I’m in between brands right now. Like when someone says they’re in between jobs they really mean they’re unemployed. By “in between brands” I mean I don’t have an identity at the moment. I’m currently looking for one. Since getting sober one year ago, I still look normal, but inside I’m actually a personless person…An empty vessel. There’s no one in the driver’s seat. I hope this description of my nonexistence makes sense even though I know it’s hard to make sense of something that doesn’t exist. See, when I poured booze down the toilet, I slipped and flushed my personality. “Whoa, well that’s dark.” It was one weird cocktail swirling down my sewage pipes: vodka, Prosecco, my character, liters of wine, some limoncello.
Someone famous once said never waste a good crisis. So, as the heavy hand of a pandemic struck the globe, I leaned into the blow, letting it hit my reset button. See, living with a constant buzz is always having an Instagram filter on. Yes, this sounds like a cool episode of Black Mirror. Or, maybe at this point you can experience life through Instagram filters with Google Glasses on? But, what happens when you forget you have them on? When you forget you’re not actually wearing makeup, that life isn’t black and white, and that Shrek isn’t giving you a hug? I get it. Some days we all need a hug from that green gentle giant. And, the grass is greener with glitter on it. But, some days were scary. Like that filter that makes your nose look really big. That shit is horrific.
I never took those wine goggles off because my eyes had adjusted. Real life had become blurry without them. I knew I had to take them off eventually. But, “one day” was always “someday” and never “today.” It had become my norm, my comfort.
Whitney Houston made me sober. Because, as I drowned each of the early pandemic days in wine, her puppy eyes looked judgmentally up from my lap… So hypocritical for a rescue with many addictions in her past life. One day, dizzy, hallucinating everything she’d say if dogs could talk, I yelled: “Okay, Whitney Houston we get it!” And, on that day, a day that seemed like any other, I flushed the booze. I might have been fishing for any reason to flush them.
Since that fateful day, I’ve sucked every crumb of direction off the dirtiest corners of the internet, searching for an identity or a definitive perspective on reality. Probably not the best place to turn. I’d like to say I’ve found it, am “rebirthed into the ether,” and invite you to join my cult for a small donation fee. Listen, if I had a cult I would’ve already spread “the good word” by now like every Vegan doing CrossFit: “Yeah spiritual enlightenment, but I just feel better.” Donations would be in Dogecoin: “To achieve salvation tap the link in my bio.” I’d lure horny members with Only Fans photos and trap them into worshiping the god of Sriracha. The only rules for my cult would be no drinking of course and copious amounts of Sriracha. Cult meetings would consist of coming up with ideas for my NFT’s. Basically you’d pay me Dogecoin to work for my business in true cult fashion.
I anonymously asked Reddit: “How to find yourself when newly sober.” User 999 says “___dank that Purp subscribe to my vines.” User Momfucker87 recommends “getting on your knees” (which is open to interpretation). User Reddituser09765 very originally commented, “what he said.” User Herbie25 said “you’re confused because all of these damn gender pronouns.” WoodChuck said “Watch Contagion. It’s the 5g!”
My stomach churned, digesting Reddit users’ conflicting advice as The Notebook played in the background: “If you’re a bird I’m a bird.” “Whitney, if you’re a dog I’m a dog,” I purred to my pet as I laid on my back, scratching my own ass… I’m not sure when the last time was I’d showered. Maybe I should ask Reddit.
I found out I had social anxiety “IRL” when sober. When my therapist suggested I try talking to people off the internet, I decided to practice on the homeless down my block. Worst case I embarrass myself and they’ll think they just hallucinated our conversation when I walk away. Best case, I’ve made new friends who seem far less judgmental than Whitney Houston. But also worst case, I make those new friends. Maybe I should wait until I have an identity to make friends with the homeless. I could see myself getting talked into living under an overpass, on the outskirts of society. When I put it like that it sounds kind of cool. But, the whole sobriety thing would be an issue. Isn’t it important to diversify your friend group. Or, is that stocks? Either way it sounds like a win win. And, I didn’t exactly have high hopes of finding “sober” friends in Los Angeles anyways, where “creative inspiration” is sold on every corner along with lost dreams and waitressing jobs. It’s an intoxicating culture.
Telling my drinking stories to Homeless Harry was a hoot. So, I turned to a bigger audience, Alcoholics Anonymous, where I would surely become best friends with both Demis. Demi Lovato will lift my spirits when I crave spirits, serenading me: “What’s wrong with being Confident ohohoh!” (Maybe Whitney Houston will duet with her). And, Demi Moore will invite me to quarantine in her mansion: “Noel, you have to tell Rumor that story about the Comedy Central Pitch… oh my god, listen, it was soooo good!”
I’m expecting an invite any day now. Since the meetings have all been “socially distant” on zoom, there’s no way to know for sure if they were in the audience. But, I’m pretty sure. I keep rehearsing my best stories just in case. I’ve even hired editors and comedy writers because I need them to be gut wrenchingly funny. I practice in the mirror and kill that “tear jerker moment” where I really go for the jugular, bringing it home in my final act break. If the audience is left in tears (of laughter or sadness) I’m satisfied. This is why so many celebs are in AA, right? For stage time? After working out the kinks in these meetings, I’m hoping to bring my performance onto the big stage (or at least Demi Moore’s holiday parties.)
P.S. Sorry, this wasn’t a self-help article. It’s possibly the opposite. If you read to the end to find some sort of quotable moment, then oops. This is more of a job application only for an identity. “Seeking who I am sober. Qualifications: a blank slate.” Also, writing this article was like getting free therapy (for me, not you of course). Plus, I’m using this time as a tax write off. Anyways, you’re welcome. Thanks for reading.
Oh! P.P.S. I have so much extra time now! And, for the first time in ten years I can see sunrises (not post them). I read. A lot. More because of the novelty of finally being able to enjoy the pages without a hangover. The whole world is novel and new I guess. It’s scary but exhilarating like a near death experience, which is what most who become sober have actually had.
However I choose to reinvent myself with all this free time… whoever I become is better than the life I had before letting this pandemic hit my reset button… Because, this shit is real. It’s solid. It’s unfiltered: “Hi, my name is Noel and I’m an alcoholic.”