tear up.

I wasn’t always this nice.

I wasn’t always nice at all.

I am not always nice now, but I do a much better job than I used to.

“I feel more myself now than I ever have. I feel more like myself every day.”

“You’ve always been this Lauren,” my best friend of more than half my life replies. “I have always known this Lauren and she is awesome. For a long time, I felt like only those who loved you got this Lauren. You’d be a different one around different people and I was never sure what one would show up where. It’s so nice to see everyone getting the real Lauren everywhere now.”

Lovely reader, head into the comments and tell me you’re proud of me because I am three years sober today and I am very proud of me. I can also assure you I have not done any of this alone, I am feeling very grateful.

here are three things i struggled with this week:

📱 I still don’t know how I feel about being back on instagram, but you can’t say I’m not trying!

⏰ All the clocks changed in one part of the world and they changed another way in the other and let’s just say it’s an adjustment for everyone. But for the person living in one of those changes and working in the other, it’s taking some time.

📖 Only so many hours in the day, only so many days left in this housesit to say hey to Little Loz and finish reading Roald Dahl’s The Witches, borrowed from their bookshelf.

here are three blessings from this week:

☀️ Is it still summer? It sure feels like it Down Under. It’s been so long that I forgot what “Autumn” was like here.

🌊 I am back by the ocean and it is bliss.

🪲 Advice from my Dad.

here are three goals for the coming week:

🪷 I am doing a course, and one of the elements is meditating three times a day. So I am doing that and that is a goal.

🚉 New week, new location coming up. Cuddles from Nan and Pop are in order!

🧩 One piece of the comeback puzzle at a time.

pics or it didn’t happen: