crazybritters

I apologize in advance for the length. This is the first time I've written anything down about my drinking. It all sorta came out like word vomit. I appreciate those that read it.

I can remember being very young, around 7 or 8 , and my grandfather would ask me to grab him a few "cold ones" from the fridge in the garage. I spent a lot of time with my grandparents growing up; they are huge pieces of my heart. Every time I would come back with his beer, I'd crack open the top (still one of my favorite sounds in the world) and I'd take the first sip out of both cans. He never seemed to care and in fact I believe it was encouraged. He would down several of them each evening. The taste of Budweiser, to this day, is still something that takes me back in time to those moments as a child.

I remember my first drink I was around 15 or so. I was at my aunt and uncles house and they had Zima (lol) in the fridge. For whatever reason, I opened it and drank it. Then I drank another one. I remember catching a buzz and enjoying it immensely. I was never a rebellious child so I didn't drink again after that for a while. When I was 17 I got hammered for the first time. Vodka/red bull all night long at a friends house party. I was a complete mess and had to be carried out and taken home. My parents found out through the grapevine but my brother and friends backed me up and told them it wasn't true. I was off the hook.

From that point on I started drinking more often. Lying to my parents about where I was (raised a very strict Jehovah's Witness, but that's another story in itself). I started struggling with my sexuality around this time and had finally admitted to being gay. I kept this my secret except for a few close friends. The events from 17-20 are extremely fuzzy and I remember little. I drank heavily and I binged at least 4 or 5 nights a week. Once I took that first sip, (gulp rather) there was no going back. I was the girl vomiting in the corner of the yard and coming back asking for another beer.

I left my parents home right before my 20th birthday. They at this point knew I was gay and of course did not accept it. I chose to leave the religion and I was exiled/excommunicated. There I was, 20 years old, lost my family, my friends, my foundation, and myself. Lost and hopeless aren't even the right words to describe how I felt. I luckily had a few good friends I had made in school and one family took me in and let me live with them. I still adore that family and see them more as my family than my actual family. They are such beautiful souls and I will be forever grateful towards them.

Needless to say, I was in a very bad mental place and I was so far from stable. I drank everyday and smoked pot all day long. There were hardly ever any moments of sobriety. This continued for a few years, and I became suicidal because of my lonesomeness. I have such intense memories of hating myself, and wishing that I was different and that I could be the perfect daughter and sister and niece. I must give my mother credit before I say anymore. She always let me know how much she loved me. She would call on random occassions just to make sure I was ok. She would show up at my apartment with bags of groceries and $100 and simply tell me to "make wise choices." I love my mother dearly, and I know she tries hard to be the best mother she can be under the circumstances with their religion. I know she loves me.

I had brief spouts of sobriety from 22-24. I enjoyed smoking weed and chose this oftentimes over alcohol. Yet, still, when I think back on all of this, I realize that any time I did drink, I would either pass out or black out. Usually both lol I dated and had a few serious girlfriends but we drank a lot together and I don't think it was ever based on anything solid. There came a point when I was 23 that my mother told me none of my family would ever speak to me again unless I went back to the religion and stopped being gay. Ha! Like one can just stop. Anyways, they stood firm to their promise and I haven't spoken to most of my family, except my mother, for over 3 years.

This is when it began to get bad in my opinion. I was severely depressed and talked about suicide everyday to my then girlfriend. I completely mutilated that relationship from all of my drunken bouts. I was hospitalized 4 times because of alcohol and had to have IV's because I was so dehydrated and malnourished. My drinking continued. Most recently, this past June, I had been drinking at an old job with some old coworkers for about 9 hours one day. I chose to drive the 20 miles home and my vintage VW Golf. I don't recall if anyone tried to stop me. (I have a very long track record of drinking and driving). I ended up smashing my car into a cement wall on the freeway going 65 mph. I am so thankful I did not harm another person, I cannot imagine how different my life would be if I had. I am thankful I always wore my seat belt out of habit, because I believe it saved my life. I was pretty beaten up but I walked away from it. Well I drove away from it.. in the back of a cop car. I blew a .248 and was charged with a super extreme DUI (AZ). I just served 2 weeks in county jail and got out last Thursday. Right before that at the end of last month, I showed up to work still drunk from the night before and was fired. The best job I've ever had. Lost my car, my driving privileges, my job and my respect for myself. I ask myself, how much loss will it take?

What's funny (not really at all) is that I still cannot admit that I'm an alcoholic. I'm 26 years old.. I'm too young to be an alcoholic. I'll probably be an alcoholic in 26 more years, but surely not now. What idiotic thinking lol I went to an AA meeting in jail and it opened my mind a bit and I really liked it. I had been to an NA meeting once with a friend earlier this year and definitely did not feel I fit there. I am petrified to go to a meeting now though, and I think it's because I'm starting to realize there is a problem with my drinking. Denial can be such a powerful force.

As I write this, I am hungover as **** and haven't been able to keep food down. Hard cider and I had quite the party last night. What is scary is that writing all of this down has put a lot into perspective. I think my own words are proof enough. Why do I feel so scared? Why do I feel like living a sober life sounds absolutely terrible? I want to stop drinking. I want to be healthy. I want to truly love myself and forgive myself for all that has been said and done. I want to look at myself in the mirror and be happy with what I see. Where does one even start to change their life?