2,300 days.

I got a notification from my sobriety counter app on Friday night saying I hit that many days without alcohol. It’s been easier for me to comprehend that I am a little over two months away from hitting six and a half years; counting it all out in days has me realizing the weight of sobriety and time.

I quit drinking shortly before my 28th birthday. It became apparent to me that I was using it to cope with trauma I spent years trying to avoid. At some point, being in my late 20s and sick from drinking too much Fireball looked much more sad and pathetic than when I was 22. It was sad then, too, though. It’s easier to run away from the past and self-medicating with self-destruction, but it always catches up with you.

There were no programs or support groups, only committing to actually opening up in therapy about what happened to me in hockey. I replaced whatever drinking habits I had at home with anything else — my cocktail making days was replaced with learning how to make espresso drinks. I started trying out NA beers when I got to a point mentally where I broke away from the urge to down a bottle of bourbon whenever something went wrong. Recently, I’ve gotten into making matcha drinks at home. It’s been nice having these options available.

Miraculously, I haven’t had an urge to drink in years. Processing has been difficult, but of course it is. I have to talk about a string of events that most, presumably, would never want to think about if it happened to them. The fact that I have been able to stay sober despite dredging up the worst memories week after week is either a testament to therapy working or sheer will; I haven’t decided which.

In my senior thesis semester of college, I went to see Hot Water Music play at Slim’s¹. “Trusty Chords” was a given on the set. Yelling “it’s Jameson, it means that I’m not dead” in the pit felt relatable at the time. That probably wasn’t a good sign, though. But I went to as many concerts I could fit into my schedule that semester. This is the only thing that remains a habit from college.

I am constantly seen fucking off to concerts all over the Southwest or New Jersey. Impulsively, I went to the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame induction ceremony in Los Angeles last November. As far as habits go, seeing Olivia Rodrigo and Feist cover The White Stripes to induct them into the hall of fame is much more memorable than the bourbon. I can’t even tell you how the bourbon tastes anymore, but I can say that I’ve seen Janelle Monáe cover “Hey Ya” for the OutKast tribute.

Staying aware of maintaining sobriety always gets to the front of my mind. So while I haven’t had any cause to worry about relapsing, I worry about possibly falling to opioids, so much that I try to stay proactive. I’m sober and I don’t abuse opioids and go to concerts, so I’m probably doing pretty well all things considered.