Kindling
determined
Thread Starter
Join Date: Jun 2007
Posts: 17
Kindling
June 21, 2007 is when I joined SR.
Three years, five months and one week later is my current sobriety date.
I wish I'd had the strength to stay sober when I found this forum originally, but I didn't. When I originally found this forum, I hadn't gathered enough "evidence" that alcohol was my problem. My brain was so very good at convincing me that my problems were originating from something else entirely: "Lack of a job is my problem." "The bad economy is the problem." "If only I had a car." "Evil greedy landlords are my problem." "Student loan debt is my problem." "Homelessness is my problem." "Not enough compassion in the world is the problem."
I don't think I was able to consider that alcohol might be my problem. Fix one of the problems, and then could I quit drinking. "Fix my life first, then I will quit for good," I told God. "I want to but I don't know how to stay stopped." "Both my parents died from this alcohol thing, so I guess that's what will happen to me, too."
I've always found solace in writing, so my drinking career involved a lot of crying and raging on the Internets: euphoric highs followed by deep, dark, devastating and dramatic lows. I am a writer, so I "get" the world : I need to drink so I can be "inspired" and be moved to tears by the sweetness and beauty of it all. Feeling like I needed to be bold and burn out bright; it didn't matter, because I was pretty sure I wasn't going to be around long enough to see my 30th birthday.
Between 2007 and 2010 I "tried" the program a little bit at a time. One week. Out. Three weeks. Out. Two days. Out. Four months. Out. One week. Out. Five and half months! Out.
Always returning to AA, the seemingly eternal newcomer. The continual detoxing and re-toxing took its toll on me. Eventually (and I now know this is kindling), it got to the point that detoxing would induce 3-5 day bouts of insomnia complete with hallucinations, hearing music and voices, feeling spiders and snakes crawling on me, feeling like I'm being stabbed, shot at, terrorized by invisible enemies. Almost every receptor in my brain necessary for survival had short-circuited, and the psychotic breaks grew in intensity every time I went out again.
In July 2010 I found myself "homeless on the streets" homeless after a "boyfriend" kicked me out of his apartment. Broke, with less than 20 to my name, I just left and started walking, dragging my suitcase and a heavy backpack. I imagined that I had a spiritual guide with me, telling me where to go. "Go north".
I walked all day in the hot sun, and the wheels on my suitcase were cracking in the heat, breaking off, making it more difficult to drag my suitcase behind me . Suitcase wheels are meant for concrete and tile, not rocky pavement. It was getting dark and I had nowhere to sleep. Would I really spend a night sleeping on the street? I had a master's degree. It couldn't really be coming to this, could it?
TBC ( Part 1 of 3 )
Three years, five months and one week later is my current sobriety date.
I wish I'd had the strength to stay sober when I found this forum originally, but I didn't. When I originally found this forum, I hadn't gathered enough "evidence" that alcohol was my problem. My brain was so very good at convincing me that my problems were originating from something else entirely: "Lack of a job is my problem." "The bad economy is the problem." "If only I had a car." "Evil greedy landlords are my problem." "Student loan debt is my problem." "Homelessness is my problem." "Not enough compassion in the world is the problem."
I don't think I was able to consider that alcohol might be my problem. Fix one of the problems, and then could I quit drinking. "Fix my life first, then I will quit for good," I told God. "I want to but I don't know how to stay stopped." "Both my parents died from this alcohol thing, so I guess that's what will happen to me, too."
I've always found solace in writing, so my drinking career involved a lot of crying and raging on the Internets: euphoric highs followed by deep, dark, devastating and dramatic lows. I am a writer, so I "get" the world : I need to drink so I can be "inspired" and be moved to tears by the sweetness and beauty of it all. Feeling like I needed to be bold and burn out bright; it didn't matter, because I was pretty sure I wasn't going to be around long enough to see my 30th birthday.
Between 2007 and 2010 I "tried" the program a little bit at a time. One week. Out. Three weeks. Out. Two days. Out. Four months. Out. One week. Out. Five and half months! Out.
Always returning to AA, the seemingly eternal newcomer. The continual detoxing and re-toxing took its toll on me. Eventually (and I now know this is kindling), it got to the point that detoxing would induce 3-5 day bouts of insomnia complete with hallucinations, hearing music and voices, feeling spiders and snakes crawling on me, feeling like I'm being stabbed, shot at, terrorized by invisible enemies. Almost every receptor in my brain necessary for survival had short-circuited, and the psychotic breaks grew in intensity every time I went out again.
In July 2010 I found myself "homeless on the streets" homeless after a "boyfriend" kicked me out of his apartment. Broke, with less than 20 to my name, I just left and started walking, dragging my suitcase and a heavy backpack. I imagined that I had a spiritual guide with me, telling me where to go. "Go north".
I walked all day in the hot sun, and the wheels on my suitcase were cracking in the heat, breaking off, making it more difficult to drag my suitcase behind me . Suitcase wheels are meant for concrete and tile, not rocky pavement. It was getting dark and I had nowhere to sleep. Would I really spend a night sleeping on the street? I had a master's degree. It couldn't really be coming to this, could it?
TBC ( Part 1 of 3 )
Last edited by Dee74; 10-27-2012 at 01:27 AM. Reason: de linked as per PM
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