Recovery isn't always linear
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Recovery isn't always linear
Mods: I know this will get moved to stories of recovery, but I wanted it here in the Newcomer's section for at least a little while.
I began drinking around age 14 or 15. Nothing heavy, just a four-pack of wine coolers on a Friday night. And not every weekend. Some of my friends drank whiskey and bourbon with coke chasers but I couldn't stand the taste. The only troubling things that stand out from my high school years are that when we turned 16 we did drink and drive, we did borrow birth certificates from our older friends that were over 18 and took it to the DMV and got driver's licenses made (small town DMV, back in the day) with our picture and their info on it, including their birthday, so that we could get into the local bars. And I do remember sneaking a wine cooler into high school once and drinking it in the bathroom. It was only one wine cooler and only one time. I have no idea what prompted that, I know it wasn't "to see if I could get away with it" because I wasn't that type of kid. To this day I have no idea why I did that.
In college, we hit the bars pretty much every weekend, Friday and Saturday nights. My drinking increased but no more than that of my friends. I was in nursing school, so I often studied in a booth at the local dive bar while I sipped wine coolers and ate a burger. I did develop a taste for mixed drinks at this point but only if they were girlie and froofy. Drinking and driving, random sex and occasional blackouts were the worrisome things of this time in my life. This is also the time frame when we borrowed birth certificates from friends and got new licenses so that our license said we were 21 so we could stop sneaking drinks at the bar.
After college, I received my RN and moved out of my small town and to Dallas, TX. For the first time in my life, I lived alone in my own apartment. I thought how cool it was that I could go to the grocery store and buy alcohol and have it on hand for when friends stopped by, which was often. I began dating a neighbor of mine that was a jet pilot and his wealthy, refined parents from California came to visit. At this point, my drink of choice was a Cuba Libra but substitute Dr. Pepper for Coca-Cola. And lots of lime. I wanted so badly to like red wine ever since college but could not learn to like the taste. His parents took us out to eat at the nicest restaurant in Dallas and I mentioned that I wanted to like wine but hadn't found any that I could tolerate. His parents suggested a dry red Cabernet or Merlot and I was hooked. I bought bottles and bottles of wine and kept them in my apartment and drank them slowly, never a bottle a night. I didn't date the pilot this whole time, I was single for a good portion of it. I would go out and party a LOT more during these years and had frequent blackouts, multiple hook-ups with randoms, one-night-stands and one car crash as I was headed home from a bar. The crash wasn't my fault and I didn't get a ticket but it did $6K worth of damage to my brand-new truck and a minor neck injury. I'll never know if I could have avoided it had I been sober.
I was known to twist off every now and then, like take a limo to Shreveport, drink and gamble all night long, call in sick the next morning at 0500 (still up partying, trying to sound convincingly nauseous on the phone) and slept in the limo on the way home, stumble into my apartment and sleep some more. More than once we smuggled IV bags of lactated ringers home with an IV start kit and tubing to start IVs on ourselves to rehydrate after a wild night. And we snuck into empty hospital rooms at the start of our shifts on the weekends to do the same, but we did it at work much more often than at home, probably a 3:1 ratio. I didn't do this every weekend and I would go months and months without. This is when I first began "swearing off" but in a light-hearted way.
I met my first husband (J) in 1997 when I was 24. He was the best guy. Very intelligent, mild-mannered for the most part, polite to a fault, kind-hearted, extremely successful, all-around good guy. We had so much respect for each other. Like true respect. He admired and adored me and I admired and adored him. We drank pretty much every weekend. We lived near a lake and had a boat and often partied Saturdays and Sundays on the water. But we never missed work, never drank during the week, never had DUI or any other legal trouble and it never caused fights. I remember to the very night that my drinking went from every weekend to every night. My ex-roommate and friend came to visit from California. She landed on a Tuesday night and suggested we have wine. I was honestly shocked. Drink on a work night? (I was working that week, she obviously wasn't) I hadn't even considered drinking on a work night since back when I was much younger and single. I was now a wife with a career as an RN. But drink we did. And the next night. And the next. And so it was.
J and I never fought. I rarely got drunk but tipsy nightly. I insisted that I have a full bottle wine each night and if he wanted some, we needed another bottle and one of us would pick it up, usually him on the way home. I questioned my drinking at times. Our home builder mentioned his wife drank a bottle a night and had no issues with it and I remember feeling relieved, that I was normal. J and I respected each other so much that we just refused to fuss or fight or argue. We sat down and worked things out. We did everything together. We spent all days off together. We water skiied at home and in Virginia regularly. We snow skiied in New Mexico. We annually New Year'd in a fabulous four-story mountain cabin with balconies off every bedroom. We worked out together. (An aside: He changed to a job in an industry that required weekend work, so I just retired at the ripe 'ol age of 28 so I could be a stay-at-home mom to my Pomeranian and be home on the two days during the week that he was off. So my hobby became working out. I was sculpted and rock hard. And drinking every night. I remember being so relived that I could drink nightly and still stay in shape.) We talked. We shared. We discussed. We dreamed. We planned our future. We planned our vacations. We loved. We lived. Until. We began to have intimacy issues in the form of a mismatched libido. As in zero versus high gear. The type of mismatch that results in sex once a year and and very, very sexually frustrated wife that had just hit her physical prime and sexual prime. I confronted the elephant in the room, finally, and asked for marriage counseling. Add to that, a very handsome friend of his moved in with us temporarily. (I had previously met said friend in Hawaii -- such a romantic notion to my alcohol-addled mind) We went to three marriage counselors. Two told us our marriage was over. The third painted a picture of my life that was unacceptable. My drinking spiraled. My thoughts were chaotic. I didn't have withdrawals and didn't day drink, but I did have severe muscle cramps in the bottoms of my feet and my hamstrings after I drank too much. Likely an electrolyte imbalance. Other than that, no health effects that I was aware of. I was working as a personal trainer very part-time (ten to fifteen hours a week) and lifting weights six days a week, running three miles morning and evening every. single. day. Christmas and Thanksgiving I backed off to a morning run only. This was the case throughout my marriage and even through the end of it. (I'm saying this to say that I wasn't an unattractive slob.)
Now, here is where things get a little murky. Would J have pulled away physically if I hadn't been tipsy every night? I just don't know. Looking back, I could maybe pinpoint some red flags regarding his sexuality. But my altered mental state every night had to be wearing thin on him. Would I have had the affair with the handsome friend had I not been drinking so much, my thoughts so muddled, my responses so skewed? Who knows.
After we divorced, I bought another house and the handsome friend moved in with me. Thus began the trainwreck that is two alcoholics living together, one twice the size of the other and with a horrid temper. Here began the day drinking, the morning drinking, the all-day-Christmas-Day-watching-sad-movies drinking. The drink-to-drown-the-pain-of-abuse drinking. The drink-to-drown-the-regret drinking. The drink-to-hide-the-shame-of-an-affair drinking. The drink-to-forget-the-bruises drinking.
So I did what any alcoholic in that situation would do. I told my husband I wanted to go back to counseling. And I moved back into our home. My alcoholic mind was so. *******. manipulative that I denied an affair with handsome friend, insisted on my husband forgiving him and forced them be friends again. HOW SERIOUSLY ****** IS THAT? There really was no rekindling of their friendship because my husband, as good a man as he was, just couldn't bring himself to do it. But he did endure having the friend at the house a few times for dinner. I should have been struck by lightning right then and there. In my mind, I was fixing everything. I was fixing my marriage. I was fixing their friendship. Everything was going to be fixed. Everything was going to be okay. I was a fixer. I was fixing. (See the panic in my thought processes here?) I was going to be back in my comfy spot with my warm fuzzy blanket. Because it was, after all, about me. I wasn't a terrible person. I went to church most Sundays. I donated to charity. I gave discounts on my inflated personal trainer fees to women who couldn't afford it. I tried to help strangers. But I was selfish. I would manipulate someone's response to a situation to my liking with a very intricate technique that started long before the event causing the reaction that I wished to control. I was the wizard of my world, trying to control outcomes in my favor. Have you ever heard that alcoholic have big egos?
Obviously this sham of a reconnection with J was short-lived. So I moved back in with handsome friend. Cue the heavy drinking, blackouts, knock outs, vomiting, bruises, binges, damaged property, isolation, police reports, headaches, blackmail ................ you get the picture. Karma had come home to roost. I got exactly what I deserved and not a stitch more. In a moment of grace and mercy, God gave me the clarity to put my house on the market at a $30K loss and cut and run. I moved back to my small hometown to get my wits about me. I was at a new low.
Oh, this could be the turning point. Wouldn't that be beautiful? I'm laughing so tying this, realizing that this transition, this move should have my time! Dang. Opportunity missed. But I wasn't ready. Far from ready. I had so, so much more field research to conduct. The aforementioned is a ******* dream compared to what came later.
In my hometown I hooked up with an old platonic alcoholic friend. We drank and we had sex. We liked to cook and grill, too, but mostly drank and ******. Oh, and fought. Boy did we fight. He had a hair-trigger temper and wasn't above knocking the **** out of me. I had a couple of gynecological diagnoses that greatly reduced my chances of getting pregnant. But pregnant I got! Again, God extended mercy and grace and blessed me with the gift of an unexpected pregnancy. I immediately stopped drinking after five tests in ten minutes came back positive. And it was easy. I didn't want to. I didn't have withdrawal symptoms. I felt sooooo much better, despite being tired from the pregnancy. I thought sobriety rocked. Even emailed an old alcoholic, pro-AA client of mine and told her that sobriety rocked, even though I had never confessed my drinking habits to her. And I also immediately packed up my everything in my house into boxes, stacked them in the living room, called my father to come get it all and put it in a storage unit and send me the bill. I left town without a word to my daughter's biological contributor. I changed my phone number. He knew I was pregnant but he has never seen my daughter and I have not spoken to him since I left town. In a rare moment of clarity, I knew I had to protect my daughter. I enrolled in the RN refresher course and regained my license. I returned to the work force as an RN. As a single mother.
About six weeks after my daughter was born, a friend of mine from Dallas came to visit. We went straight from the airport to the liquor store and to my sober-for-almost-a year-self swore I heard angels singing when we walked into that liquor store. We drank and visited and had the best time. And thus began another downward spiral.
I still never called in sick, never got a DUI, never got in trouble, but was immediately back to nightly drinking. I wasn't coping well with the shame of my affair, shame of the divorce, shame of being a single mother. The shame of being an alcoholic was on the bottom run of my stress ladder. I somehow managed to do well at work, although I drove to work every day hungover and with horrible anxiety from drinking. I had started buying the four pack mini bottles of wine and often drank on the way home from work, with my daughter in the car. I changed to a hospital-based job around the time my daughter was 9 months old. I met what would be my next husband at work when my daughter was around a year old. We began to hang out as friends because we were both lonely. We enjoyed each other's company and this is where I did call in sick to work -- to go on adventures with him. Or sometimes just to stay home with him and hang out, just two adults, male and female. I hadn't had that for quite some time. We went from friends to more in short order. We quickly got engaged, my daughter and I moved in with him a few weeks before we were to be married and he promptly broke off the engagement and asked us to move out. No explanation other than he couldn't make a commitment. Out we moved. And I changed jobs to a much better paying, more enjoyable, more flexible job. I had actually changed jobs the week he broke off the engagement. It was a coincidence, but it was a blessing we didn't have to see each other at work or at all anymore. It wasn't until six months later that he told me the reason why. I was up to 1.5 to 2 bottles of wine per night. When I drank, I caused fights. When I drank, I was selfish. When I drank, I wasn't myself. I turned into an emotional, dramatic, argumentative, sensitive, vicious monster.
Now this next part, I can't explain. My drinking slowed down. Way down. I realized I was drinking too heavily and it was affecting me. I had a new home built for me and my daughter. I became engaged with my job and often brought work home, not minding it at all. I quit drinking wine completely and switched to mojito-flavored wine coolers. I would drink between two and four a night, rarely got a buzz, never felt tipsy. More of a security blanket. I got to where I would only drink one at night because I didn't want the extra calories and really felt little effect from them. I was happy. I was content. About six months after the engagement disaster, my CEO gave me a bottle of wine for Christmas. I started with two glasses a night and held steady for about a week. As I mentioned, I often brought work home, including a doctor that I began casually dating. He loved to cook and drink wine before during and after. He brought plenty of wine and we stayed up all night long, drinking and talking, me matching him 2:1 at least. We drank every time we were together. He expressed concern over the amount I drank but I assured him that it was under control. I slowly returned to nightly drinking.
Shortly after the New Year, circumstances put my ex-fiancé and I in contact again. We ended up getting back together and getting married three short months later. I was still an active alcoholic.
I am still married to this man, so out of consideration for him, I will leave a lot of details out. I still started arguments and blacked out and couldn't remember it the next day. I began to have the morning shakes and sadly learned the medicinal value of the morning drink. One bottle of wine was no longer enough, I was back to two bottles of wine a night. The marriage started on the rocks and fermented from there into something I didn't recognize. Nasty, nasty arguments, yelling, screaming, slamming doors, him disappearing without a word, sleeping in separate bedrooms. I was so lonely and so ashamed of my alcoholism. I was ashamed that my second marriage was failing in it's infancy. I was ashamed that I was failing as a mother. I did what alcoholics do. I isolated and drank more.
I had to drink before I could drive my daughter to school. Then it got to where I had to drink to have my hands steady enough to do my eye makeup. Then I had to drink to be able to shower. I would shake so violently when I woke up that I got to where I had to have a drink before I got out of bed. Then I would have to have a drink in the middle of the night. I had, finally, arrived at 24 hour maintenance drinking. Drinking didn't feel good anymore. There was rarely a "high." It truly turned into maintenance drinking. I drank to be normal. I could not function without alcohol. But give me two drinks and I'm good to go. Until it was no longer in my bloodstream. I literally HAD to have it in my blood at all times to prevent severe withdrawals, including violent shakes, stroke-level blood pressures and heart rates nearing 200. I was terrified of a withdrawal seizure. I drank to survive. I rotated liquor stores so that "nobody would know I was an alcoholic." I woke up in a very deep dark pit every day and had to drink to get up to the light. If you think it can't get worse, it can. I tore up my gastric lining so badly that I had to take a few drinks of wine every morning before my shower, wait to throw up, then be so relived because I could keep the next one down once I threw up. I HAD to drink to perform. I HAD to drink to maintain. Every. Single. Day. It is the absolute sickest cycle that I have ever been a part of. It is more sick to me than the cycle of abuse. Because I literally needed it to live. I needed it to function. I wanted to quit so badly, but became so violently ill when I did. I learned that two drugs can kill you if you stop doing them cold turkey. Alcohol and benzos. I drank to live. There was no pleasure. It was literally life and death. I became intimate with four men that were not my husband during this time -- if you're an alcoholic you have met them -- Terror. Bewilderment. Frustration. Despair. The Hideous Four Horsemen. Alcohol wasn't my lover. My four horsemen were. We knew each other so well that I flat out told them one day, I will never beat you, but you will never beat me. You will be with until I die. We are forever one. We will just have to learn to live together. And the sad thing is, that thought brought me comfort. I knew I could never beat it, but believed it would never beat me.
Through it all I loved my daughter fiercely. But I was not a good mother. I was short-tempered. I wouldn't leave the house after 5:00 if at all possible because it interfered with my drinking time. I would stay in bed all weekend and read because I was too sick to do anything else. I once drove her to 0730 "Muffins with Mom" at her school and had to pull over on the way to school to throw up in a business office parking lot. My angel looked at me and said "Mommy, please don't drink that red stuff. It makes you throw up." What a gut punch. What a horrible mother. Drink to numb the pain and shame. Another horrible cycle.
In 2013, my husband confronted me with an ultimatum in the form of his wedding band rubber-banded to my box (yes, box) of wine that I hid under the bed. He knew it was there. I knew he knew it was there. We just never confronted it until that night. And thus began my very NON-LINEAR journey to sobriety. I went to counseling with a substance abuse counselor (RPK). I loved her to death. She was funny, sharp, understanding, compassionate and called me out on my ********. I tried to taper. I tried medications. I tried AA. I always returned to drinking. The force of the pull was something that I just could not resist. There was half of my brain sending the strongest signal that I should drink. My beast brain was terrified that I would quit. And it made sure to keep those thoughts ever present. After much resistance, and with the encouragement and support of my counselor, I admitted defeat and voluntarily admitted myself to a 5 day detox unit.
I believe it was around day 34ish that I drank again. You know, because I could control it. My husband was so proud of me for going to detox. My parents were so proud of me. They thought I had displayed such courage and strength to go to detox. I let everyone down and was rewarded with another period of separation from my husband, soul full of shame, reckless drunk driving, taking out my neighbors brick mailbox with my brand new car, remorse, regret and isolation to the highest degree I could push it. And so began the long wait before the liquor store opened at 10am. Walking in with shaking hands to get my fix because the three mini bottles of wine that I drank that morning before work were quickly leaving my bloodstream. With shaky hands, downcast eyes and hope, I bought my bottle and walked out the door, trying not to make eye contact. It was easy to make eye contact with the homeless people that often stand just outside the store to beg for money. I always gave them money because I wouldn't wish alcohol withdrawal on anyone. And I always prayed for them. I was an alcoholic with a nice home, family, career. How much more difficult to be a lonely, homeless alcoholic? The ONLY difference between me and them? They had been at it longer.
From 2013 to 2015, I had more starts and stops than I can count. More deals with God. More AA meetings. Constant reading on SR. An extremely cold husband. Ever-rising liver numbers on my labs. Sickness, shame, puking, crying, pleading with God, pleading with myself, absorbing information about alcoholism like a sponge absorbs water, and drinking, drinking, drinking. Getting ever weaker, ever sicker. My platelets were low and my body would bruise so easily. I had deep purple bruises all over my legs and ass. I started to fall frequently. I fell UP staircases. More horrible bruises. My eyes were constantly blood shot (Visine is an alcoholic's best friend). Try, fail. Try, fail. Try, fail. At one particular AA meeting, I had an epiphany of what my poor mother and father were going through. The overwhelming guilt of what I had done to them, the worry and agony that they must experience on a daily basis. It brought me to tears. So I did what all alcoholics with no coping mechanisms do, I bought a bottle of vodka on the way home and was met at the door by my husband as I tried to sneak it in the house. More anger, more shame. My self-esteem was so far into the negative. I was a shell of my former self. A childhood friend (KH) that is an addiction counselor knew of my plight and we talked about it only occasionally, but I knew she supported me and that I could be 100% honest with her without judgment. That tiny tendril of acceptance was a balm to my shattered soul. Another friend (BG) was also dancing with the devil and spiraling down her own rabbit hole. That tiny bit of commaraderie made my lonesome spirit feel a tiny interstate connection with a fellow friend and addict. Another of my childhood friends (CK) said something that really stuck with me ........ "I want you to find Alisha again."
That statement/request/plea stuck with me through the rest of my journey. I wanted to find her, too. I missed her. She was outgoing, shy, funny, goofy, serious, intelligent, crazy, brazen, reserved, intelligent, worthy, capable, strong, brave, loving, caring, compassionate. And she was nowhere to be found. She was buried under so much shame, regret and misery that I never saw her. The world never saw her. I realized that my husband had never even met her.
In July of 2015, I simply couldn't fight the fight any longer. I knew I was close to death or prison. I knew I was putting my license in jeopardy. I was so profoundly TIRED of trying to maintain outward appearances, live the double life. It was killing my body, mind, spirit, soul. I was on the precipice of losing everything. I gave up, succumbed to my addiction and checked myself into an out-of-state inpatient rehab. I wanted to drive myself but my husband insisted on driving me. I only had few sips of wine before we headed out, a 3.5 hour drive. Before we left, I took my remaining wine to the other side of the house and put it in my husband's bedroom, on his nightstand. I didn't need it and figured he would by the time he got back home. By the time we arrived at the sprawling rehab compound, I was shaking like a leaf. The facility was beautiful, set in gentle rolling hills, beautiful tall trees. The main house was a two-story building that looked like a hunting lodge. The front balcony off the main room overlooked the hills and trees. It was such a calming environment. And I was the exact opposite of calm. I was vibrating internally and externally. I was starting what would be some rather unpleasant withdrawals. But they were eased by medications. I cannot say that I threw myself into the curriculum with both feet, but I did do a lot of the assignments and found them helpful. At the end of the day, it comes down to willingness and readiness.
I returned home on day 30. I felt better physically and mentally. My self-esteem was still in the *******. I had no confidence. I quit my long-term stressful job that I was so concerned about losing. I went to AA meetings. And then I relapsed shortly after returning home. This relapse still amuses me as to how easily it happned. I was still off work, having just returned home. I went to get my hair done at my neice's salon one morning. They had a coffee bar set up with Bailey's Irish Cream. One little splash on top of coffee won't hurt. I slugged that cup o' joe rather quickly and poured another, this time with two splashes of Bailey's. Later that day I hit the liquor store and bought my beloved wine. We were reunited. My four lovers were fully aroused after waiting so patiently.
The backlash from my husband was fierce. That relapse was shortly stopped, lasted about two days. And so began the cycle of a few weeks sober/relapse, rinse and repeat. I managed to get myself phyically addicted again so that I had horrible shakes after a binge. The hiding, the sneaking, the lying, the shame. My four lovers and I were intertwined in a world of our own.
I honestly cannot say what finally flipped the switch. I was scheduled for a hysterectomy and scheduled my quit date to coincide. The first week after surgery I felt so poorly that I didn't want to drink. The next few weeks I felt so good that I didn't want to drink. My body was in a state of absolute shock - instant surgical menopause paired with ETOH withdrawal. The actual withdrawal symptoms were not very pronounced, thankfully. The narcotics that I took for three days post-op likely assisted. Sobriety felt so wonderful that I couldn't even consider drinking again. I had the niggling thoughts at first that, of course, I'll test the waters again. Of course, more field research was required. I didn't and it wasn't. It was over. Finally.
After about three months of sobriety, nothing had changed between me and my husband so I decided to leave. At that point he insisted that we work on our marriage one more time. We are working on things and doing drastically better. It will take a lot of time. There has been much damage and hurt on both sides. We are essentially like newlyweds in the first two years of marriage. We are getting to know each other, learning to live with each other's habits and idiosynchrocies. He never knew me. I am changing rapidly and I'm sure it is difficult for him. But the changes are for the best. Sometimes I think he must be in shock at this new creature emerging. The old Alisha. That one that my friends told me they missed. She is kind, harsh, loving, mouthy, bold, sensitive, tough, generous, selfish, forgiving, outspoken, shy, talkative, goofy, snarky, silly, intelligent, capable and worthy. We are a work in progress. At first, I didn't want to work things out. I had zero desire. I had to force myself to talk to him, to be around him. Now, after about 9 months or trying, we are slowly getting to know each other. We enjoy each other's company. The marriage that was completely dead with no emotion is slowly coming back to life. A miracle indeed. I don't know what the future holds. But I know that with God, all things are possible. We were baptized together as a family, the three of us, on February 14, 2016. I hadn't found lasting sobriety by that point, but I was working toward it with a vengeance.
Today, April 10, 2018, I am one year sober. For the first time since I began my drinking career at the tender age of 14 or 15, now, at the ripe ol' age of 45, I am one year sober. And the difference is indescribable.
There is a term in sobriety known as the pink cloud. The urban dictionary defines it this way -
Pink Cloud
12 step recovery jargon referring to someone new who talks about how great life is, now that they're sober. Usually
meaning that the person is out of touch with reality.
The new guy seems pretty happy for a dude who has no job, no money and no family. He must be on a pink cloud.
I had experienced the pink cloud multiple, multiple times. Most alcoholics have. This time is different. The first few months of sobriety, I felt great but my self-esteem was still non-existent. I have slowly rebuilt that and my confidence level is now on par with my abilities. I have faith in myself. I started a new job in January of 2016. I love my job, have invested myself in my career and through a serious of (not so) random events (thanks, God!) have topped out at the pay scale for RNs without furthering their education (which is something that I am very NON-seriously considering.) I can do anything. Literally anything. I can go to the grocery store at 8pm. I can get up in the middle of the night with my daughter if she is ill. I can engage with her. I can enjoy her. I can get pulled over by a cop without fear. I joined a gym. I am re-taking a CHL class. I got a sobriety tattoo. I live a charmed life. In reality, it is a very boring and normal life. But I have a secret weapon. I have the gift of contrast. I am literally in awe of how amazing and beautiful life is. Every day. All day long. Twice on Sundays.
Something that many alcoholics who find sobriety ponder is this: Do I regret that I am alcoholic?
What a loaded question. I wouldn't wish it on anyone. But it has shaped me into who I am today. It has made me so very grateful for my life. It has shown my daughter what courage is. It has made me so, so, so much kinder to strangers. It has given me eyes that see and seek. Seek the hurting, the lost, the needy. It has given me ears that hear. Hear other people's pain. It has made me more generous. I give when I am broke and have bills to pay. Why? Because there is no better feeling. I help others with no expectation of anything in return. Why? Because they need it and because it feels incredible. It's what Jesus would do. I am a better person because I am an alcoholic. This was God's plan for me. And I accept it and I am grateful that He never left my side and that He can use me to help others.
I am fortunate to work with a patient population that sees high percentage of alcoholics. While I don't advertise my battle with my co-workers, I don't hesitate to shut the door and share with alcoholic patients. When they see someone who has been there and understands, their entire countenance changes. I give my personal cell phone number to each and every one to call me after they discharge if they want help. None have called yet but I won't stop using my unique position to help other alcoholics. I feel so blessed and fortunate to be able to do this. I will go to the ******* mat to get my alcoholic patient admitted to my (physical, not substance abuse) rehab hospital. Every person needs an underdog population to fight for. If you don't have one, find one. Someone needs you to fight for them.
I am grateful for my parents who never left my side. Not once did I see judgement in their eyes. I am so sorry for the pain I created for them but so grateful that they stood by my side. My father lent me the money for rehab and my mother helped my husband care for my daughter while I was away. I owe them everything. I love you, Mom and Dad.
I am grateful to my friends who never gave up on me. Their support means everything. They are my village. I love you, KH, CKN and BG.
I am grateful to my daughter who is and old soul in a ten-year-old body. She is my biggest supporter and cheerleader. She loves me unconditionally. She believes in me with all of her heart. She has had to grow up too fast and for that I am sorry. But she an amazing child and my biggest blessing. I love you, Shayni.
I am grateful to my husband for sticking with me when he'd rather leave me. I know my recovery wasn't linear as you had hoped, but it seldom is. It was rather convoluted, but every twist and turn, every up and down, every field research experiment, every victory and defeat was necessary for me to find my own way. That you are still here is nothing short of amazing. I love you, honey.
I am grateful to my counselor (RPK) for being one tough bitch (said with respect and love). She let me get away with exactly nothing. She made me realize what I had to do to get better. She helped me prioritize. She made me realize my career that I tried so hard to protect meant nothing without sobriety. She supported and encouraged every healthy decision that I made. I love you, RPK.
I am grateful to my friend A who knew me through all of this, but not all the details. She loved and supported me from afar. And I can now tell her 100% of my life without judgment. She knows how far I have come and she loves me without condition. I love you, AKB.
I am grateful to AA for teaching me that honesty is vital in sobriety. Also for teaching me the importance of service to others. While I do not attend AA nor subscribe to the 12-step progam, I think it is a valuable resource and often recommend it to fellow alcoholics.
I am grateful to SR. I joined in 2013 and never went more than one day without reading, save for the time I was in rehab and had no internet access. I learned so, so much here. I don't post much, but I read voraciously. I love you, SR.
I am grateful to my worship pastor at my church (CM) who is a fellow addict and gave her testimony at church at a time when not I, but my husband needed to hear it. It fell on my deaf ears. But it touched him and gave him hope that I could get better. I told you I would write my story, CM! I love you!
Finally, I am grateful to my God for sustaining me, guiding me, protecting me and blessing me with the ability to get sober. We all have it. We just have to never give up and find our own way. Never stop trying. Surround yourself with people that love you, support you, are kind to you and will help you. Never stop praying. Your miracle is coming.
I began drinking around age 14 or 15. Nothing heavy, just a four-pack of wine coolers on a Friday night. And not every weekend. Some of my friends drank whiskey and bourbon with coke chasers but I couldn't stand the taste. The only troubling things that stand out from my high school years are that when we turned 16 we did drink and drive, we did borrow birth certificates from our older friends that were over 18 and took it to the DMV and got driver's licenses made (small town DMV, back in the day) with our picture and their info on it, including their birthday, so that we could get into the local bars. And I do remember sneaking a wine cooler into high school once and drinking it in the bathroom. It was only one wine cooler and only one time. I have no idea what prompted that, I know it wasn't "to see if I could get away with it" because I wasn't that type of kid. To this day I have no idea why I did that.
In college, we hit the bars pretty much every weekend, Friday and Saturday nights. My drinking increased but no more than that of my friends. I was in nursing school, so I often studied in a booth at the local dive bar while I sipped wine coolers and ate a burger. I did develop a taste for mixed drinks at this point but only if they were girlie and froofy. Drinking and driving, random sex and occasional blackouts were the worrisome things of this time in my life. This is also the time frame when we borrowed birth certificates from friends and got new licenses so that our license said we were 21 so we could stop sneaking drinks at the bar.
After college, I received my RN and moved out of my small town and to Dallas, TX. For the first time in my life, I lived alone in my own apartment. I thought how cool it was that I could go to the grocery store and buy alcohol and have it on hand for when friends stopped by, which was often. I began dating a neighbor of mine that was a jet pilot and his wealthy, refined parents from California came to visit. At this point, my drink of choice was a Cuba Libra but substitute Dr. Pepper for Coca-Cola. And lots of lime. I wanted so badly to like red wine ever since college but could not learn to like the taste. His parents took us out to eat at the nicest restaurant in Dallas and I mentioned that I wanted to like wine but hadn't found any that I could tolerate. His parents suggested a dry red Cabernet or Merlot and I was hooked. I bought bottles and bottles of wine and kept them in my apartment and drank them slowly, never a bottle a night. I didn't date the pilot this whole time, I was single for a good portion of it. I would go out and party a LOT more during these years and had frequent blackouts, multiple hook-ups with randoms, one-night-stands and one car crash as I was headed home from a bar. The crash wasn't my fault and I didn't get a ticket but it did $6K worth of damage to my brand-new truck and a minor neck injury. I'll never know if I could have avoided it had I been sober.
I was known to twist off every now and then, like take a limo to Shreveport, drink and gamble all night long, call in sick the next morning at 0500 (still up partying, trying to sound convincingly nauseous on the phone) and slept in the limo on the way home, stumble into my apartment and sleep some more. More than once we smuggled IV bags of lactated ringers home with an IV start kit and tubing to start IVs on ourselves to rehydrate after a wild night. And we snuck into empty hospital rooms at the start of our shifts on the weekends to do the same, but we did it at work much more often than at home, probably a 3:1 ratio. I didn't do this every weekend and I would go months and months without. This is when I first began "swearing off" but in a light-hearted way.
I met my first husband (J) in 1997 when I was 24. He was the best guy. Very intelligent, mild-mannered for the most part, polite to a fault, kind-hearted, extremely successful, all-around good guy. We had so much respect for each other. Like true respect. He admired and adored me and I admired and adored him. We drank pretty much every weekend. We lived near a lake and had a boat and often partied Saturdays and Sundays on the water. But we never missed work, never drank during the week, never had DUI or any other legal trouble and it never caused fights. I remember to the very night that my drinking went from every weekend to every night. My ex-roommate and friend came to visit from California. She landed on a Tuesday night and suggested we have wine. I was honestly shocked. Drink on a work night? (I was working that week, she obviously wasn't) I hadn't even considered drinking on a work night since back when I was much younger and single. I was now a wife with a career as an RN. But drink we did. And the next night. And the next. And so it was.
J and I never fought. I rarely got drunk but tipsy nightly. I insisted that I have a full bottle wine each night and if he wanted some, we needed another bottle and one of us would pick it up, usually him on the way home. I questioned my drinking at times. Our home builder mentioned his wife drank a bottle a night and had no issues with it and I remember feeling relieved, that I was normal. J and I respected each other so much that we just refused to fuss or fight or argue. We sat down and worked things out. We did everything together. We spent all days off together. We water skiied at home and in Virginia regularly. We snow skiied in New Mexico. We annually New Year'd in a fabulous four-story mountain cabin with balconies off every bedroom. We worked out together. (An aside: He changed to a job in an industry that required weekend work, so I just retired at the ripe 'ol age of 28 so I could be a stay-at-home mom to my Pomeranian and be home on the two days during the week that he was off. So my hobby became working out. I was sculpted and rock hard. And drinking every night. I remember being so relived that I could drink nightly and still stay in shape.) We talked. We shared. We discussed. We dreamed. We planned our future. We planned our vacations. We loved. We lived. Until. We began to have intimacy issues in the form of a mismatched libido. As in zero versus high gear. The type of mismatch that results in sex once a year and and very, very sexually frustrated wife that had just hit her physical prime and sexual prime. I confronted the elephant in the room, finally, and asked for marriage counseling. Add to that, a very handsome friend of his moved in with us temporarily. (I had previously met said friend in Hawaii -- such a romantic notion to my alcohol-addled mind) We went to three marriage counselors. Two told us our marriage was over. The third painted a picture of my life that was unacceptable. My drinking spiraled. My thoughts were chaotic. I didn't have withdrawals and didn't day drink, but I did have severe muscle cramps in the bottoms of my feet and my hamstrings after I drank too much. Likely an electrolyte imbalance. Other than that, no health effects that I was aware of. I was working as a personal trainer very part-time (ten to fifteen hours a week) and lifting weights six days a week, running three miles morning and evening every. single. day. Christmas and Thanksgiving I backed off to a morning run only. This was the case throughout my marriage and even through the end of it. (I'm saying this to say that I wasn't an unattractive slob.)
Now, here is where things get a little murky. Would J have pulled away physically if I hadn't been tipsy every night? I just don't know. Looking back, I could maybe pinpoint some red flags regarding his sexuality. But my altered mental state every night had to be wearing thin on him. Would I have had the affair with the handsome friend had I not been drinking so much, my thoughts so muddled, my responses so skewed? Who knows.
After we divorced, I bought another house and the handsome friend moved in with me. Thus began the trainwreck that is two alcoholics living together, one twice the size of the other and with a horrid temper. Here began the day drinking, the morning drinking, the all-day-Christmas-Day-watching-sad-movies drinking. The drink-to-drown-the-pain-of-abuse drinking. The drink-to-drown-the-regret drinking. The drink-to-hide-the-shame-of-an-affair drinking. The drink-to-forget-the-bruises drinking.
So I did what any alcoholic in that situation would do. I told my husband I wanted to go back to counseling. And I moved back into our home. My alcoholic mind was so. *******. manipulative that I denied an affair with handsome friend, insisted on my husband forgiving him and forced them be friends again. HOW SERIOUSLY ****** IS THAT? There really was no rekindling of their friendship because my husband, as good a man as he was, just couldn't bring himself to do it. But he did endure having the friend at the house a few times for dinner. I should have been struck by lightning right then and there. In my mind, I was fixing everything. I was fixing my marriage. I was fixing their friendship. Everything was going to be fixed. Everything was going to be okay. I was a fixer. I was fixing. (See the panic in my thought processes here?) I was going to be back in my comfy spot with my warm fuzzy blanket. Because it was, after all, about me. I wasn't a terrible person. I went to church most Sundays. I donated to charity. I gave discounts on my inflated personal trainer fees to women who couldn't afford it. I tried to help strangers. But I was selfish. I would manipulate someone's response to a situation to my liking with a very intricate technique that started long before the event causing the reaction that I wished to control. I was the wizard of my world, trying to control outcomes in my favor. Have you ever heard that alcoholic have big egos?
Obviously this sham of a reconnection with J was short-lived. So I moved back in with handsome friend. Cue the heavy drinking, blackouts, knock outs, vomiting, bruises, binges, damaged property, isolation, police reports, headaches, blackmail ................ you get the picture. Karma had come home to roost. I got exactly what I deserved and not a stitch more. In a moment of grace and mercy, God gave me the clarity to put my house on the market at a $30K loss and cut and run. I moved back to my small hometown to get my wits about me. I was at a new low.
Oh, this could be the turning point. Wouldn't that be beautiful? I'm laughing so tying this, realizing that this transition, this move should have my time! Dang. Opportunity missed. But I wasn't ready. Far from ready. I had so, so much more field research to conduct. The aforementioned is a ******* dream compared to what came later.
In my hometown I hooked up with an old platonic alcoholic friend. We drank and we had sex. We liked to cook and grill, too, but mostly drank and ******. Oh, and fought. Boy did we fight. He had a hair-trigger temper and wasn't above knocking the **** out of me. I had a couple of gynecological diagnoses that greatly reduced my chances of getting pregnant. But pregnant I got! Again, God extended mercy and grace and blessed me with the gift of an unexpected pregnancy. I immediately stopped drinking after five tests in ten minutes came back positive. And it was easy. I didn't want to. I didn't have withdrawal symptoms. I felt sooooo much better, despite being tired from the pregnancy. I thought sobriety rocked. Even emailed an old alcoholic, pro-AA client of mine and told her that sobriety rocked, even though I had never confessed my drinking habits to her. And I also immediately packed up my everything in my house into boxes, stacked them in the living room, called my father to come get it all and put it in a storage unit and send me the bill. I left town without a word to my daughter's biological contributor. I changed my phone number. He knew I was pregnant but he has never seen my daughter and I have not spoken to him since I left town. In a rare moment of clarity, I knew I had to protect my daughter. I enrolled in the RN refresher course and regained my license. I returned to the work force as an RN. As a single mother.
About six weeks after my daughter was born, a friend of mine from Dallas came to visit. We went straight from the airport to the liquor store and to my sober-for-almost-a year-self swore I heard angels singing when we walked into that liquor store. We drank and visited and had the best time. And thus began another downward spiral.
I still never called in sick, never got a DUI, never got in trouble, but was immediately back to nightly drinking. I wasn't coping well with the shame of my affair, shame of the divorce, shame of being a single mother. The shame of being an alcoholic was on the bottom run of my stress ladder. I somehow managed to do well at work, although I drove to work every day hungover and with horrible anxiety from drinking. I had started buying the four pack mini bottles of wine and often drank on the way home from work, with my daughter in the car. I changed to a hospital-based job around the time my daughter was 9 months old. I met what would be my next husband at work when my daughter was around a year old. We began to hang out as friends because we were both lonely. We enjoyed each other's company and this is where I did call in sick to work -- to go on adventures with him. Or sometimes just to stay home with him and hang out, just two adults, male and female. I hadn't had that for quite some time. We went from friends to more in short order. We quickly got engaged, my daughter and I moved in with him a few weeks before we were to be married and he promptly broke off the engagement and asked us to move out. No explanation other than he couldn't make a commitment. Out we moved. And I changed jobs to a much better paying, more enjoyable, more flexible job. I had actually changed jobs the week he broke off the engagement. It was a coincidence, but it was a blessing we didn't have to see each other at work or at all anymore. It wasn't until six months later that he told me the reason why. I was up to 1.5 to 2 bottles of wine per night. When I drank, I caused fights. When I drank, I was selfish. When I drank, I wasn't myself. I turned into an emotional, dramatic, argumentative, sensitive, vicious monster.
Now this next part, I can't explain. My drinking slowed down. Way down. I realized I was drinking too heavily and it was affecting me. I had a new home built for me and my daughter. I became engaged with my job and often brought work home, not minding it at all. I quit drinking wine completely and switched to mojito-flavored wine coolers. I would drink between two and four a night, rarely got a buzz, never felt tipsy. More of a security blanket. I got to where I would only drink one at night because I didn't want the extra calories and really felt little effect from them. I was happy. I was content. About six months after the engagement disaster, my CEO gave me a bottle of wine for Christmas. I started with two glasses a night and held steady for about a week. As I mentioned, I often brought work home, including a doctor that I began casually dating. He loved to cook and drink wine before during and after. He brought plenty of wine and we stayed up all night long, drinking and talking, me matching him 2:1 at least. We drank every time we were together. He expressed concern over the amount I drank but I assured him that it was under control. I slowly returned to nightly drinking.
Shortly after the New Year, circumstances put my ex-fiancé and I in contact again. We ended up getting back together and getting married three short months later. I was still an active alcoholic.
I am still married to this man, so out of consideration for him, I will leave a lot of details out. I still started arguments and blacked out and couldn't remember it the next day. I began to have the morning shakes and sadly learned the medicinal value of the morning drink. One bottle of wine was no longer enough, I was back to two bottles of wine a night. The marriage started on the rocks and fermented from there into something I didn't recognize. Nasty, nasty arguments, yelling, screaming, slamming doors, him disappearing without a word, sleeping in separate bedrooms. I was so lonely and so ashamed of my alcoholism. I was ashamed that my second marriage was failing in it's infancy. I was ashamed that I was failing as a mother. I did what alcoholics do. I isolated and drank more.
I had to drink before I could drive my daughter to school. Then it got to where I had to drink to have my hands steady enough to do my eye makeup. Then I had to drink to be able to shower. I would shake so violently when I woke up that I got to where I had to have a drink before I got out of bed. Then I would have to have a drink in the middle of the night. I had, finally, arrived at 24 hour maintenance drinking. Drinking didn't feel good anymore. There was rarely a "high." It truly turned into maintenance drinking. I drank to be normal. I could not function without alcohol. But give me two drinks and I'm good to go. Until it was no longer in my bloodstream. I literally HAD to have it in my blood at all times to prevent severe withdrawals, including violent shakes, stroke-level blood pressures and heart rates nearing 200. I was terrified of a withdrawal seizure. I drank to survive. I rotated liquor stores so that "nobody would know I was an alcoholic." I woke up in a very deep dark pit every day and had to drink to get up to the light. If you think it can't get worse, it can. I tore up my gastric lining so badly that I had to take a few drinks of wine every morning before my shower, wait to throw up, then be so relived because I could keep the next one down once I threw up. I HAD to drink to perform. I HAD to drink to maintain. Every. Single. Day. It is the absolute sickest cycle that I have ever been a part of. It is more sick to me than the cycle of abuse. Because I literally needed it to live. I needed it to function. I wanted to quit so badly, but became so violently ill when I did. I learned that two drugs can kill you if you stop doing them cold turkey. Alcohol and benzos. I drank to live. There was no pleasure. It was literally life and death. I became intimate with four men that were not my husband during this time -- if you're an alcoholic you have met them -- Terror. Bewilderment. Frustration. Despair. The Hideous Four Horsemen. Alcohol wasn't my lover. My four horsemen were. We knew each other so well that I flat out told them one day, I will never beat you, but you will never beat me. You will be with until I die. We are forever one. We will just have to learn to live together. And the sad thing is, that thought brought me comfort. I knew I could never beat it, but believed it would never beat me.
Through it all I loved my daughter fiercely. But I was not a good mother. I was short-tempered. I wouldn't leave the house after 5:00 if at all possible because it interfered with my drinking time. I would stay in bed all weekend and read because I was too sick to do anything else. I once drove her to 0730 "Muffins with Mom" at her school and had to pull over on the way to school to throw up in a business office parking lot. My angel looked at me and said "Mommy, please don't drink that red stuff. It makes you throw up." What a gut punch. What a horrible mother. Drink to numb the pain and shame. Another horrible cycle.
In 2013, my husband confronted me with an ultimatum in the form of his wedding band rubber-banded to my box (yes, box) of wine that I hid under the bed. He knew it was there. I knew he knew it was there. We just never confronted it until that night. And thus began my very NON-LINEAR journey to sobriety. I went to counseling with a substance abuse counselor (RPK). I loved her to death. She was funny, sharp, understanding, compassionate and called me out on my ********. I tried to taper. I tried medications. I tried AA. I always returned to drinking. The force of the pull was something that I just could not resist. There was half of my brain sending the strongest signal that I should drink. My beast brain was terrified that I would quit. And it made sure to keep those thoughts ever present. After much resistance, and with the encouragement and support of my counselor, I admitted defeat and voluntarily admitted myself to a 5 day detox unit.
I believe it was around day 34ish that I drank again. You know, because I could control it. My husband was so proud of me for going to detox. My parents were so proud of me. They thought I had displayed such courage and strength to go to detox. I let everyone down and was rewarded with another period of separation from my husband, soul full of shame, reckless drunk driving, taking out my neighbors brick mailbox with my brand new car, remorse, regret and isolation to the highest degree I could push it. And so began the long wait before the liquor store opened at 10am. Walking in with shaking hands to get my fix because the three mini bottles of wine that I drank that morning before work were quickly leaving my bloodstream. With shaky hands, downcast eyes and hope, I bought my bottle and walked out the door, trying not to make eye contact. It was easy to make eye contact with the homeless people that often stand just outside the store to beg for money. I always gave them money because I wouldn't wish alcohol withdrawal on anyone. And I always prayed for them. I was an alcoholic with a nice home, family, career. How much more difficult to be a lonely, homeless alcoholic? The ONLY difference between me and them? They had been at it longer.
From 2013 to 2015, I had more starts and stops than I can count. More deals with God. More AA meetings. Constant reading on SR. An extremely cold husband. Ever-rising liver numbers on my labs. Sickness, shame, puking, crying, pleading with God, pleading with myself, absorbing information about alcoholism like a sponge absorbs water, and drinking, drinking, drinking. Getting ever weaker, ever sicker. My platelets were low and my body would bruise so easily. I had deep purple bruises all over my legs and ass. I started to fall frequently. I fell UP staircases. More horrible bruises. My eyes were constantly blood shot (Visine is an alcoholic's best friend). Try, fail. Try, fail. Try, fail. At one particular AA meeting, I had an epiphany of what my poor mother and father were going through. The overwhelming guilt of what I had done to them, the worry and agony that they must experience on a daily basis. It brought me to tears. So I did what all alcoholics with no coping mechanisms do, I bought a bottle of vodka on the way home and was met at the door by my husband as I tried to sneak it in the house. More anger, more shame. My self-esteem was so far into the negative. I was a shell of my former self. A childhood friend (KH) that is an addiction counselor knew of my plight and we talked about it only occasionally, but I knew she supported me and that I could be 100% honest with her without judgment. That tiny tendril of acceptance was a balm to my shattered soul. Another friend (BG) was also dancing with the devil and spiraling down her own rabbit hole. That tiny bit of commaraderie made my lonesome spirit feel a tiny interstate connection with a fellow friend and addict. Another of my childhood friends (CK) said something that really stuck with me ........ "I want you to find Alisha again."
That statement/request/plea stuck with me through the rest of my journey. I wanted to find her, too. I missed her. She was outgoing, shy, funny, goofy, serious, intelligent, crazy, brazen, reserved, intelligent, worthy, capable, strong, brave, loving, caring, compassionate. And she was nowhere to be found. She was buried under so much shame, regret and misery that I never saw her. The world never saw her. I realized that my husband had never even met her.
In July of 2015, I simply couldn't fight the fight any longer. I knew I was close to death or prison. I knew I was putting my license in jeopardy. I was so profoundly TIRED of trying to maintain outward appearances, live the double life. It was killing my body, mind, spirit, soul. I was on the precipice of losing everything. I gave up, succumbed to my addiction and checked myself into an out-of-state inpatient rehab. I wanted to drive myself but my husband insisted on driving me. I only had few sips of wine before we headed out, a 3.5 hour drive. Before we left, I took my remaining wine to the other side of the house and put it in my husband's bedroom, on his nightstand. I didn't need it and figured he would by the time he got back home. By the time we arrived at the sprawling rehab compound, I was shaking like a leaf. The facility was beautiful, set in gentle rolling hills, beautiful tall trees. The main house was a two-story building that looked like a hunting lodge. The front balcony off the main room overlooked the hills and trees. It was such a calming environment. And I was the exact opposite of calm. I was vibrating internally and externally. I was starting what would be some rather unpleasant withdrawals. But they were eased by medications. I cannot say that I threw myself into the curriculum with both feet, but I did do a lot of the assignments and found them helpful. At the end of the day, it comes down to willingness and readiness.
I returned home on day 30. I felt better physically and mentally. My self-esteem was still in the *******. I had no confidence. I quit my long-term stressful job that I was so concerned about losing. I went to AA meetings. And then I relapsed shortly after returning home. This relapse still amuses me as to how easily it happned. I was still off work, having just returned home. I went to get my hair done at my neice's salon one morning. They had a coffee bar set up with Bailey's Irish Cream. One little splash on top of coffee won't hurt. I slugged that cup o' joe rather quickly and poured another, this time with two splashes of Bailey's. Later that day I hit the liquor store and bought my beloved wine. We were reunited. My four lovers were fully aroused after waiting so patiently.
The backlash from my husband was fierce. That relapse was shortly stopped, lasted about two days. And so began the cycle of a few weeks sober/relapse, rinse and repeat. I managed to get myself phyically addicted again so that I had horrible shakes after a binge. The hiding, the sneaking, the lying, the shame. My four lovers and I were intertwined in a world of our own.
I honestly cannot say what finally flipped the switch. I was scheduled for a hysterectomy and scheduled my quit date to coincide. The first week after surgery I felt so poorly that I didn't want to drink. The next few weeks I felt so good that I didn't want to drink. My body was in a state of absolute shock - instant surgical menopause paired with ETOH withdrawal. The actual withdrawal symptoms were not very pronounced, thankfully. The narcotics that I took for three days post-op likely assisted. Sobriety felt so wonderful that I couldn't even consider drinking again. I had the niggling thoughts at first that, of course, I'll test the waters again. Of course, more field research was required. I didn't and it wasn't. It was over. Finally.
After about three months of sobriety, nothing had changed between me and my husband so I decided to leave. At that point he insisted that we work on our marriage one more time. We are working on things and doing drastically better. It will take a lot of time. There has been much damage and hurt on both sides. We are essentially like newlyweds in the first two years of marriage. We are getting to know each other, learning to live with each other's habits and idiosynchrocies. He never knew me. I am changing rapidly and I'm sure it is difficult for him. But the changes are for the best. Sometimes I think he must be in shock at this new creature emerging. The old Alisha. That one that my friends told me they missed. She is kind, harsh, loving, mouthy, bold, sensitive, tough, generous, selfish, forgiving, outspoken, shy, talkative, goofy, snarky, silly, intelligent, capable and worthy. We are a work in progress. At first, I didn't want to work things out. I had zero desire. I had to force myself to talk to him, to be around him. Now, after about 9 months or trying, we are slowly getting to know each other. We enjoy each other's company. The marriage that was completely dead with no emotion is slowly coming back to life. A miracle indeed. I don't know what the future holds. But I know that with God, all things are possible. We were baptized together as a family, the three of us, on February 14, 2016. I hadn't found lasting sobriety by that point, but I was working toward it with a vengeance.
Today, April 10, 2018, I am one year sober. For the first time since I began my drinking career at the tender age of 14 or 15, now, at the ripe ol' age of 45, I am one year sober. And the difference is indescribable.
There is a term in sobriety known as the pink cloud. The urban dictionary defines it this way -
Pink Cloud
12 step recovery jargon referring to someone new who talks about how great life is, now that they're sober. Usually
meaning that the person is out of touch with reality.
The new guy seems pretty happy for a dude who has no job, no money and no family. He must be on a pink cloud.
I had experienced the pink cloud multiple, multiple times. Most alcoholics have. This time is different. The first few months of sobriety, I felt great but my self-esteem was still non-existent. I have slowly rebuilt that and my confidence level is now on par with my abilities. I have faith in myself. I started a new job in January of 2016. I love my job, have invested myself in my career and through a serious of (not so) random events (thanks, God!) have topped out at the pay scale for RNs without furthering their education (which is something that I am very NON-seriously considering.) I can do anything. Literally anything. I can go to the grocery store at 8pm. I can get up in the middle of the night with my daughter if she is ill. I can engage with her. I can enjoy her. I can get pulled over by a cop without fear. I joined a gym. I am re-taking a CHL class. I got a sobriety tattoo. I live a charmed life. In reality, it is a very boring and normal life. But I have a secret weapon. I have the gift of contrast. I am literally in awe of how amazing and beautiful life is. Every day. All day long. Twice on Sundays.
Something that many alcoholics who find sobriety ponder is this: Do I regret that I am alcoholic?
What a loaded question. I wouldn't wish it on anyone. But it has shaped me into who I am today. It has made me so very grateful for my life. It has shown my daughter what courage is. It has made me so, so, so much kinder to strangers. It has given me eyes that see and seek. Seek the hurting, the lost, the needy. It has given me ears that hear. Hear other people's pain. It has made me more generous. I give when I am broke and have bills to pay. Why? Because there is no better feeling. I help others with no expectation of anything in return. Why? Because they need it and because it feels incredible. It's what Jesus would do. I am a better person because I am an alcoholic. This was God's plan for me. And I accept it and I am grateful that He never left my side and that He can use me to help others.
I am fortunate to work with a patient population that sees high percentage of alcoholics. While I don't advertise my battle with my co-workers, I don't hesitate to shut the door and share with alcoholic patients. When they see someone who has been there and understands, their entire countenance changes. I give my personal cell phone number to each and every one to call me after they discharge if they want help. None have called yet but I won't stop using my unique position to help other alcoholics. I feel so blessed and fortunate to be able to do this. I will go to the ******* mat to get my alcoholic patient admitted to my (physical, not substance abuse) rehab hospital. Every person needs an underdog population to fight for. If you don't have one, find one. Someone needs you to fight for them.
I am grateful for my parents who never left my side. Not once did I see judgement in their eyes. I am so sorry for the pain I created for them but so grateful that they stood by my side. My father lent me the money for rehab and my mother helped my husband care for my daughter while I was away. I owe them everything. I love you, Mom and Dad.
I am grateful to my friends who never gave up on me. Their support means everything. They are my village. I love you, KH, CKN and BG.
I am grateful to my daughter who is and old soul in a ten-year-old body. She is my biggest supporter and cheerleader. She loves me unconditionally. She believes in me with all of her heart. She has had to grow up too fast and for that I am sorry. But she an amazing child and my biggest blessing. I love you, Shayni.
I am grateful to my husband for sticking with me when he'd rather leave me. I know my recovery wasn't linear as you had hoped, but it seldom is. It was rather convoluted, but every twist and turn, every up and down, every field research experiment, every victory and defeat was necessary for me to find my own way. That you are still here is nothing short of amazing. I love you, honey.
I am grateful to my counselor (RPK) for being one tough bitch (said with respect and love). She let me get away with exactly nothing. She made me realize what I had to do to get better. She helped me prioritize. She made me realize my career that I tried so hard to protect meant nothing without sobriety. She supported and encouraged every healthy decision that I made. I love you, RPK.
I am grateful to my friend A who knew me through all of this, but not all the details. She loved and supported me from afar. And I can now tell her 100% of my life without judgment. She knows how far I have come and she loves me without condition. I love you, AKB.
I am grateful to AA for teaching me that honesty is vital in sobriety. Also for teaching me the importance of service to others. While I do not attend AA nor subscribe to the 12-step progam, I think it is a valuable resource and often recommend it to fellow alcoholics.
I am grateful to SR. I joined in 2013 and never went more than one day without reading, save for the time I was in rehab and had no internet access. I learned so, so much here. I don't post much, but I read voraciously. I love you, SR.
I am grateful to my worship pastor at my church (CM) who is a fellow addict and gave her testimony at church at a time when not I, but my husband needed to hear it. It fell on my deaf ears. But it touched him and gave him hope that I could get better. I told you I would write my story, CM! I love you!
Finally, I am grateful to my God for sustaining me, guiding me, protecting me and blessing me with the ability to get sober. We all have it. We just have to never give up and find our own way. Never stop trying. Surround yourself with people that love you, support you, are kind to you and will help you. Never stop praying. Your miracle is coming.
Administrator
Join Date: Apr 2007
Location: Australia
Posts: 211,352
Congratulations Ali 
The Stories of Recovery Forum doesn't allow for replies so I can't move this thread there.
You can repost your initial post in Stories of Recovery and one of us mods will close that thread off for you then.
D.
The Stories of Recovery Forum doesn't allow for replies so I can't move this thread there.
You can repost your initial post in Stories of Recovery and one of us mods will close that thread off for you then.
D.
Member
Join Date: Jan 2018
Posts: 350
Ali
I started reading and could not stop it's a humdinger.
How innocent the first dance
How lost and enslaved we become when we have been overcome by the addiction.
How sobriety can start a new and magnificent life even after all of the turmoil.
I am grateful that you shared with us!
I started reading and could not stop it's a humdinger.
How innocent the first dance
How lost and enslaved we become when we have been overcome by the addiction.
How sobriety can start a new and magnificent life even after all of the turmoil.
I am grateful that you shared with us!
Member
Join Date: Apr 2018
Posts: 113
Wow 😮 just wow! I could not stop reading this, so honest and powerful! You have a gift of writing alongside your amazing gift (that you’ve worked hard for) of caring as your job! It’s has hit me hard I smiled and cried through reading this! An amazing woman so hats off to you!
I’m just starting this journey (day 10) and without sounding horrible I don’t want to find myself as you were, repeating the viscous circle of addiction! I hope to find the strength you eventually found to live a happier life, to be a better mom, daughter and wife (eventually lol)!
Wishing you and your family all the best to go and live the life you love! Please write again, your words are soooo powerful! “Just when the caterpillar thought its life was over, it became a beautiful butterfly”🦋x
I’m just starting this journey (day 10) and without sounding horrible I don’t want to find myself as you were, repeating the viscous circle of addiction! I hope to find the strength you eventually found to live a happier life, to be a better mom, daughter and wife (eventually lol)!
Wishing you and your family all the best to go and live the life you love! Please write again, your words are soooo powerful! “Just when the caterpillar thought its life was over, it became a beautiful butterfly”🦋x
Member
Thread Starter
Join Date: Apr 2013
Posts: 94
Originally Posted by Loveisallweneed 
Wow 😮 just wow! I could not stop reading this, so honest and powerful! You have a gift of writing alongside your amazing gift (that you’ve worked hard for) of caring as your job! It’s has hit me hard I smiled and cried through reading this! An amazing woman so hats off to you!
I’m just starting this journey (day 10) and without sounding horrible I don’t want to find myself as you were, repeating the viscous circle of addiction! I hope to find the strength you eventually found to live a happier life, to be a better mom, daughter and wife (eventually lol)!
Wishing you and your family all the best to go and live the life you love! Please write again, your words are soooo powerful! “Just when the caterpillar thought its life was over, it became a beautiful butterfly”🦋x
I’m just starting this journey (day 10) and without sounding horrible I don’t want to find myself as you were, repeating the viscous circle of addiction! I hope to find the strength you eventually found to live a happier life, to be a better mom, daughter and wife (eventually lol)!
Wishing you and your family all the best to go and live the life you love! Please write again, your words are soooo powerful! “Just when the caterpillar thought its life was over, it became a beautiful butterfly”🦋x
Thanks so much for your reply! Helping others, even a little, really strengthens my sobriety.
Day 10 is amazing! I would have given my left leg for a day 10 every single day of my journey. Don't stop the momentum. If you start feeling irritable and snarky, make human contact with another alcoholic!! If you aren't part of AA, this is one time that a meeting should help. Nobody minds if you drop in every now and then. Seeing YOU helps THEM. And it helps you.
No, you don't want to go down the rabbit hole that I did. Read stories like mine often. There is a lot of power in that. I loved reading the stories in the back of the Big Book. If you don't have that version, I'm sure someone can post a link so you can view online.
Keep going, stay the course, reach out when needed. Feel free to PM me anytime!
Peace. Love. Sobriety.
Member
Join Date: Apr 2018
Posts: 113
Originally Posted by Ali2013
Love,
Thanks so much for your reply! Helping others, even a little, really strengthens my sobriety.
Day 10 is amazing! I would have given my left leg for a day 10 every single day of my journey. Don't stop the momentum. If you start feeling irritable and snarky, make human contact with another alcoholic!! If you aren't part of AA, this is one time that a meeting should help. Nobody minds if you drop in every now and then. Seeing YOU helps THEM. And it helps you.
No, you don't want to go down the rabbit hole that I did. Read stories like mine often. There is a lot of power in that. I loved reading the stories in the back of the Big Book. If you don't have that version, I'm sure someone can post a link so you can view online.
Keep going, stay the course, reach out when needed. Feel free to PM me anytime!
Peace. Love. Sobriety.
Thanks so much for your reply! Helping others, even a little, really strengthens my sobriety.
Day 10 is amazing! I would have given my left leg for a day 10 every single day of my journey. Don't stop the momentum. If you start feeling irritable and snarky, make human contact with another alcoholic!! If you aren't part of AA, this is one time that a meeting should help. Nobody minds if you drop in every now and then. Seeing YOU helps THEM. And it helps you.
No, you don't want to go down the rabbit hole that I did. Read stories like mine often. There is a lot of power in that. I loved reading the stories in the back of the Big Book. If you don't have that version, I'm sure someone can post a link so you can view online.
Keep going, stay the course, reach out when needed. Feel free to PM me anytime!
Peace. Love. Sobriety.
I just need to get through the next 2 weeks before rehab and I think I’m strong enough to do that without messing up and then 5 weeks away I’m hoping will take me completely out of the routine of having a drink during the day or ever for that matter! I plan on going to a meeting this week even if it’s just to get a proper idea of it all as the treatment center works off the 12 steps! As daunting as the whole thing is I know in the end it will be a much better life, and no one ever put all the peices back together (well, as well as they can fit) by staying in their comfort zone! X
No Dogma Please
Join Date: Jul 2017
Location: SoCal
Posts: 2,562
Originally Posted by Loveisallweneed
I just need to get through the next 2 weeks before rehab and I think I’m strong enough to do that without messing up and then 5 weeks away I’m hoping will take me completely out of the routine of having a drink during the day or ever for that matter! I plan on going to a meeting this week even if it’s just to get a proper idea of it all as the treatment center works off the 12 steps! As daunting as the whole thing is I know in the end it will be a much better life, and no one ever put all the peices back together (well, as well as they can fit) by staying in their comfort zone! X
You will have a head start! The most important part of my inpatient rehab (I also did 5 weeks) was coming up with a detailed sobriety plan. You can start that now and refine it as you learn stuff in rehab.
Thanks to you and thanks to Ali for your incredible stories.
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