New to this site and figured I would post my story.
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Join Date: Jun 2015
Location: Tampa FL
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New to this site and figured I would post my story.
Hi everyone. I'm new to this site and wanted to break the ice by telling my story and maybe provide some others with some insight. I know it's kind of long but I really appreciate those who read it.
The first drink I ever took was when I was a sophomore in high school, in the months just before I turned sixteen. My parents had gone to dinner and I was left alone to my own devices, usually a bad thing for someone of that age. I decided to try some vodka due to the easy accessibility, since my mother preferred to keep it in the freezer. I do agree now that vodka is best served as cold as you can make it. There wasn't much to choose from to mix it with, and since it was my first time I didn't want to drink it straight, so I mixed it with lemonade. The taste was unbearable, and at first I didn't think I could finish it, but once the initially feeling of warmth and numbness set in I powered through the first drink. I had two more after that and by the time they arrived home from dinner I could barely keep from slurring my words. I spent the rest of the evening in my room and it wasn't long until I fell asleep.
The next morning I awoke for school feeling miserable. I remember bragging to my friends about my previous nights' escapades and wore my hangover like a badge of honor. I was, in my own opinion, one of the cool kids who liked to party and rebel against authority. I had smoked pot for the first time about a month prior to that and believed I was something of a rebel. It was a horrible attitude to have at the time, but I don't regret it since it has helped make me the man I am today. However, back then, it was the start to a path down a dark and miserable road which I would not stray from for quite some time.
Over the summer between my sophomore and junior years of high school, my use of pot and alcohol increased significantly. This was due to the fact that my older sisters had found out I was now a "bad boy" through the grape- vine of stoner friends, and wanted to take me under their wing. I'm positive that they regret it sincerely now, but at the time they were young and ignorant as well. I remember smoking with them on several occasions over at the townhouse that they shared, which my parents were mostly paying for at the time. I recall in great detail my first real party that I went to there, everyone older and more drug and alcohol wise than myself at the time. It was thrilling to be in the company of such experience. This was also the first time I was introduced to my sister's future husband. I drank quite heavily that night, and smoked quite a bit as well. I remember saying to someone there that I was tripping hard. He quickly got excited, jumping to the edge of his seat, asking if he could buy some off me. Confused, I said "what do you mean?". Little did I know that tripping indicated the use of another drug I was not familiar with at the time, and wouldn't try until some time later. I merely thought it was a general term to indicate extreme impairment. I felt like such a little fish in a big pond then, and desperately wanted to be a big fish in the eyes of these people that I hardly knew.
During my junior year of high school, I made friends with some that would later prove to be the worst influences I have had in my life. They would later introduce me to new drugs, and help me escalate my drinking to new levels. I was arrested for the first time late in the same year I had taken my first drink. We were at an office complex behind my parents house having a grand old time. I probably had around eight beers within the course of three hours or so (a good amount to get me well lit for that age), and we were lighting up in my car, the only one park in the entire complex. As I was lighting the bowl, a sheriff's Crown Victoria passed by slowly just in time to see the flame of the lighter from inside the dark vehicle. My friend who had been sitting in the passenger seat had been in previous trouble with the law, so before I knew it he was gone, bolting over a fence in a matter of seconds. Myself, trying to take in the situation, paralyzed and not knowing what to do. What could I have done? I was trapped. Caught red handed. I was charged with possession of marijuana, paraphernalia, but somehow not drunk driving. Since I was a minor at the time, the law said I had to go into a detox program for three days. I was mortified and humiliated. I cried my eyes out like a little baby seeing my parents visit me there the next day. I was deeply remorseful in their presence and promised that I would change my ways and be good again. Less than two weeks after being released from the forced detox program, I was arrested for the second time.
The same friend who had bolted from the car during our previous encounter with the law had convinced me to sneak out and meet him in the middle of the night. He had snuck a bottle from his mom and also had some top quality kind bud. It didn't take much to convince me, since I was sure I wouldn't get caught this time. We met on the train tracks half way between our houses, about a two mile walk for me in the dead of night. When we met he was accompanied by a girl I barely knew. It turns out earlier that night she had had an argument with her mother and left without her permission. Her mother therefore called the police reporting a missing child and it was not long before they found us, since we were the only kids on the street. When we talked to the police, we brilliantly informed them that the two of us were heading back to my house for a sleepover and that the girl had not been involved in our future plans . They walked her over to the squad car to take her home and let us on our way. It worked! We headed off, relieved that we had fooled them and that they didn't search either of us. We made it about thirty yards down the street before hearing the Sherriff's cruiser screaming toward us. They had found marijuana on the girl! Well, game over. We were taken to the detention center and processed. Luckily we didn't get the opportunity to smoke of drink, so this time I didn't have to go to detox, but had another charge of possession tacked onto my record. My mom picked me up several hours later from the detention center, her first words to me being "why are you acting like such an *******?!" I had no response, and the rest of the car ride was spent in silence. My friend was forced to go to a ninety day treatment center due to his previous encounters, and I was let off easily in my opinion. I had to do some community service which consisted of me shelving books at the local library, which wasn't too bad. I also received a probation sentence, and after all was said and done my records were sealed since I was a minor. I couldn't believe I was let off so easy, and the punishment was nowhere near harsh enough to change my ways.
The remainder of my high school days consisted of very little school and a lot of drinking and drugging. There were more days missed my senior year than attended, and I ended up having to make up three classes in summer school. I did not walk with my senior class. My family was very disappointed, but at the time I really didn't care, because I was too intoxicated most of the time to do so. The classes were made up easily for me. I was always a pretty bright person when it came to academics. I finished the missing credits I needed within a month, and received my high school diploma. I started at community college in the fall of 2003, convinced I wanted to study business. My alcohol use was at an all time high at that point in my life. I was getting drunk every night with friends who were staying at a run-down motel in the area. My grades in my first semester of college suffered greatly, and I was forced to drop several classes. I didn't care because I was having too much fun with the drink. I was having too good of a time and didn't understand why everyone didn't participate in such alcohol excess. I looked at people who didn't partake as being boring and lame. I was one of the cool people who knew how to party. Shortly after beginning my second semester in college, in January of 2004, I was arrested for my third and last time for driving under the influence.
I remember that night fairly well even though I had consumed mass amount of intoxicating chemicals. If I recall correctly, I had taken somewhere around 3 or 4 benzodiazepines, and was drinking hard liquor (white rum if I remember correctly) throughout the night, combined with several hits off cigars of kind bud. We ended up at an apartment complex which belonged to the parents of an acquaintance of mine. We were set to stay the night, but I was soon kicked out do to my drunken behavior and me knocking over a prized lamp of the acquaintance's mother. Behind the wheel of my car with my drunk friend in tow, we did not make it far. Upon backing out of the parking space we were occupying, I immediately drove into a car passing by. The man driving the other car immediately got out, assessed my state, and called the police to come haul me away. We tried to persuade him not to do so, even offered him what little money we had on us, but to no avail. He was a good citizen and was simply doing the right thing, which I would now do if encountered with a similar situation. I was arrested and thrown in the drunk tank at the county jail, testing with a ridiculous 0.198 blood alcohol content, on top of the other drugs I had taken that night. Combining pills and alcohol has devastating effects and should never be done. Any doctor will tell you this. It can have lethal effects, so it was a miracle I was even conscious at that point.
The next morning, while bad, was not the worst of my life. That would come later that year. I was released that afternoon on my own recognizance. I left the jail and had the same friend from the night before come pick me up. I didn't tell my parents. When we arrived back at his house, I was greeted with a handle of whiskey and a few lines of blow. Why not? I was already suffering the consequences. Might as well have fun and try to forget the situation I was in. I was feeling good once again.
A few days later I finally told my parents of my situation. I proposed the idea of going to stay with my sister at her townhouse (the same one from earlier) since it was within walking distance of my college and that I could still attend classes. I was deeply remorseful and explained to them that I would change my ways and that this would be a good step. The next week, I moved into the townhouse. Looking back, I now see this notion as ridiculous, since my sister had a similar problem with the drink. Over the next six months my drinking soared to new heights with the presence of new enablers, with me being an enabler for her as well. Some of our drinking times were fun, but most resulted in dramatic pity parties for one another. My grades stayed low and if I recall correctly I ended up dropping several more classes do to multiple absences. During this time I sustained some of my worst physical injuries from alcohol. I remember once after drinking a fifth of vodka, I stumbled out of the house in a drunken stupor only to pass out on a large mound of fire ants. It took me several minutes to realize what was happening, but by the time I did I had sustained over a hundred bites over my body. I was in excruciating pain the next day, and remember medicating myself heavily with booze and pills. I had fallen down the stairs on another occasion and was knocked unconscious, waking to find a friend I had invited over standing above me. I walked it off saying it was no big deal. I'm sure there were many others that I can't remember due to blackouts.
Over the course of the six months I was living there, my drinking was way out of anyone's control, especially my own. I can now admit this freely, but at the time I wouldn't dare admit such weakness. Depression soon consumed me, though I was fairly good at hiding it when not drunken out of my mind. My final night living at the townhouse was on September of 2004, and climaxed with the worst decision I have ever made in my limited days. It was a drunken decision to depart this mortal realm.
I remember this night very clearly. My sister and her boyfriend at the time were staying at a hotel on the beach for a weekend getaway, and I was at home babysitting her daughter, my sweet niece who was 7 at the time. I had been drinking the remaining half handle of vodka left over from the previous nights escapades since early afternoon. It took me about six hours to finish it, and I was good and lit. I decided it would be a swell idea to go meet them at the beach by way of cab. After arriving, more drinks were had and I soon lost all ability to control myself. I became very angry over something I can't even remember, probably cause they cut me off the booze or something of that nature. They sent me back home in a cab to sleep it off, and I was extremely upset over the entire situation. I remember blubbering like a baby but I don't know why. Alcohol is a cruel beast which can wreak havoc on the mind of any sane individual. I arrived home in despair, and decided I no longer wanted to feel this way. I went and swallowed approximately forty acetaminophen tablets , which I now know has deadly effects on the liver when combined with alcohol. I then phoned my parents to say goodbye, but got no answer. I left a message of pity and (now know) a cry-for-help saying goodbye. I later learned that my father never bothered picking up the phone, and instead immediately rushed to my aid. My parents arrived some time later to find me stooped on the bathroom floor in a puddle of my own drool and pity. My mother gave me syrup of ipecac to induce vomiting since they figured I may have taken pills. Looking back I believe I got most of the poison out of me, but there was still a good amount coursing through my veins. The paramedics arrived shortly after and delivered me to the emergency room. I remember faint images of me screaming horrifically and cursing the doctors, Mr. Hyde revealed in full form. I was later told that my true self made a brief appearance early in the morning when I was half conscious, telling a nurse "Thank you for helping me". I awoke to the worst morning of my entire life, due to the withdrawal from the booze and the immense shame of my actions.
I spent the following two days in the intensive care unit, and three more days in a regular room for observation. There were several mentions of "liver transplant" which scared me greatly. After several days of testing and rest, I was in good shape. No permanent damage done. I was greatly relieved. I was released and vowed never to touch alcohol for the rest of my days, and I was very optimistic. That lasted for about three months, when I fooled myself into thinking I could drink like a normal person. That I didn't have a problem.
Over the next six years, I completed my degree at the community college, and went on to earn a degree in engineering at a good university. During this time I developed a strong aptitude for hiding my drinking from my family and friends. I was what I would now call a functioning alcoholic, only drinking during certain times and limiting my drinks as best I could. I was still consuming way too much, but I had a fairly high tolerance for the stuff. Besides, I would just tell myself that everyone drinks in college. There were however several embarrassing instances when I had obviously drank too much and my friends at the time could most likely see that I had a problem.
After school I landed a position at a very good firm. My drinking, though in excess, did not affect my work performance. However, there were many instances of arriving at work late severely hung-over from the night before, and many lunches where multiple pints of beer were consumed. Over the years I had developed social anxiety and used booze to self medicate. It was also during this time that I began to suffer liver discomfort and chest tightness. I now know this to be the result of my continued boozing and subsequent withdrawals. Too embarrassed to see a doctor, I treated myself with diet, exercise, and a daily dose of milk thistle, all while continuing to drink to ease the symptoms.
When I was 28 years old, I met the love of my life ( And my second love, her son). I had a great job so we had lots of spending money to do fun things. I greatly enjoyed wining and dining her and showing her the time of her life. We told ourselves that drinking was just the lubricant we used to increase the enjoyment we had with one another. We know now that we were by all means enabling each other. This continued for about a year, until she realized she had a problem during a heavy night of drinking on new year's eve. She decided she needed to make the major decision to tackle her problem once and for all. I was very proud of her, and cut back my drinking greatly in order to support her. I did not stop completely because I still felt I did not have a problem, but I was kidding myself. For me, one is always too much and one hundred is never enough when it comes to the drink. My moods became more unstable when drinking and I began to lash out at her for minor things. I was beginning to see more of Mr. Hyde when I drank. I never wanted to be that man. I had to make a dramatic change. I needed to take a good long hard look at myself.
After much time of self reflection, I now realize I am an alcoholic. I can shout it with pride now, because it is the realizations of our greatest weaknesses which propel us into becoming better people. Physically, mentally, and spiritually. I love where I am now sober and wouldn't change it for the world. It is a marvelous thing to have the unconditional love of a great woman. I love my family and my newfound love of life. I feel so much better about myself in every aspect, though there is great room for improvement. I find joy now in things that never gave me joy when I was drinking. Physically I am in the best shape of my life. My emotions are much more stable. I feel a greater spiritual connection with the universe and everything in it. These are just some of the countless ways my life has improved since giving up alcohol and making my realizations. I am indeed a much happier person, and isn't that the point anyways?
The first drink I ever took was when I was a sophomore in high school, in the months just before I turned sixteen. My parents had gone to dinner and I was left alone to my own devices, usually a bad thing for someone of that age. I decided to try some vodka due to the easy accessibility, since my mother preferred to keep it in the freezer. I do agree now that vodka is best served as cold as you can make it. There wasn't much to choose from to mix it with, and since it was my first time I didn't want to drink it straight, so I mixed it with lemonade. The taste was unbearable, and at first I didn't think I could finish it, but once the initially feeling of warmth and numbness set in I powered through the first drink. I had two more after that and by the time they arrived home from dinner I could barely keep from slurring my words. I spent the rest of the evening in my room and it wasn't long until I fell asleep.
The next morning I awoke for school feeling miserable. I remember bragging to my friends about my previous nights' escapades and wore my hangover like a badge of honor. I was, in my own opinion, one of the cool kids who liked to party and rebel against authority. I had smoked pot for the first time about a month prior to that and believed I was something of a rebel. It was a horrible attitude to have at the time, but I don't regret it since it has helped make me the man I am today. However, back then, it was the start to a path down a dark and miserable road which I would not stray from for quite some time.
Over the summer between my sophomore and junior years of high school, my use of pot and alcohol increased significantly. This was due to the fact that my older sisters had found out I was now a "bad boy" through the grape- vine of stoner friends, and wanted to take me under their wing. I'm positive that they regret it sincerely now, but at the time they were young and ignorant as well. I remember smoking with them on several occasions over at the townhouse that they shared, which my parents were mostly paying for at the time. I recall in great detail my first real party that I went to there, everyone older and more drug and alcohol wise than myself at the time. It was thrilling to be in the company of such experience. This was also the first time I was introduced to my sister's future husband. I drank quite heavily that night, and smoked quite a bit as well. I remember saying to someone there that I was tripping hard. He quickly got excited, jumping to the edge of his seat, asking if he could buy some off me. Confused, I said "what do you mean?". Little did I know that tripping indicated the use of another drug I was not familiar with at the time, and wouldn't try until some time later. I merely thought it was a general term to indicate extreme impairment. I felt like such a little fish in a big pond then, and desperately wanted to be a big fish in the eyes of these people that I hardly knew.
During my junior year of high school, I made friends with some that would later prove to be the worst influences I have had in my life. They would later introduce me to new drugs, and help me escalate my drinking to new levels. I was arrested for the first time late in the same year I had taken my first drink. We were at an office complex behind my parents house having a grand old time. I probably had around eight beers within the course of three hours or so (a good amount to get me well lit for that age), and we were lighting up in my car, the only one park in the entire complex. As I was lighting the bowl, a sheriff's Crown Victoria passed by slowly just in time to see the flame of the lighter from inside the dark vehicle. My friend who had been sitting in the passenger seat had been in previous trouble with the law, so before I knew it he was gone, bolting over a fence in a matter of seconds. Myself, trying to take in the situation, paralyzed and not knowing what to do. What could I have done? I was trapped. Caught red handed. I was charged with possession of marijuana, paraphernalia, but somehow not drunk driving. Since I was a minor at the time, the law said I had to go into a detox program for three days. I was mortified and humiliated. I cried my eyes out like a little baby seeing my parents visit me there the next day. I was deeply remorseful in their presence and promised that I would change my ways and be good again. Less than two weeks after being released from the forced detox program, I was arrested for the second time.
The same friend who had bolted from the car during our previous encounter with the law had convinced me to sneak out and meet him in the middle of the night. He had snuck a bottle from his mom and also had some top quality kind bud. It didn't take much to convince me, since I was sure I wouldn't get caught this time. We met on the train tracks half way between our houses, about a two mile walk for me in the dead of night. When we met he was accompanied by a girl I barely knew. It turns out earlier that night she had had an argument with her mother and left without her permission. Her mother therefore called the police reporting a missing child and it was not long before they found us, since we were the only kids on the street. When we talked to the police, we brilliantly informed them that the two of us were heading back to my house for a sleepover and that the girl had not been involved in our future plans . They walked her over to the squad car to take her home and let us on our way. It worked! We headed off, relieved that we had fooled them and that they didn't search either of us. We made it about thirty yards down the street before hearing the Sherriff's cruiser screaming toward us. They had found marijuana on the girl! Well, game over. We were taken to the detention center and processed. Luckily we didn't get the opportunity to smoke of drink, so this time I didn't have to go to detox, but had another charge of possession tacked onto my record. My mom picked me up several hours later from the detention center, her first words to me being "why are you acting like such an *******?!" I had no response, and the rest of the car ride was spent in silence. My friend was forced to go to a ninety day treatment center due to his previous encounters, and I was let off easily in my opinion. I had to do some community service which consisted of me shelving books at the local library, which wasn't too bad. I also received a probation sentence, and after all was said and done my records were sealed since I was a minor. I couldn't believe I was let off so easy, and the punishment was nowhere near harsh enough to change my ways.
The remainder of my high school days consisted of very little school and a lot of drinking and drugging. There were more days missed my senior year than attended, and I ended up having to make up three classes in summer school. I did not walk with my senior class. My family was very disappointed, but at the time I really didn't care, because I was too intoxicated most of the time to do so. The classes were made up easily for me. I was always a pretty bright person when it came to academics. I finished the missing credits I needed within a month, and received my high school diploma. I started at community college in the fall of 2003, convinced I wanted to study business. My alcohol use was at an all time high at that point in my life. I was getting drunk every night with friends who were staying at a run-down motel in the area. My grades in my first semester of college suffered greatly, and I was forced to drop several classes. I didn't care because I was having too much fun with the drink. I was having too good of a time and didn't understand why everyone didn't participate in such alcohol excess. I looked at people who didn't partake as being boring and lame. I was one of the cool people who knew how to party. Shortly after beginning my second semester in college, in January of 2004, I was arrested for my third and last time for driving under the influence.
I remember that night fairly well even though I had consumed mass amount of intoxicating chemicals. If I recall correctly, I had taken somewhere around 3 or 4 benzodiazepines, and was drinking hard liquor (white rum if I remember correctly) throughout the night, combined with several hits off cigars of kind bud. We ended up at an apartment complex which belonged to the parents of an acquaintance of mine. We were set to stay the night, but I was soon kicked out do to my drunken behavior and me knocking over a prized lamp of the acquaintance's mother. Behind the wheel of my car with my drunk friend in tow, we did not make it far. Upon backing out of the parking space we were occupying, I immediately drove into a car passing by. The man driving the other car immediately got out, assessed my state, and called the police to come haul me away. We tried to persuade him not to do so, even offered him what little money we had on us, but to no avail. He was a good citizen and was simply doing the right thing, which I would now do if encountered with a similar situation. I was arrested and thrown in the drunk tank at the county jail, testing with a ridiculous 0.198 blood alcohol content, on top of the other drugs I had taken that night. Combining pills and alcohol has devastating effects and should never be done. Any doctor will tell you this. It can have lethal effects, so it was a miracle I was even conscious at that point.
The next morning, while bad, was not the worst of my life. That would come later that year. I was released that afternoon on my own recognizance. I left the jail and had the same friend from the night before come pick me up. I didn't tell my parents. When we arrived back at his house, I was greeted with a handle of whiskey and a few lines of blow. Why not? I was already suffering the consequences. Might as well have fun and try to forget the situation I was in. I was feeling good once again.
A few days later I finally told my parents of my situation. I proposed the idea of going to stay with my sister at her townhouse (the same one from earlier) since it was within walking distance of my college and that I could still attend classes. I was deeply remorseful and explained to them that I would change my ways and that this would be a good step. The next week, I moved into the townhouse. Looking back, I now see this notion as ridiculous, since my sister had a similar problem with the drink. Over the next six months my drinking soared to new heights with the presence of new enablers, with me being an enabler for her as well. Some of our drinking times were fun, but most resulted in dramatic pity parties for one another. My grades stayed low and if I recall correctly I ended up dropping several more classes do to multiple absences. During this time I sustained some of my worst physical injuries from alcohol. I remember once after drinking a fifth of vodka, I stumbled out of the house in a drunken stupor only to pass out on a large mound of fire ants. It took me several minutes to realize what was happening, but by the time I did I had sustained over a hundred bites over my body. I was in excruciating pain the next day, and remember medicating myself heavily with booze and pills. I had fallen down the stairs on another occasion and was knocked unconscious, waking to find a friend I had invited over standing above me. I walked it off saying it was no big deal. I'm sure there were many others that I can't remember due to blackouts.
Over the course of the six months I was living there, my drinking was way out of anyone's control, especially my own. I can now admit this freely, but at the time I wouldn't dare admit such weakness. Depression soon consumed me, though I was fairly good at hiding it when not drunken out of my mind. My final night living at the townhouse was on September of 2004, and climaxed with the worst decision I have ever made in my limited days. It was a drunken decision to depart this mortal realm.
I remember this night very clearly. My sister and her boyfriend at the time were staying at a hotel on the beach for a weekend getaway, and I was at home babysitting her daughter, my sweet niece who was 7 at the time. I had been drinking the remaining half handle of vodka left over from the previous nights escapades since early afternoon. It took me about six hours to finish it, and I was good and lit. I decided it would be a swell idea to go meet them at the beach by way of cab. After arriving, more drinks were had and I soon lost all ability to control myself. I became very angry over something I can't even remember, probably cause they cut me off the booze or something of that nature. They sent me back home in a cab to sleep it off, and I was extremely upset over the entire situation. I remember blubbering like a baby but I don't know why. Alcohol is a cruel beast which can wreak havoc on the mind of any sane individual. I arrived home in despair, and decided I no longer wanted to feel this way. I went and swallowed approximately forty acetaminophen tablets , which I now know has deadly effects on the liver when combined with alcohol. I then phoned my parents to say goodbye, but got no answer. I left a message of pity and (now know) a cry-for-help saying goodbye. I later learned that my father never bothered picking up the phone, and instead immediately rushed to my aid. My parents arrived some time later to find me stooped on the bathroom floor in a puddle of my own drool and pity. My mother gave me syrup of ipecac to induce vomiting since they figured I may have taken pills. Looking back I believe I got most of the poison out of me, but there was still a good amount coursing through my veins. The paramedics arrived shortly after and delivered me to the emergency room. I remember faint images of me screaming horrifically and cursing the doctors, Mr. Hyde revealed in full form. I was later told that my true self made a brief appearance early in the morning when I was half conscious, telling a nurse "Thank you for helping me". I awoke to the worst morning of my entire life, due to the withdrawal from the booze and the immense shame of my actions.
I spent the following two days in the intensive care unit, and three more days in a regular room for observation. There were several mentions of "liver transplant" which scared me greatly. After several days of testing and rest, I was in good shape. No permanent damage done. I was greatly relieved. I was released and vowed never to touch alcohol for the rest of my days, and I was very optimistic. That lasted for about three months, when I fooled myself into thinking I could drink like a normal person. That I didn't have a problem.
Over the next six years, I completed my degree at the community college, and went on to earn a degree in engineering at a good university. During this time I developed a strong aptitude for hiding my drinking from my family and friends. I was what I would now call a functioning alcoholic, only drinking during certain times and limiting my drinks as best I could. I was still consuming way too much, but I had a fairly high tolerance for the stuff. Besides, I would just tell myself that everyone drinks in college. There were however several embarrassing instances when I had obviously drank too much and my friends at the time could most likely see that I had a problem.
After school I landed a position at a very good firm. My drinking, though in excess, did not affect my work performance. However, there were many instances of arriving at work late severely hung-over from the night before, and many lunches where multiple pints of beer were consumed. Over the years I had developed social anxiety and used booze to self medicate. It was also during this time that I began to suffer liver discomfort and chest tightness. I now know this to be the result of my continued boozing and subsequent withdrawals. Too embarrassed to see a doctor, I treated myself with diet, exercise, and a daily dose of milk thistle, all while continuing to drink to ease the symptoms.
When I was 28 years old, I met the love of my life ( And my second love, her son). I had a great job so we had lots of spending money to do fun things. I greatly enjoyed wining and dining her and showing her the time of her life. We told ourselves that drinking was just the lubricant we used to increase the enjoyment we had with one another. We know now that we were by all means enabling each other. This continued for about a year, until she realized she had a problem during a heavy night of drinking on new year's eve. She decided she needed to make the major decision to tackle her problem once and for all. I was very proud of her, and cut back my drinking greatly in order to support her. I did not stop completely because I still felt I did not have a problem, but I was kidding myself. For me, one is always too much and one hundred is never enough when it comes to the drink. My moods became more unstable when drinking and I began to lash out at her for minor things. I was beginning to see more of Mr. Hyde when I drank. I never wanted to be that man. I had to make a dramatic change. I needed to take a good long hard look at myself.
After much time of self reflection, I now realize I am an alcoholic. I can shout it with pride now, because it is the realizations of our greatest weaknesses which propel us into becoming better people. Physically, mentally, and spiritually. I love where I am now sober and wouldn't change it for the world. It is a marvelous thing to have the unconditional love of a great woman. I love my family and my newfound love of life. I feel so much better about myself in every aspect, though there is great room for improvement. I find joy now in things that never gave me joy when I was drinking. Physically I am in the best shape of my life. My emotions are much more stable. I feel a greater spiritual connection with the universe and everything in it. These are just some of the countless ways my life has improved since giving up alcohol and making my realizations. I am indeed a much happier person, and isn't that the point anyways?
Community Greeter
Join Date: Aug 2007
Location: Upstate New York
Posts: 51,526
Welcome SOberVEG. Great to meet you and read your history.
Your story is a bit like mine, especially the part about you two enabling each other. Except - you didn't allow it to continue until your life was destroyed, like I did. I'm happy you saw what needed to happen and took action.
Your story is a bit like mine, especially the part about you two enabling each other. Except - you didn't allow it to continue until your life was destroyed, like I did. I'm happy you saw what needed to happen and took action.
Member
Join Date: Jan 2014
Location: Georgia
Posts: 1,366
Wow. What an amazing and amazingly scary story. Congratulations on your sobriety! Now that's what I call cool! It's nice to know that there ARE people like me, that HAVE gained sobriety. Gives me hope.
Welcome!
Welcome!
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