Originally Posted by alphaomega

When I finally copped to falling off the wagon, getting run over and dragged by it, I logged in. Shocking to see that almost 2 years have passed since my last log in. Two years. Two years of secrets, buzzes that didn't even please me in any regard any longer, justifying that two bottles of wine wasn't even that much in 4 hours. I kid you not, I really felt that. What scared me almost as much as the hangovers that would render me completely shot the day after drinking, was that after those two bottles of Chardonnay, I would go almost to a place of feeling sober. The first glass or two would buzz me, but as I continued to drink throughout the night, while there would be periods of blackout, I would smoke my last cigarette feelings sober. So downstairs I would head to take a couple of loonnnggggg pulls of the vodka just to be able to get myself to sleep. Pass out.

But then, about five hours later, all hell would break loose. But not just any hell. The seven levels of Hades would descend upon me in varying degrees starting at about 3:00 am.

Shocked and startled awake as I'm quite sure my CNS was borderline getting ready to shut down, I would receive a jolt of adrenaline so jarring I would literally feel like I had just been thrown in ice cold water. My heart would be pounding in my chest like it was begging for something to just settle it down. The thirst was inexplicable. The anxiety. The anxiety brought me to tears more than I care to remember. It's the anxiety that was the final tipping point back to sobriety. I simply could no longer live like that anymore.

As the day would rear its ugly face, I would assess if I was too hungover to go to work. Or if I could drag myself kicking and screaming to the shower which was an experience in and of itself. The panic in the shower would force me to leave the door open to get some air. The the toothbrush and I became fast enemies. Couldn't brush my teeth without gagging or the dry heaves. Sometimes I'd even throw up a little of my coffee. How lovely.

Having to give up driving as a result of hangovers I could not longer handle, I'd get in the car with my husband, put the air on cold, and try to breathe through what was surely my last day on earth. I would get to work and spend the next 7 hours trying really really hard not to pass out, fall over, have a heart attack, stroke, and die. I was always dying. Always. Every minute of every day was my last. And when It got so bad that I would actually start to pray for the end, I would take a Xanax. And after about an hour, my nerves would start to ease up on me.

Fast forward to getting home, no cooking for this momma. And god forbid, no going out to dinner. Those frazzled nerves couldn't bear the crowds, the chairs without arms that I couldn't balance myself in, the smells, the noise, the light. Upstairs I would drag myself, maybe another benzo so I could try to get some sleep and a vow that I would no longer drink. Then I would wake up with all intent to not drink that evening after work and then....well maybe just a glass of chard while I cook dinner. Bottle one done as I put the food on the table. Bottle two through dinner, clean up and relaxing. All the while as I'm drinking I'm thinking, I hate this. I haven't enjoyed a drink for at least a year. It no longer calms me, in fact it starts my heart pounding and my body flushes, and I would drink more and more trying to stop what I had started.

That was 14 days ago.

And grateful doesn't even cut it. On my knees in gratitude and grace and mercy.

Hi again.