My experience was a bit different. I was a wife to an alcoholic before I was one myself. I grew up with an alcholic uncle and saw the hell he put the family through and swore to myself that I wouldn't be like that. And for a long time I wasn't. I used food to medicate myself, stuff down the unpleasant stuff I didn't want to deal with. I had an aversion to being out of control so getting drunk wasn't my thing. I did get sh*tfaced for the first time on my 22nd birthday. I puked all over myself, blacked out covered in puke and puking again. Had my first hangover and swore never again. Worked for 13 years. I would have a very occassional drink and the very second I felt it hit that was it, no more. I would instantly relive my birthday and any desire to continue that drink would leave.
At the age of 35 I had gastric bypass surgery. My DOC, food was no longer an option. I was living in a marriage from hell to an alcoholic and beating my head against the wall trying to make him stop. Threatened, cried, begged, pleaded, sulked, silent treatment, you name it I tried it. In about November or December of 2000 I had my first drink post-surgery. It hit me like a ton of bricks (due to the mechanics of the surgery) and almost as quickly I was stone sober again. I thought "how cool is that?" and proceeded to continue to play around with it. Getting tipsy helped me deal with him better, it medicated all the stuff that I had tried to stuff with food and did it much better. My tolerance built and within time I was outdrinking him and getting greedy with the liquor and sneaky. As soon as he'd pass out I'd run and grab more til I passed out. I always had insomnia problems and this happened to knock me out. It got to where I thought I couldn't sleep without it, then the glasses got taller, the drinks stronger and bedtime earlier. It was sneaky and I didn't think I had a problem (honestly!) The marriage ended and I moved back to Texas along with my half pint to a pint of whiskey habit at bedtime. I'll go ahead and cut to the chase. My drinking start to finish was about 3.5 years. At the end I was so physically dependent (addicted) to alcohol that I had shakes daily, had to drink every few hours (even while working) to control the shakes. Weekends were spent passed out. Stupid choices in men were made. My teenagers were neglected and my mother was stuck trying to mother my children and kick my *ss to make me realize what I was doing to myself and everyone around me.
I became sneakier with the drinking and intensely ashamed. By this time I realized I was addicted and I was in hell. To relieve the withdrawals made it all go away but it also isolated me or caused me to do horrible things like drive my kids while drunk. The shame was intense but so was the addiction and the fear of the withdrawals. I became totally consumed with keeping the shakes at bay and resorted to having bottles in my purse, under the bed, wherever I could. I couldn't look myself in the eye. I tried everything I could think of to control my drinking, changing what I drank, trying to hold off as long as possible, promising myself every morning that I would not drink today only to find myself driving like a bat out of hell at lunch to get a gulp to stop the puking and shakes and then hitting different stores in the evening so the clerks wouldn't guess the severity of my problem.
It was after a 3 day drunk on the 4th of July of 2004 and a one person intervention in the person of my mom that got me at just the right mixture of shame, hopelessness and fear. My kidneys were shutting down and I was in danger of dying but still couldn't get past the fear of withdrawals. While I wanted to hide from life I didn't want to die. She got me to go to a meeting that night. I walked into my now home group a shaking, puking, crying, yellow skinned mess. My mom sat beside me. It still took another month to totally stop drinking but those people in those rooms kept telling my story and got my attention. They gave me hope. My mom gave me support.
Today I am coming close to 3 years sober (God willing and one day at a time) and I credit my mom with saving my life. She is proud of me and I am so thankful for her. I never did any of the drinking sneaking lying to deliberately hurt them and the knowledge that it hurt them anyway was horrible and one more thing I sought to drown out of consciousness.
I was not a bad person. I am not a bad person. I was enslaved by addiction and know many more who are or were the same way. On the one hand I wanted free more than anything else in the world and on the other I was terrified of withdrawals and dealing with the mess that had become my life. Truly it had to get where the pain of continuing to drink was worse than the fear of quitting.
Hugs,
Kellye