“Can I have the uh, turkey bacon, egg whites…I mean that sandwich right there?” I slowly pointed at the sandwich I was eyeing. I couldn’t even clearly state what I wanted to eat at the Starbucks inside the airport. The woman behind the counter looked at me, smiled and nodded as she probably does to all the tired folks waiting on their flights, and grabbed my breakfast item. I shook my head and smiled. “Sorry, I guess I’m not fully awake yet this morning,” I said to her.
I have been up since 2:45 AM and went to sleep shortly after midnight. Not because I was drunk, but because I packed at the last minute and then stayed on the phone for hours. So yes, I am exhausted. But this type of tired is the good kind.
Before quitting drinking, mornings on the day of travel often looked drastically different from how my morning today looks.
How many mornings have I stumbled into an airport still smelling like the liquor I was guzzling the night before, barely packed and praying I didn’t forget anything important? How many times have I anxiously gone through airport security, my hands shaking with early signs of withdrawal as I held my ID and boarding pass, searching the terminal for its airport bars? I wanted to see how many places there were to drink. I moved around and went to each one separately in an attempt to not make it blatantly obvious that I was trying to drink at least four before my flight that was departing in two hours. How often did I go to these bars as early as 7 AM, rapidly scanning the other patrons’ glasses to ensure that I was not the only one consuming alcohol first thing in the morning? To feel a sense of belonging? To feel a little less shameful?
I’ll be twenty-one months sober on the 28th of August, and I’m grateful that the fatigue I am experiencing at the airport is simply from lack of sleep and nothing else. I won’t arrive at my final destination, relieved and shocked that I successfully flew internationally during a black out. I won’t be throwing up on my flight. I won’t be spending over a hundred dollars on expensive drinks that will barely keep me satiated until I reach my destination. I won’t be holding the little plastic airline cup with two hands to avoid shaking and spilling the little airplane bottle of vodka I bought.
Before getting sober, no matter how far I would travel, I had no vacation from my drinking. I was trapped. This morning I’m tired, but more importantly, I’m grateful to be free from alcohol’s hold on me today.
