Presently Sober

I figured since I blogged about this during my sober journey, it’s probably time I unleash my inner Carrie Bradshaw and talk about dating from an un-sober perspective. Brace yourselves.

As my horoscope recently predicted, I’ve been dating a lot lately. I’m not sure why that is, although according to the AstroTwins, it’s because Venus and Mars united in my star sign making my love life “hot AF” (their words, not mine). That may be the case, but in simpler terms, I’m trying to keep myself open to new possibilities. I’ve spent the last two-ish years in a vicious ex cycle, trying things out with the same person(s) over and over again, hoping for different results every time. Einstein calls that the definition of “insanity” and boy, did he hit the nail on the head there.

So, I’m seeing what’s out there and to put it mildly, Los Angeles doesn’t disappoint. I’ve met some really great guys. Actors, writers, musicians, even a dude with a law degree. The date locations have been solid, the conversations, endless. But, at the end of each night, I got in my car and thought “nah”. Why is that?

I’ve come up with a couple of reasons:

1) Good wine has the ability to make me like just about any one in the moment.
2) I didn’t feel a spark. (Though I think the idea of a “spark” is actually a load of B.S.)
3) He didn’t seem all the interested in me.
4) I just wanted to get home to my dog.

All solid reasons, right? Ok, probably not, but I did come up with one reason that seems pretty decent. I think I’m in a selfish phase.

Now, for those of you reading this who know me, you may be thinking “duh”. I’ve always been a bit selfish, it’s definitely one of my biggest character flaws. But, I think for the first time in my life, I’m in a positive selfish phase.

I watched LALA Land last night, for the hundredth time, and came to the conclusion that this film justifies everything I’ve been thinking for the last ten years. I’m just not meant to be with someone right now. I’ve spent ten years building a career. I’ve made so many sacrifices and been through so much heartache that the last thing I need to do is jeopardize all of that for another struggling actor/writer/musician/lawyer, regardless of how great he looks without his shirt on.

I want to stay focused and immersed in my goals, and wanting that makes me kinda selfish.

Apparently, Marilyn Monroe once said, “A career is great, but it doesn’t keep you warm at night”. (She may not have said that. I saw that quote in pretty-meme form, on Instagram, posted by a teenager in Ohio). Regardless, I think it’s crap. Sure, my career may not have the ability to spoon me at 2am, but it gets me out of bed every morning with a big smile on my face. The possibilities of the career I’ve chosen, are endless. My life could change at the drop of a hat. All it takes is one great audition or the right person reading my stuff. That could happen on any day, at any time, and I think that’s really freaking exciting. So, I stay hopeful, and selfish, because when that call comes, I want to be free from any emotional responsibility to another person.

Does this mean I stop dating? Not at all. In fact, I have one tonight. But, it does mean I’m more honest, with myself and with him. I’m not looking for a relationship. I prefer to keep myself warm at night (with a little help from the above-mentioned dog). But, if you want to grab a drink and talk about anything but “the business”, let’s do it. Who knows, maybe I’ll turn out to be a giant hypocrite and fall head over heels. I’m just not going to make that the point of dating any more. I’m keeping myself open, but I’m also keeping myself first.

I need to retract a few statements I’ve made both on this blog and in person.

Since going un-sober last year, (and then sober, and then un-sober again), I’ve devoted a lot of this safe space to talking about “the industry”. I’ve also spent some of my free time talking to young actors and giving them advice about “the industry”. In these blog posts and conversations, I’ve shared some personal thoughts and experiences within said industry, and not all of them have been positive. That’s because, some not-so-positive, scary, and unfortunate situations have occurred in the last ten years I’ve been pursuing this career, and I felt the need to share that information, in hopes that it wouldn’t happen to someone else. Seems pretty normal, right?

That’s what I thought too, until about a week ago.

I recently met someone who, in one phone converastion, lifted a ten year-old weight off of my shoulders.

We were talking about career stuff and he asked me a question about my networking experiences. Now, I pride myself on my ability to network and run a business, so I knew I was about to blow this dude’s mind with who I know and what I know. However, before the mind-blowing could begin, I had to let him know, in a very feminist, maybe even slightly condescending tone of voice that, the industry we’re in is (and I quote) “very different for men, than it is women”.

How many ladies in the business (or any business for that matter) just thought, “well DUH!”? I mean, let’s be honest it is different (ex: wage gap, ageism, read some of the breakdowns put out for women). But, don’t we all know that at this point? Why’d I feel the need to school my new, attractive, white, male, successful actor-friend on what it’s like being an actress?

My new, attractive, white, male, successful actor-friend answered this question for me a few minutes later. He gave me a little advice, more like a challenge, if you will. He asked me to start thinking about the business differently. He encouraged me to look at the industry I am in as nothing but positive. He pointed out that the most successful people in this business, the ones at the very top, are actually some of the nicest people you’ll ever meet. And all those “not-so-positive, scary, and unfortunate situations” don’t happen nearly as often as the oh-so-positive, thrilling, foruntate situations.

I gotta admit, my new, attractive, white, male, successful actor-friend was right. 100% right. I’ve been lucky enough to meet some incredible and successful people, and I’ve never felt anything but comfortable and appreciated in their presence. And my wins, definitely out-weigh my losses.

Then why do I feel the need to tell every newbie I meet about the one time a fake producer lured me to his apartment and tried to get me to go down on him by promising me the “lead role” in his “big movie”?

Because for some reason, that my therapist will have to explain to me later, I’ve been making my Hollywood story a tragedy and not a triumph.

Tonight, I say enough of that. You know what? These last ten years have been great, they’ve actually been pretty amazing. I was leaving the gym tonight and I sat in my car for an extra second before starting the engine and just thought “you’ve made a pretty good life for yourself, Amelia”.

So, that’s the story I’m going to start telling. When I meet a newbie, I’m going to tell them about the time I learned a Scottish accent in three days to audition for the show “Once Upon A Time” (and killed it). I’m going to tell them how good it feels to watch your friends recur on a network show, or show up in the latest Tom Hanks flick, or get a contract on a Soap. I’m going to encourage them to explore every creative outlet this city has to offer (and there’s a shit-ton of ’em). I’m going to make sure they know that yes, this career is a marathon, not a sprint, but if you love it, you’ll never get winded.

I wake up every single day, and I am exactly where I want to be, doing exactly what I want to be doing, being exactly who I’ve always wanted to be.

I just needed a little help to see that. And maybe you did too.

 

Editor’s Note: Inequality in the workplace is a very real thing and I encourage anyone reading this to help us fight to close the wage gap and ensure that regardless of age, sex, or race, people are paid fairly for the work they do. Write to your congressmen and women, speak up when you see something, and use your voice to help others.  

 

At the end of last summer, something really cool happened to me. I was sitting at home, binge watching old episodes of “Sister Wives”, when my phone rang. Now, as an actor, there’s nothing better than the sound your phone makes when you get an email. That combination of dings makes my heart fall into my butt faster than if I get a text from my ex-boyfriend (which one? I’m not telling).

The beautiful “buh dah doop” sounded and I sprang for my phone thinking “please be an audition, please be an audition”. It was not an audition, but it still caught my eye.

This email was from a New York based producer, who shall remain nameless, but for dramatic effect, let’s call him, Mr. J.

Mr. J was reaching out to me because he had somehow stumbled across my blog, (yes, this blog, the one you’re reading right now), and he liked what he read. He explained that his company, though new-ish, had a pretty sweet investment deal (my words, not his, his were much more professional and dream-making), and that he wanted to talk to me about possibly turning my blog, (yes, this one), into a movie.

I read the email, I chuckled, I thought “yeah right, scammer”, and then, I got curious. I looked Mr. J and his company up on IMDb. To my surprise, they were legit. Yeah, they didn’t have many credits under their belt, but the credits they did have had nice budgets and big names. I wasn’t dealing with some kid in his mom’s basement, or that Hollywood douche who wears a “Producer” hat to parties thinking it’ll get him laid. These guys were the real deal and they liked my writing and they were making me an offer I literally couldn’t refuse.

I jumped up and down for a second, let out a solid girl-squeal, then sat down to compose a brief, professional, charming response.

A few days later I was on the phone with Mr. J talking budgets and option deals and writing. I spent weeks going back and forth between the producers and my agents, negotiating contracts. About a month after that first email, I signed an option deal.

To say I was on cloud 9 would be an understatement. I always knew I wanted to be an actor, but someone was giving me a platform to not only act, but write my story, a story I was passionate about, a story I was proud of. I was beyond grateful and ecstatic. 365 days of going stone cold sober really paid off, right?

Wrong.

Everything was going really well. Mr. J flew to LA and we spent a weekend discussing acting, writing, books, love, and life over a couple of dinners. If I’m being completley honest, I was smitten. I remember going to our first dinner meeting thinking that’s all it was; a dinner meeting. When I walked in and saw Mr. J standing at the bar, I thought “hubba hubba”. I found myself flirting before the waiter could even come take our drink order.

After that weekend, Mr. J and I stayed in touch. He would text me about the script or just to say hi or to send me a picture of a cute dog. One day, I came home to a package on my doorstep from Mr. J. It was a giant bag of licorice, which I had told him was my favorite (although, if you’re reading this Mr. J, I said red licorice was my favorite, and you sent me black, gross).

In between texts and gifts, I was writing. I was writing… All. The. Time. Some days I wrote more than others. Some days I didn’t feel like writing so I forced myself to do it, only to delete the un-inspired mess a few hours later. I was writing dilligentally, I was holding up my end of the deal, unfortunately, Mr. J was not.

To make this long story a bit shorter, the next time Mr. J came to LA, it didn’t go so well. He had reached out to make plans, we had confirmed plans, and then the day of said plans, Mr. J ghosted. The last text I got from him said something along the lines of “Will let you know what the plan is for tonight. Can’t wait to see you!” He never let me know what the plan was that night. I sat on my couch fully dressed, hair and make-up ready for hours, waiting on his call, which never came.

At first I thought something terrible had happened, which is a normal reaction to have when you care about someone and trust them and they do something out of character. It didn’t take long for me to realize that Mr. J was completely fine, he just blew me off. I called, I texted, I emailed, I stuck my agents on him. This all happened two months ago. I still have yet to hear from Mr. J.

So, as far as I’m concerned, I no longer have an option deal. As quickly as that unrealized dream came true, it was squashed.

And I’m not going to lie, that really freaking hurts. Both on a personal, and professional level, it hurts.

I’ve gone through a few emotions dealing with all of this. At first I felt stupid. How could I have let myself trust this guy? I’ve been here before, I’ve heard those Hollywood-Producer Hat Wearing-Douchecanoes go on their rants about how they want to make me a “star”. Mr. J wasn’t that guy though. He was humble, and kind. He listened when I spoke, he looked me in the eye, he seemed to value my opinons and trust my creativity. He wasn’t a producer cliche. So, I stopped feeling stupid and instead, I felt anger. I was angry at myself for thinking something this good could happen to me and I was angry at Mr. J for breaking our contract. I was angry at the universe for showing me what it feels like to get what you want, only to yank it away a few months later. Then I felt sorry. I felt sorry for Mr. J because I have a hunch this all has to do with money. I think they offered me an option deal and at the end of the day, they couldn’t pay up, so they vanished. If that’s the case, then yeah, I feel sorry for them because I know what it feels like to want to create and tell stories, only to get held back by something as frustrating as money. The three scripts sitting in my iCloud know that feeling all too well.

And now, I’m just hurt. I think this one is going to sting for a little while, but that’s okay. I’ll find some creative and cathartic way to heal the wound and move on from it all.

Before I move on though, I have some final thoughts for Mr. J.

I read something recently that said, “wish someone the best as if you have all the power in the world to make their dreams come true”.

And with that in mind…

Mr. J- I wish you the best. I hope you make wonderful work. I hope you continue to make movies. I hope you tell meaningful stories that leave you inspired. I hope the road gets easier, and even more fulfilling. I hope you find success in everything you do. I hope you never make a promise you can’t keep, ever again. But, more than anything, I hope you are happy.

Eight years ago, I broke up with the love of my life (I promise there’s a point to this story). During “the talk”, he said something to me that’s stuck with me all these years later. He told me I was “the most resilient person” he had ever met. I had no idea at the time, how much that meant to me, but eight years later, I think about that talk almost on a daily basis. Especially in 2016.

That’s because 2016 was a tough one, and I don’t think I’m the only one who feels that way.

I was going to make this post all about me (because it is my blog after all). I was going to talk about my career successes this year. I was going to tell you guys about all the cool things I’ve gotten to do the past couple of months. I was even going to delve a little into my personal life and let you all in on my current situation. But then I decided not to because, well, 2016 was a tough one, and it just seemed weird to finish off my 2016 blogs with a “me” themed post.

Instead, this is what I’m going to say. I love new year’s resolutions (duh). I know a lot of people think they’re lame and pointless, but they’re kind of my thing. So, if you’re reading this, I encourage you to make new year’s resolutions your thing in 2017.

Now, I’m not saying you should swear off alcohol for a year (because that’s crazy), or tell yourself you’ll go to the gym once a day for 365 days (everyone needs a cheat day). I’m not even suggesting you quit smoking (though, you probably should).

Start small. Promise yourself to be resilient. Promise yourself that no matter what happens in 2017, you’ll not only live through it, you’ll thrive through it. Tell yourself that on December 26th 2017, you’ll sit back and say “I did it”.

Maybe you think this is super cheesy or ridiculous, but it isn’t. In fact, making a new year’s resolution and sticking to it feel really freaking good. Trust me. I once stopped drinking for an entire year because of a new year’s resolution.

See you guys next year.

Editor’s note: I spilled an entire bottle of nail polish remover on my keyboard last month and have yet to get a new one, so if there are any “e”, “w”, “a”, or “q”s missing from this post, I’m not illiterate, just clumsy.

I think I’m having my annual identity crisis. I’ve spent the last hour or so walking around my apartment yelling, “who am I?!”. Every time I do this, my dog looks at me, like he’s desperately searching for the right words to say, but he can’t say them because… he’s a dog. I’ve been staring at myself the same way, in between bouts of angsty shouting, only I can’t equate my lack of response to not being human.

I am- a human. I guess that’s a good place to start.

But that’s not enough. This time last year, I felt like “enough”. That was my biggest take-away from my year of sobriety, “I am enough”. And though, I couldn’t exactly explain what that meant, I felt it with every breath and every bone in my body, and that for me was, well, enough.

I tended bar at a Hollywood party yesterday, and at one point, I looked up from behind the half-empty bottles of Rose, and I scanned the room. I took stock of every writer, director, actor, and Hollywood elite around me, and I’ve never felt smaller. I stood there for a moment, doubting that I would ever get out from behind that bar.(Metaphorically speaking, of course. My shift ended at 4pm and I was ready to blow that popscicle stand).

What makes me different from these people? What am I missing? Who do I gotta sleep with in this town to get to where they are? (Kidding, Mom).

I think I was asking myself the wrong questions. What I should be asking is:

Why do I care? What does it matter? Where did Amelia 2015 go, and can we get her back?!

Amelia 2015 was the best. She didn’t care about status or ego. She never felt small. And she certainly wasn’t missing anything (except her ex, but she’s gotten over that in 2016).

Talking in third person is gross, but you get my point.

I’ve spent most of this year trying to get back to the person I was last year and I’ve spent most of this year, blaming my lack of self on my lack of sobriety. I’ve probably said it a thousand times, just this week (and it’s only Monday), “I miss who I was sober”. But, I just realized, who I was last year, has NOTHING to do with being sober. Sure, my sobriety was a catalyst to self discovery and being bored and alone and drink-less forced me to really get to know myself, but why has it been such a struggle to maintain that sense of self this year? I don’t think alcohol is to blame, actually, I think blaming alcohol is a cowardice cop-out.

Truth is, I got lazy. I stopped sitting with myself. Just sitting and being and being okay with that. Currently, I take on any distraction that will actually prevent me from having to sit with myself, and I don’t think that’s because I’m depressed, or scared, or worried I might find something I don’t like. I think I just got really fucking lazy.

So, back to the big question of the night. “Who am I”? Well, I’m not a lazy human, so that bad habit has got to go. And I’m not a sober person, and that’s okay. And I’m certainly not a Hollywood elite, despite the recent success of my B-rated horror film (shameless plug). Still doesn’t answer my question, though. Who I am not, doesn’t tell me, who I am.

Maybe it’s like Eckhart Tolle and Michael Singer say we just “are”. Maybe I’m a robot living in a theme park controlled by Anthony Hopkins. Maybe I’m a crazy dog mom looking for answers in all the wrong places. Maybe I need to sit with myself a little longer.

Maybe that’s just what I’ll do.

Thanks for working through this one with me, guys.

 

Six years ago, I got a job as a personal assistant to a restaurant/bar owner, who had two very important rules, don’t date his employees and don’t date his friends (I realize now those are weird and inappropriate boundaries to set for someone you just hired). Unfortunately for my new boss, I was in a rebellious early 20’s phase, which meant every day was opposite day, so I heard “do” instead of “don’t”.

Fast forward, two weeks later, and I am crushing HARD on the bar manager, who also happens to be my boss’ roommate. Whoops.

One night, my boss asked me to stay late and help close down the bar. I jumped at the chance to spend some extra time with my new crush. We ended up staying at the bar, drinking and talking and “working” until 4am. When we realized how late it was, he walked me to my car and gave me the most memorable first kiss I’ve ever had. Needless to say, I was smitten after that.

The relationship developed the way most LA flings do and fizzled out, the way most LA flings do, and then went back-and-forth for a few months, the way most LA flings do. Even though we clearly were not meant to be, I held onto hope for a while because, well, I loved the guy.

I lost any and all of that hope on this day, five years ago when I got a call telling me he was “gone”. The first thing I asked was, “Where did he go?”. I didn’t get it. My brain physically could not comprehend the information it was being given. He was, what? Dead? He did what? Wait, suicide? “But, I talked to him two days ago.”, I told my friend on the other line before my legs gave out and I dropped my phone as I fell to the ground.

I’ve carried a lot of regret around for the last five years. I wish I would’ve told him how I really felt. I wish I hadn’t been such a bitch when he reached out before he died. I wish I could’ve helped him. I wish… I wish…. I wish….

I bring this up now, today, not only because it’s the five year anniversary, but also because last year, something happened that made me understand this tragedy more, and I think I’m ready to talk about it.

I’ve written a lot about anxiety and depression and how sobriety effects those things, and I’ve written about my own struggles with all of the above, to an extent. What I haven’t written about is how dark it got.

Last year, a little over half-way through my year of sobriety, I considered suicide. I held a bottle of prescription pills in my hand, opened the lid, and stared down at twenty capsules, wondering if it was enough to get the job done. When I realized what I was about to do and heard the thoughts I was having, I called my sister. She was at a concert with some friends, but came rushing over to sit with me while I sobbed.

“I think I kind of understand how [he] felt”, I remember telling my sister.

Of course, we have no way of really knowing how anyone thinks or feels right before they take their own life, and it would be unfair of us to assume we do. But, for the first time, I could understand the darkness and the desperate need for relief.

I think that night, I got really lucky. I was lucky to have someone I could call who I trusted and who I knew would help me. And I was lucky that I was sober.

That sounds a bit contradictory seeing as how my sobriety started it all and sent me into a tailspin of depression and anxiety, I know, but I also know that had I been under the influence with those dark and twisty thoughts, I wouldn’t have had that moment of clarity to call and ask for help.

Alcohol and drugs do not lend a helpful hand when you are struggling. We all know this. We’ve seen the PSA’s and sat through the D.A.R.E. classes. We’ve come down from a night of hard partying, only to completely despise ourselves. These substances may seem like they’re making it better in the moment, but they aren’t. Period. In fact, it’s making it all worse.

If you’re struggling, reach out and speak up. It’s easier said than done, but do it anyways, because it does get better.

I wish I could have told him that.

An interesting thing happens when you sober up. I’ve done it twice now and both times I’ve declared “I’m sober!”, the Universe has responded with, “Let’s put it to the test!”.

I was with a friend the other night, and we were re-capping all the exciting stuff from our week. I talked about some writing I had done, and a new hike I found, and probably talked too much about all the hysterical stuff my dog did over the weekend. My friend told me all about their weekend full of sex, drugs, and rock n’ roll (literally). They went into exquisite, play-by-play detail of where they went, what was ingested, and who they left with. I listened to each word with nothing but envy.

For a moment, I thought about giving up my sobriety because, for a moment, staying out until sunrise just to see how many shots I could take and what I could put up my nose and how many phones I put my number in only to forget the next day, sounded like so. much. fun.

Thankfully, the moment was fleeting and as quickly as I whined, “No fair!”, I had snapped back to my sober reality, which really isn’t all that bad.

But, this got me thinking. And before I go any further, I want to say now, that I am not passing judgement. I’m observing, and have grown more and more curious, as to why some things are the way they are.

Why is it acceptable for us to engage with one another when we are incoherent or even incapacitated?

Why do so many social interactions REQUIRE alcohol and/or drugs?

Why do we need these crutches to hold basic conversations?

How did “liquid courage” become our norm?

Why can’t we have fun without it?

What the EFF are we so afraid of?

I realize asking these questions makes me sound like a square, which is a risk I’m willing to take because I really want to know. And I really want to know because I’m guilty of doing all of these things I’m now questioning, and I HAVE NO IDEA WHY!

I’ll be the first one to say, sobriety can be really boring. I want to blame my friends for not calling or my lack of a boyfriend or my dog for not being able to talk, but at the end of the day, sobriety is boring because I’m hiding in my room behind a blog, too afraid to see what people are doing on a Friday night because if I get shot down, my sober ego won’t be able to take the hit.

Even now, I feel empowered, strong, and independent in most of my daily activities, but if you “dare” me to text the guy I like to see if he wants to Netflix and chill, I immediately change my request to “truth”.

Maybe it’s just me and this is all some deep-seeded dirty laundry I need to keep in my closet and/or therapist’s office, but maybe it isn’t, and maybe sometimes we all get a little anxious by the idea of interacting with one another without holding onto a glass of wine. Maybe it’s just easier for all of us to hide. You can hide behind your cocktail in plain sight, and I’ll stay in my room until I decide to drink again because I don’t want to see yours and I sure as shit don’t want to show you mine (personalities, not genitals, get your head out of the gutter).

At the end of the day, we’re all just skin sacks, clinging to a massive rock, moving through pitch black infinite space, controlled by something we can not conceive. And what’s so scary about that?

Can we do this? Can we be present and confident and honest without a minimum 5% alcohol by volume? Can we have dinner without drinks? (I did last night and it was great). Can we just be our-damn-selves and can that PLEASE be enough?!

I really hope I pass the Universe’s test and these don’t just turn out to be trick questions

Woot! One week sober (again)! So how does it feel?!

Well, I’m so bloated that while I was checking out at the grocery store earlier, someone said “congratulations”, and I’m pretty sure I just hacked up an actual piece of my lung.

Sobriety is really doing wonders for my sex appeal.

But seriously, it feels freaking great. I feel like I’m back on track. I can’t remember the last time I went a week without a drink or a cigarette (just kidding, yes I can, it was 2015, but you get what I’m trying to say).

My first week sober was easy. My mom came to town and while she was here we realized history was repeating itself. She had come to visit me during my first week of sobriety last year, and I remember being super grateful to have her there because she helped keep me on track. This time around was no different. Eva doesn’t let me get away with much, so even if I wanted to drink or smoke (which I did), it wasn’t going to happen on her watch.

We had a great weekend. She came to surprise me with two of our family friends and we spent three straight days laughing and exploring and eating. One of these friends is a nineteen year old aspiring actress, who reminds me a lot of myself ten years ago. She’s hopeful and determined, although definitely more mature than I was at nineteen. I can tell she means it when she says she wants to be an actress and I can tell she’s going to give this city hell once she moves here.

I guess my first weekend sober, with these amazing people, made me really grateful for present and cognitive interactions. I forgot how good it feels to sit across the table from someone and listen to every word they say. I forgot how good it feels to laugh until I cry. I forgot how good it feels to wake up bright and early to have coffee with my Mama. I forgot how good it feels to go to bed at 10pm. I forgot how good it feels to feel like I’m enough without a drink in my hand.

Yeah, I’d say this week was packed full of friendly reminders.

 

That’s right folks, I’m two days in to a new sober challenge, and so far so good.

Yesterday, I spent the better half of the day nursing a pretty solid hangover and reflecting on things I won’t miss about drinking (that hangover being at the very top of the list).

So, okay, hangovers are an obvious one, but what else am I happy to bid adeu?

There’s one thing in particular.

One of my favorite female comedians is Iliza Schlesinger and she has this great stand-up bit about “party goblins”. We all got ’em and they’re all terrible.

My party goblin lives in a dark cave somewhere in my cerebral cortex. Most of the time, party goblin is passed out behind a dumpster with visions of empty wine bottles dancing in her head, but when she wakes up, Lord help us.

It doesn’t take much to awaken my party goblin, just a few sips of a chilled white wine and party goblin is up and ready to take over the rest of my night. You see, party goblin does all the stuff Amelia gets to regret the next day. Party goblin challenges Amelia to smoke as many cigarettes as possible in a four hour period. Party goblin tells Amelia she needs to take that double shot of whiskey. Party goblin starts telling all of Amelia’s deep dark secrets to anybody that will listen. Party goblin whispers “call him” as Amelia walks home from the bar. Party goblin is that friend you had in college that you only went out with because she’d get so drunk and weird that she actually made you look better. In short, party goblin sucks.

See, it’s easy and even kind of funny to blame your poor life choices on a mystical character that you’ve made up so that you don’t have to face the reality that when you drink, it’s you that sucks, not the goblin. Because just like the tooth fairy and the Easter bunny, party goblins don’t actually exist (sorry to burst your bubble). That means, whatever I do when I drink, is on me, and when I wake up the next morning and regret something I said or did, there’s no one to blame but myself.

So, starting today (well, technically, yesterday), I no longer believe in the party goblin. I recognize that sometimes I don’t always make great choices and I have to take responsibility for that.

I want to know more about that part of myself, the part that continues to let alcohol affect her decision making in a negative way. I want to put myself back in the same situations, take away the booze, and see if I still have the urge to do or say the same things. My guess is that I won’t because as we all know, alcohol gives us a reason to release our inhibitions. But why are my inhibitions so aggressive and dramatic? What part of me feels so trapped on a daily basis that the second I give it a release, it unleashes what feels like months of pent up, attention-seeking angst, onto the closest, innocent bystander?

I’m hoping to have a few solid answers for you guys in the next four months.

Tonight, I reached out to a friend, turned spirit-guide/guru, because frankly, I felt like I was going to explode. And the only guidance he gave me was, “write”.

I’ve reached out to a lot of friends and family in the last month or so and have had a lot of private, intimate, obnoxiously repetitive conversations about where I am with my sobriety, well, to be honest, where I am with my lack of sobriety.

You’ve probably noticed, I haven’t blogged much lately. I mean, I’ve posted a few things here and there about career stuff, and fun drink recipes, but I haven’t really been posting, at least not the way I did last year. And that is because I’ve been hiding in a dark, twisty corner next to my eight-year-old self (who has returned to beating her head against a wall), desperately trying to get my shit together, and failing miserably.

During one of the previously mentioned conversations, specifically with my mother, she said something that struck a chord with me. “Baby, your life didn’t end on January 1st of this year. You’re still here and you’re still that girl”. If that’s true, then why I haven’t I felt like that girl recently? Why do I miss that girl so much?

I miss who I was when I was sober. I was strong. I was emotionally aware. I was present. I was so positive it even annoyed me sometimes. Sure, things didn’t exactly “go right” last year, but I spent every day feeling comfortable and confident and beautiful in my own skin for the first time in my entire life.

Lately, I’ve been itching to get out of the skin I find myself living in and second guessing everything I’ve ever blogged about.

It’s really confusing. Even right now, trying to put what I’m feeling and what I’ve experienced this year into words, is difficult. I’m confused because last year, I stayed sober and diligent and nothing “good” came of it. I lost my job, I got hurt a lot, I was lonely and sad and had more emotional breakdowns than a Taylor Swift album. But I found myself through all of that. I became a person I was proud of at the end of it all. This year, I’ve been drinking and smoking and not giving a whole lot of eff’s, but I’ve had a lot of career success and I’ve had a lot of fun.

I’m scared to be sober again because I don’t want to lose the fun and the success and the highs I’ve had this year. I worry that if I’m sober again it will all stop. I’ll stop booking jobs. My friends will stop calling. My dating life will go out the window. All the materialistic “cons” from last year will return and I’ll find myself binging red licorice and Nicholas Sparks’ movies on a Friday night, wishing I was flirting with the cute bartender at my favorite neighborhood watering hole.

But, then on the other hand, I’m scared if I don’t go sober, if I don’t take the time to stay painfully present and remind myself of who I am in my core, I’m going to lose that person I was so proud of last year.

I’ve had a few friends suggest moderation, which, in theory, sounds like a great idea. But, for the most part, I’ve been pretty moderate about my social habits, and I’m still feeling the need to make a change.

And, as terrified as I am to make said change, I’m going to do it. I’ve set a date, Sepetember 1st, and will go fully sober, once again, for the rest of the year. I realize having a start date is important, but so is having an end date. I’m giving myself a few months to remember who I was sober, the good, the bad, and the ugly-crying. At the end of this year, I’ll re-evaluate, and consider introducing moderate, social drinking back into my life (without smoking).

Now you’re probably thinking, “why should I believe you?”. And I don’t blame you for thinking that. I’ve spent the better half of this year promising you guys I was going sober and would quit smoking, and it was all bullshit. I’ve jumped on and off the wagon so many times in the last few months, I feel like the kid with dysentery in a game of Oregon Trail.

Well, starting September 1st, I’ll be blogging as close to “on a daily basis” as my schedule will allow. No more hiding. You guys will once again be able to follow along on my journey (even when it’s super boring) and hold me accountable for every. single. day.

Until then, if you’re still reading this, thank you. Thank you for not giving up on me and I swear, I won’t give up on her either.