I hear that phrase all the time. I feel I should have a medical record with that diagnosis.
I definitely suffer from the disease of more. More booze was destroying my life.
But what about the other things I always crave? More likes on Facebooks. More comments on my photos. More shares of my jokes. More Happy Birthday day posts. (I actually count them.) More compliments. More gifts. More followers. More views.
I have started a coffee addiction. I keep wanting to kick my Diet Coke addiction but I think I will wait until 90 days sober for that attempt.
Internet is addicting. Smartphones are addicting. I deleted my Facebook app to attempt to cut down. I deleted my Foursquare app; the app for more stalkers. More Groupons. (Great to buy sobriety milestone treats.)
Sometimes I feel the AA meetings are like an addiction. Replace the bar with a room full of dry drunks. Instead of venting your frustrations to a bartender, you vent it to a room of addicts. Sometimes it seems some people are there to help others because they want to stroke their own ego. Sometimes people use AA as a crutch like they used to use liquor. The validation they used to get when drinking is being fulfilled by sharing in discussions. They are obsessed with steps. Jonesing for a daily meeting.
I need to develop an addiction to exercise. More weights. More reps. More miles. More resistance. More burn.
Less junk food. Less depression. Less temptations.
Mistake # 40 – My husband and I started to have parties every weekend. His friends from work would come over. They were Navy guys that lived in the barracks so they loved having an apartment they could chill in. I started to become friends with his friends and their girlfriends. I started to get invited to other parties when my husband was on deployement. At one of these parties, I met a guy, BP. I thought he looked like Vince Vaughn. One night when my husband was on a short deployment, BP started to play footsie with me. I enjoyed the flirting. I liked having more attention.
One drunk night, I let him kiss me. And over time, an affair started. I can not blame the affair on booze. It was my disease of more. I wanted more than what I was finding in my marriage. The affair lasted on and off for two years. It ended because he moved away. But that did not stop me from going to visit him.
We met up in Memphis. I went there with thoughts of trying to figure out what did I want: my marriage or to run off with BP. We got very trashed one night on Beale Street. The next morning, I was puking. Later that day, BP asked me if I took my birth control pill right before my vomiting episode. He asked if I might have thrown up my pill. I was not sure and also did not know what to do. I was naive.
I went back home to my husband. My visit with BP was not as glorious as I hoped. I decided I would work on my marriage. Then my peroid was late. I kept trying to call BP. His roommate kept telling me he wasn’t home. I was confused. I was regretting that drunk night on Beale Street. What would I do if I was pregnant? How could I be sure of who was the father? I told my husband I went to visit my mom when I went to Memphis and returned his calls that I let go to voicemail. Could I continue with a pregnancy and let my husband believe it was his?
My period came 10 days late. So I guess this is actually more of an almost-mistake.