TheBanyanTree: The beginning of the Journey from Beer to Coffee

[Maria Gibson]

Starting over is one thing but starting over from starting over feels 
like failing.  So begins the great adventure (again) of turning my life 
around from the cluster fuck of these past months.  It began with a 
need, a need to not be home all the time.  I did't realize the extent of 
that need in the beginning, I just went with whatever worked at the 
moment.  Then, after the Great Fiasco of November 13th, I knew I had to 
make changes.  Wow, what resistance I put up, what a fight I picked with 
myself over it.  I found the number of days I went to the bars growing, 
the number of places in which I was comfortable to belly up growing and 
the number of hours away from home growing.  The need has been such a 
real and constant thing in my life, it has been hard to deny.  I was 
belligerent.  Then, last week, I thought I had a good thing on the 
horizon, a mending of the ways from that day forward.  Alas, from that 
Tuesday when I was so proud that even a knock at the door and a cutie 
pie blond boy inviting me to a bar, out of the freakin' blue, could not 
make me go crazy with drunken debauchery, came Wednesday when the 
looming of a Christmas party and being depressed caused that very 
thing.  Drunken debauchery the description of which I will not bore you. 
It was ugly and I'm not proud of it.  Never made it to the party and I 
got a lot of flack for it the next day.  The rest of the week was quiet 
and staid, this week has been so as well.  I haven't been drunk since 
that night and have had only a few beers in between, all together.  
Yeah, I can scare myself into this even if I can't talk myself into it.  
Isn't that a comfort.

So, here I am, starting over again, again.  I scoped out coffee houses 
with Carla while she was here.  Because the truth is, I still have a 
great need to find a place to hang out.  I'm thinking and feeling things 
I can't deal with and I can't be home every night, I can't deal with 
that either.  I'll have to deal with it sooner or later but for now I 
just have to get to a mental place where I can think straight and where 
I've been ain't it.  In the meantime, I have to sooth the need to get 
away and be out but I have to do it in a way that is less self 
destructive.  I found a couple of good places.  The one I like best is a 
hippie hang out kind of place, lots of college students but a fair 
number of people close to my age, and I dare to think, as cool as I am.  
It is eclectic and funky with an OUTstanding cup of coffee but it is 
unfortunately so far off the beaten path that I doubt I'll get there too 
often.  It's about forty minutes from home.  The next best place is very 
strategically placed in my life.  It is only a few stoplights up from my 
pub and is in between there and home.  I've passed it many times on my 
way to the pub without paying it much mind, not knowing I'd one day 
think it may have potential for me.  Must be some meaning there but I'm 
in no frame of mind to try and figure it out.

I suppose there was bound to be some discomfort, especially considering 
that the beginning of the end, the bar days, began with their own 
discomfort.  I had to find places to go, I had to work up the nerve to 
go in alone.  I had to find my niche there, the space I'd occupy and I 
had to learn who the regulars were in order to become one.  I was a 
regular in five bars so it can't be that hard to make myself a regular 
in one or two innocent coffee houses, can it?  Sure it can.  I went last 
night and it was not comfortable; it was foreign.  I was flotsam bobbing 
along in an unfamiliar ocean.  I didn't belong there and yet there I 
was.  I felt naked and irregular and what I really wanted to do was jump 
in my car, go those few lights south and rest my weary head on the 
familiar bar.  There weren't enough people in there, the coffee wasn't 
strong enough and the vibe wasn't jiving.  I sat there writing, writing 
then what I'm writing now, and feeling lonely.  I guess if I'd had the 
heart I could have felt self righteous that I fought it out and did what 
I set out to do but it didn't feel that victorious.  It was exhausting.  
I missed my friends, I missed the spaces I've carved out for myself .  I 
missed the bar atmosphere.  I could have gotten in the car and driven 
away to something more comfortable.  I could have.  I wanted to.  I 
didn't.  Cheers for me.

A friend emailed me when giving up alcohol saying how hard it was to 
stay away from the bars....I didn't get it.  I thought "Hell, just don't 
go for now, go back when you can handle it."  Silly, naive girl.  I had 
discounted the connection felt in a familiar place, especially when 
going through a difficult time.  But for me, more crucial than the 
connection, and we all have our reasons for going, is the combination of 
beer, friends and the noise.  Yes, the noise.  The noise creates an 
atmosphere that doesn't allow me to be able to think, to give in to the 
mental crush of all the things I have fought to not think about for so 
long.  Add enough beer for, at the very least, a good buzz when everyone 
around is laughing it up and you have a very powerful attraction if it 
fills a need.  It came to the point that on the nights I was home, it 
was only to go to bed early from all the crazy nights I'd spent partying 
it up.  I needed rest to do it all over again.   And, thinking was not 
only not necessary, it was not possible.  Well, now it is necessary, as 
much as it has always been despite my ignoring it, and it won't go 
away.  It hurts and I hate it but I can't think of any way I'll ever 
move forward without it.  All of it.  It sucks.

So, this is actually a happy story, believe it or not.  I'm depressed, 
I'm crying a lot and I'm not a lot of fun to be around.  It's happy in a 
very raw perspective and is in its infancy.  Happier times will come, 
less depression and then hopefully none.  I don't know what life will be 
like when it is over or how long it will take.  For now, it starts in a 
coffee house.  I'll keep the masses informed.

The perfect cup of coffee needs several packs of Equal and plenty of 
non-dairy creamer to be a nice caramel color.  I'll have to educate 
those folks.  After all, when I'm not treating myself to the greatest 
place and cuppa in the city, I'm planning on buying a lot of the coffee 
closer to home.  It has to be perfect, right?

Maria