109. Not Drinking
CHAPTER 109
NOT DRINKING
MARGAUX
A couple of weeks into our new routine, I approach Timmy with a smile. It’s been a transformative time for me—sobriety feels like peeling away layers of fog I hadn’t realized were there.
“I love you so much,” I say, leaning against the counter. “I feel so much better not drinking. Don’t you?”
He glances up from his hat designs, his brow furrowing slightly. “Uh… yeah. I guess.”
His tone throws me off. I’d expected more enthusiasm.
“I’ve noticed such a difference,” I continue, trying to keep my tone light. “I feel calmer, clearer. My anxiety’s better. Don’t you feel like it’s helping?”
“I haven’t really noticed much,” he says, frowning slightly. “It’s... whatever.”
His lack of enthusiasm stings, but I push past it. I tell myself that change takes time, that not everyone experiences the same transformation.
“How’s your sleep been?” I ask. “Mine has been amazing. I’ve found it easier to fall and stay asleep, and I feel pretty refreshed in the morning.”
He shrugs, the nonchalance almost palpable. “Um, I haven’t really noticed much of a difference, to be honest.”
“Oh.” I pause, searching his face. “I’m sorry. Hopefully yours will click into place soon, too. I honestly just feel so much better.” I smile, trying to bring him into my joy. “The first few days, my dreams were wild, but now they’re so vivid and creative. It’s like my brain is finally waking up.”
“Mmhmm,” he mumbles, returning his attention to the screen.
The energy shifts, and I feel a pang of disappointment. I’d hoped this shared journey of sobriety would bring us closer.
For me, it’s been a revelation—my mind is sharper, my energy calmer, my productivity soaring. I’ve been churning out thousands of words a day, diving back into my work with a clarity I hadn’t felt in months.
My anxiety has lessened, and I’m no longer tiptoeing around invisible landmines.
Timmy’s mood, however, remains unpredictable.
He’s less volatile, but still prone to irritability over small things—sleep, TV shows, or imagined ailments. The absence of alcohol has dulled some of the chaos, but the underlying storm hasn’t disappeared.
He’s been focusing more on his hats, which is good, and I’ve appreciated our shared audiobook sessions on quitting drinking. Discussing each chapter afterward feels like a small connection point, like we’re working toward something together.
But his lack of enthusiasm leaves me wondering— is he really here, or is he just going through the motions?
In the quiet moments, my therapist’s words echo in my mind:
“Even if he improves, it needs to be sustained. And remember, he doesn’t deserve an award for making it to the baseline expectations for how someone should treat you in a relationship.”
It’s progress, yes. He hasn’t been smoking or sneaking off to the tents, and that alone has helped immensely. Those things were often the sparks that ignited our worst fights. But there’s a lingering sense of unease, like I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop.
He still insists on sleeping until noon most days, and his moods swing unpredictably. He’s not drinking, but he’s not thriving either. Sobriety seems to have stripped away some of the destructive chaos, but it hasn’t filled the void it left behind.
Instead of feeling like a new beginning, it feels like… stasis.
Later in the evening, as I lie in bed staring at the ceiling, my thoughts begin to swirl. Sobriety has given me a chance to step back and assess everything with fresh eyes. The fog that once clouded my judgment is gone, and with it, the rose-colored glasses I’ve been wearing since the start.
The truth is hard to swallow—even without alcohol, Timmy still struggles to meet me where I need him to be. The bickering, the moods, the lack of enthusiasm—it’s all still there, just muted.
And while I’m grateful for the absence of danger, I can’t ignore the fact that I’m carrying the emotional weight of this relationship alone.
For the first time, I ask myself a question I’ve been avoiding— what if this isn’t enough?
I close my eyes, hoping sleep will bring answers.
But deep down, I already know the truth.
Sobriety was supposed to be the start of something better, but it’s only revealed the cracks that were there all along.