Originally Posted by
FlawedNFntastic 
Today is my 46th day sober. I'll give the quick and dirty version of my story, as it's a lot like so many others' stories. I started drinking at about 11 and very quickly started drinking almost every day. Flash forward 34 years. I've been sober a month here, a week there, 9 months twice when I got pregnant and God intervened and made it so I couldn't stand the thought of alcohol, but for the most part I was drinking.
I wasn't a functional alcoholic really. I was a mess. My husband had just as much of a problem as I did and we neither of us did each other any favors. Seven years ago, he decided he'd had enough and he walked out. Perfect time to get sober, right? Nope! I wallowed. Poor me and my failed relationship and my single parenting.
Two years ago, my son said, "Mom, please stop drinking." He was seven. It shook me to my core. I quit. Then and there. I ate better, I exercised, I lost 40 pounds, I spent tons of time with my kid, I was a better mom, daughter, friend, and employee. Life was rainbows and rosebuds. I made it to seven months sober and..... I blew it.
I figured I could celebrate for a weekend. Look how far I'd come. I was strong, surely stronger than alcohol. The weekend came and went. I rationalized a week, two, a month. And then FIFTEEN MONTHS went by with me drinking nearly every night, not managing to stay sober more than six freaking days at a time.
I just could not stop. I tried to reason with myself, I tried to reason with God, I tried to get to the point that I was scared enough to finally, finally just give myself a chance to live. So I prayed. Then I prayed some more, and some more after that, until I was pretty sure God blocked my number because he thought I was on endless repeat.
December 12, 2017 the miracle happened. I woke up and I was done. I just knew I could stop that day, and I did. Any time I start to hear that wheedling, rationalizing voice, I instantly think of the fifteen months I lost, that my son lost, and how scared I was that I would be defeated by my addiction and that I would die before I got to really live my life.
I'm still dealing with the shame, and the fear, and the bad dreams, and the 20 pounds I put back on. I'll take it all, because along with that, I have 46 days and counting.
In those 46 days, I have read THOUSANDS of posts on here that have gotten me through some tough moments. I never posted during that time because of self-doubt and concern that I would somehow offend someone else. Thank you to everyone who has the courage to share their stories and emotions. It helped me find my way.