The Pleasure Center Is Closed for Repairs

Following on the last post, my lab results yielded some other information as well.  After my heart attack in 2021, I was put on a blood-thinner as well as a statin for lowering cholesterol. Earlier this year, I had some bloodwork done that revealed increased liver enzymes. An abdominal ultrasound revealed that my liver was very slightly enlarged. I likely have the beginnings of fatty liver disease.  And why not? I have fatty everything else, so it would follow that my liver would also take a hit. 

I had read that statins could cause an increase in liver enzymes, so my doctor was willing to try taking me off it for a few weeks and then having me take another blood test. Me being me, I couldn’t get my shit together enough to even make an appointment for a blood draw, so months passed. When I got my labs done for the hormone lab in July, I still had not gone back on the statin yet.

When I received the results this past Monday, I noticed that my cholesterol numbers had gone back up because I was off the statin, but my liver enzymes were still high.  I intend to forward those results to my doctor, who I assume will tell me I need to lose weight and ease up on the drinking. 

I don’t drink much, but I definitely drink regularly. I have a cocktail or cider whenever we go to a restaurant, which is often. I get a shot of bourbon or a cider when I take myself out on my Friday lunch date. I have a cider or a cocktail sometimes when I get home from work. Rarely do I have more than one drink a day, but I do look forward to that one drink.

So I decided to be proactive and quit drinking for a minute until I can get another blood draw. Y’all. Y’all! I quit on Wednesday. Today’s only Saturday, and the struggle is real. I’ve thought about it 100 times today. My body doesn’t want it; my mouth does. My pleasure center does. It is 100% related to my sugar/carb addiction. I don’t want a shot of gin or tequila; I want something sweet and fun.

The last time I saw my doctor, he said, “You know every meal isn’t a celebration.” I beg your pardon! He had found my weakness…well, one of them. I live in a beach resort town. I have bars and restaurants in all directions. Life at the beach is fun, so meals can be fun, too, right?  Nope. They do not all need to be fun. Why not, though? This evening, I spent over an hour trying to decide what to do about dinner. Normally, when my partner is out of town (which is many if not most weekends), each meal is a chance for me to take myself out on a date to get dinner and a drink and read a book alone at a table. In my one-hour decision-making torture session, I kept thinking, “What fun is it to go out if I’m not going to get a drink? Why bother? I have food at home.” Yeah, but I hate that food. It needs to be cooked, and I can’t be bothered. I took myself out to the beach instead. I sat my ass down in the sand for over an hour, finished reading a book on my iPad, and came home after the sun had gone down.

I need to change my relationship with alcohol and food, I know. We’re not friends. We’re frenemies, really. A love triangle that is trying to kill me. A love triangle that wants me dead. They scheme against me at every turn. They're trying to tell me that I've become a third wheel now. 

This is the curse of the alcoholic personality. I saw it with my mom: she replaced each addiction with a new one. She replaced alcohol with smoking, and then replaced smoking with sun worship. Then replaced the sun with her college education. Every addiction replaced by another, good or bad. My dear friend E referred to it as a recovering alcoholic filling the hole with other addictions. I’ve seen it in myself, too. From the time I was 11, I filled that hole with things: food, social engagement, music, rock shows, drinking, smoking, writing, romantic relationships, playing in bands, work, weight loss, distance running, CrossFit, work, and food & drinking again. Now, the obsession is my mental health, which is a good thing and a bad thing. I’m focused on getting better, but I’m also focusing on how fucked up I am, and I can get caught up in that, I admit. Especially if I have someone to talk to about it, which I have rarely had. Now, I’m focusing on this blog and documenting the contents of my lonely, frightened, chaotic brain. I need to find healthy ways to sate the pleasure center in my brain.

Regardless, not drinking is hard, yo. Boo.