Humans like to count and measure. At what point does it stop serving its purpose? Who cares what day it is, we’re all just a sip away- it truly doesn’t matter, does it?
The Recovery Elevator app is full of measuring tools. Mine currently says that I’ve gained over 1,000 productivity hours and saved over 300,000 calories, along with a few other cool stats.
Now, it’s super easy. The app pictured above counts my days for me and it’s rarely a thought of mine. It wasn’t always that simple. There were times that I didn’t even bother resetting it, yet- because I slipped, but wanted to make the sure the slip counted, so it went on for days or weeks.
There were times that I turned it off, because I was tired of thinking about the days. And obsessive thoughts were the last thing I needed. Sometimes it would be dormant for months before I had the strength to make another promise to day one.
But eventually, I would turn it on and accomplish a decent stretch of sobriety, meaning over thirty days. The first began in February 2017 and lasted 93 days. I had dinner with a friend and decided to order a drink. I only drank half of it and thought I was cured. After all, I had become that person who leaves behind a drink. I bought a box of wine a few days later. That half drink woke my very sleepy alcoholic voice from a deep slumber, and now it was hungrier than ever.
The next time was towards the end of 2017 and lasted 55 days. That streak ended when my police officer uncle was hit by a car in early 2018(he survived, but with a pretty significant traumatic brain injury). I hadn’t learned to live life on life’s terms yet and the anxiety of his condition, along with whisperings that he was at the wrong hospital for a TBI and should be transported to a better equipped place immediately, was enough stress to wake up my lovely AV who once again, rose with a vengeance.
Next was 127 days starting in spring of 2018. I messed that streak up during the summer, and didn’t get back on track until spring of 2019. I finally had enough of my own bullsh** to significantly pulverize that stupid voice that had such a firm grasp on me.
I’ve always been a fan of counting, even in those first viscous years because it allowed me to see those patterns. But does the actual day count really matter? I’m not so sure.
I still do it because it’s fun, and seeing the days soar is a motivator for me not to break my streak. I love to celebrate the occasional exciting milestone, such as day 777 or 800 (I’m easily amused, and like 7’s and rounded numbers).
Heck, if you really like to celebrate every sober day could be an acceptable reason. I’m known for that. Say, it’s Friday evening and I’m craving some ice cream. I check my counter and see that it’s day 792. I holler out to hubby, “Hey hubz, guess what day it is!”
“Friday!” he replies.
“No, it’s day 792 for me!” I say while clapping my hands. “We need to celebrate! Dairy Queen?” I inquire.
“I’ll grab my keys.” he says, without missing a beat.
Yeah, I think I’ll keep on counting.