One Year Later...

                             

  I woke up this morning, knowing it's been exactly 1 year since the last time I indulged my inner drunk and had way too many pints, topped off with a big old glass of whiskey. One year since I could barely breathe after going up a flight of stairs or walking to my car and one year since my resting heart rate was somewhere around 170 beats per minute. In those 365 days, I have not let go of reality even once. No slip ups or "accidents", never having more than 2 beers in a single day and no hard liquor of any kind. Part of this is predicated by all the medications I'm on to help control blood pressure and keep my heart from running itself out of beats before my time is supposed to be up. But the other part has become a battle of internal monologues, each vying for supremacy and each with some good points to be made. 

  On one side, we've got the good times Polk, the drunkard who loves to let go and seeks the haze that only a half dozen beers and a full glass of whiskey can bring. He seeks the nostalgia of a past that sometimes isn't just seen through rose coloured glasses, it's outright delusional. But he relaxes. He takes the weary mind and the world gone mad and just let's them go. He watches his favourite movies and shows and has not a care in the world except for his next drink and he gets to drift away into the night, careless and thoughtless.

  The other side, Sober Polk, hangs off me like an ill-fitting suit two sizes too small. The biggest problem I have run into being sober for an entire calender year is the unrelenting reality of the world around me. Living through the entire last year without a hazy filter or escape has led me down some pretty dark paths and while I know intellectually that drinking too much is part of why I'm where I am today, I still can't help but miss it dearly. Sober Polk is a quieter guy, but he rages underneath and sometimes that bubbles through unintentionally. I feel like I have begun to care less about things that used to be important, maybe to not have to feel any emotion or maybe to shield myself from the temptation to say "Fuck it", and pour the last of my whiskey from a year ago and fire the whole thing up again. It would lead to my demise faster than I'd like, but somedays, sober me gets the feeling that he isn't afraid of that anymore.

  That I haven't given into my lesser angels this year has been a surprise to me for sure. I remember lying in that hospital bed trying to figure out and bargain with whatever the universe is to be able to just go back to living as I had been. What part of my intellect was I suppressing to try and make that work is beyond me, because I knew life was changing and would never be the same again...but then it kind of has been, just without any release from reality and responsibility.  I wanted it all to just be a big misunderstanding and it has turned into an internal struggle for my very existence. I know I am better now than I was a year ago and I have an incredible opportunity to further take my health in a better direction with the help of many professionals, part of a bariatric/heart health study I have agreed to be part of. I like when they ask me if I drink and I can honestly say 2 or 3 beers a week. 1 specialist asked if I could go completely dry and, without hesitation, I said "Yes.". 

And I meant it.

  I have come to enjoy my pursuit of the best in non-alcoholic beers over the last 9 months plus. I've found some incredible gems among the almost 200 different offerings I've been able to find. The ability to keep writing and talking about some kind of beer is part of what keeps me sane and around. I don't know what I would do if I couldn't do even that little escape into what I love to do. But as I have learned in the last year, I am capable of change, even if I fight myself all the way through it. 

  I need to lose a lot of weight still, apparently it wasn't the beer after all, I know, I was surprised too. I need to reevaluate my relationship with food and the how and why I eat the way that I do. I need to become more active, even if it scares to take the first step on a walk that could alter my life forever. The things I seek exist in the wisps of the future that stretch out into the unknown. I am not sure if I am truly capable of the next steps, I honestly have been fighting myself for so long that I am sometimes lost as to how to get myself unstuck. But I have hopes that with professional help, including some much needed therapy for my mental health, I can find some new tools to help me find a way forward into an even brighter future.

Thanks for all the support to everyone who's reached out in the last year. Your kind words have meant the world to this old fella and I appreciate every message, DM and comment I get. I don't wanna go anywhere, I still got a lot left to say.

Cheers!

Polk

09/22/25

308.2 Pounds

That's what the scale I keep hidden in my office tells me that I weigh.




I am not okay with this.




  I've always been the "Fat Guy". The jolly, looking for a good time kind of person who indulges himself at every whim and leaves nothing to the imagination when it comes to giving into his cravings. I eat and drink what I want, when I want and that has always been the way I live my life. I used to joke that I wanted to be like Homer in that episode of the Simpsons when he tried to weigh 300 pounds so he could work from home, but never thought I would get that far gone. Apparently I am willing to let myself go to that extreme and I am not shy about saying I am appalled at what I've become.
  It's not just that I have put on close to 40 pounds in just 2 years, it's that I watched it happen and did nothing to stop it. I eat late at night, drink a little too much, too often and am sedentary to the point of furniture. I can feel my clothes getting tighter and my breathe a little harder to catch. I know I stress eat and when the hours I work increase or my own personal anxiety goes up, I turn not to people but to the one thing I can trust not to judge me and that I alone control, my food and drink. It is usually funny to share the pictures of my 8 hot dog dinner, but I don't always share the whole bag of Doritios and crackers and cheese I would eat later that night. I laugh off the concern of those who think I am headed for a heart attack with my humour and toss a few fat jokes at myself to deflect the conversation away from it. I feel the pain of trying to make those pants fit and knowing that my shirt is too tight every single morning and am relieved when I get home and can slid into my sweats for the night. It's not that I don't understand nutrition and exercise, on the contrary, most overweight people are intimately versed in how to lose weight and live healthier.  It pervades our thoughts perhaps more than healthy people. We yearn to do it, but often are not willing or are just unable to change or make it happen.
 I wrote about being okay with who I was last year (read it here), but even then I was struggling with myself. I kept working on being body positive and not caring about what other people think. I still believe that. Screw anyone who tells you how to live your life or makes you feel bad, but I am not giving in to anyone else's pressure but my own. There is something wrong with how I am living my life and I am beginning to feel that on a very real level.
  When I finished recording every beer I drank in May (150 - The real truth in May), I was trying to be okay with it, but inside it was tearing me up. I have been an advocate of mindful and responsible consumption and the impact craft beer has had on my life and then I was supposed to be okay with averaging 5 beers a day? I made a concerted effort after that to reign in my impulsive and destructive multiple beer nights and have done myself proud on that front, cutting down to less than 100 in June and am on pace for around 50 in July. I don't know where I need to be with this but I am trying.
 Beer is not alone in my spiral downward, food has become the dark yet warmly embracing place I find my comfort. Long days, stress and a lonely life built on my inability to seek help for my anxiety means I look to anything else to bring me a sliver of joy. While talking about and sharing my love for beer gives me some online human interaction, financial and work reasons coupled with an often crippling level of anxious and angry feelings leave me looking for a way to feel good when the likes stop coming. When everyone else looks to spend time with their families, food provides that comfort to me. Lots of salty snacks, late night binges and multiple trips to the cupboard have left me full of calories but empty of emotions. I don't eat for pleasure, I eat to survive and then to fill whatever emptiness remains. I've always had a complicated relationship with food but never to the extent where I am now, beholden to a bag of chips for happiness. I lurch from the couch to the bed, sleep fitfully for 4 or 5 hours and then go through the workday with my eyes on repeating the minimalist lifestyle I've created.  I am thrown into a spiral if there is any deviation from my quiet and lonely plans. I see people joke about not wanting to see others and put what I am sure are supposed to be funny memes on social media about how they hate people and want to be alone. Of course it's all just in good fun because they wouldn't want to actually be alone all the time, the weight of that silence would crush them. I have retreated into a world of my own making and while I do love the odd event we get to attend, it is becoming harder and harder to leave the house for anything but work. I talk myself into it every morning because I need money to live and a man does what he has to provide for his family. But because my job involves working with the public, I must always maintain a positive and cheery attitude and when that work day is done, I usually have nothing left in the tank for anyone else. I can literally not speak for hours after work in real life, despite a lively online presence. I know it is of my own doing and that only deepens the spiral.
 That scale reading was far beyond a wake up call and now I know I have to do something, anything to restart the passion I once had and try to now instill in other people. I want to feel better about myself and despite my own protestations to the contrary, my weight is impacting my ability to function as a human being and is dragging me into a dark place I am not ready to go. So I will not do what I always do and I will ask for help. I will talk to the professionals who are there for me and have the ability and knowledge to give me hope and guidance. I will admit that I don't know what the hell I am doing and seek those who do. I don't hate myself but I am feeling like I don't even know who I am anymore and want to prevent that from happening. I will, as always, share this journey with you and try to use it to inspire others who are suffering in silence to seek help and a better way before it's too late.
  We are not alone and I know how hard it is to reach out and say you need help. But it is okay to admit your weaknesses and ask someone for their hand to lift you up or their shoulder to cry on. Trust someone, anyone and seek out answers for yourself. I always sort of knew this day would come and I am glad I can still stand up and try to make it better. Life is about the journey and I don't want mine to be over just yet.


Thank you to everyone who has encouraged me as I write about not only beer, but real life and the things that make it mine. I appreciate it more than you'll ever know. I will keep you posted as this detour takes me to a place I've never been.


Cheers.


Polk