I'm trying to post these suckers every week but I don't get as many as I'd like. If you have a story you'd like to share please email me and let me know. I will be happy to help give you direction if you want. Also, as always, if anything you read here rings true for you, just know that you are in good company. There is hope and there is help. Feel free to join us at the Booze Free Brigade if you want to make a change.
"My love affair with alcohol began at age 13. I came from a loving and stable home, but I quickly fell in with the drinking crowd once I discovered this fabulous thing that would free me of all my inhibitions. I was always the one person who would get drunker than anyone else, never know my limit and occasionally blackout. I drank the same way all through my teens, my twenties and thirties, but was extremely successful in school and work, and managed to fit in well with the "work hard play hard" crowd. It honestly never occurred to me that maybe I was an alcoholic - never. And certainly no one else suggested that to me.
A few times in my twenties I tried to control my drinking unsuccessfully, but I didn't think too much of it. By age 36 I had a successful career, loving husband and two beautiful children. But after two year-long sober periods while pregnant, I was beating myself up daily unable to figure out how I could possibly be so weak as to not be able to control this one thing in my life.
I simply had to drink at night, it was not an option to go without.
Nothing bad happened (except a few embarrassing nights out with friends, but those were few & far between with kids), but I was suffering deeply inside. I had a little window that year... there was one moment when I Googled "Alcoholic", with tears streaming down my face - I couldn't figure out how I could be sober for so long while pregnant and so quickly go back to the way I was!! That window passed and about a year passed by, with depression and anxiety slowly starting to fill my life. Finally one night I broke down, I looked up at the ceiling and begged God to help me find the strength to solve this hell that I was in. I didn't know where to go (obviously not AA, since I did not really believe I was an alcoholic). I just remembered hearing somewhere "help is out there" so I did my best to find something - the next day I called a private addictions counselor. I actually envisioned in my mind that the counselor would tell me the way to drink responsibly! I had a brutal reality check as I learned the cold hard facts about alcoholism. I loved that first meeting as I knew instantly that I could not deny what I was being told, I accepted that I was powerless almost immediately (it was hard, but I was honest with myself and the facts).
The week I stopped drinking was brutal, absolutely brutal. I was told "it will pass" and I held on to this belief. The next two months were also extremely difficult. I continued with the counselor weekly and tapped into some deep rooted issues. When I told my family and friends all of them were shocked and resisted the idea that I had any sort of a problem. But only I knew the internal hell that I had been living - I had reached rock bottom internally.
I have been sober now almost four years. The first year was very difficult. I had to discover who I was, learn how to socialize, how to live without alcohol. But now, my life is everything I hoped it would be. It amazes me how much I can do now - the world is my oyster. My relationships are deeper and more meaningful, my depression and anxiety gone, my personality the same but better, and I am truly happy. Many days go by when I don't even think about alcohol. Social functions are just that, a chance to socialize, not a chance to drink. And I compare my perspective on life now vs. the last few years of drinking as looking at life with a crystal clear lens versus a dirty, muddy window. Life is beautiful, and I intend to live it to the fullest."
Posted by Stefanie Wilder Taylor on January 6, 2012
12:00 pm •
Don't Get Drunk Friday •
And the day came when the risk to remain tight in a bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom. – Anais Nin
Today is the day. Tuesday, October 11, 2011. I want to remember this day forever.
The day I decided to stop drinking.
The sunrise was beautiful this morning. Possibly the best one I’ve ever seen. Pink and blue hues in the sky sprayed with just the right amount of clouds, the brilliant orange sun barely peeking over the fall trees, as if uncertain of making its appearance.
There are knots in my stomach. I can’t breathe (allergies). I am on my period.
I am incredibly exhausted from being awake all night, tossing and turning and trying to banish the unwanted thoughts that kept racing through my head, taking up space where happy memories should be.
I look like absolute shit; my face is broken out, there are heavy purplish bags under my eyes, my hair is frizzy and disheveled. I am wearing an oversized Nike sweatshirt belonging to my husband, stained because of me, a constant reminder (as if I need one) of how I’ve continually let him down. But not again. Not again.
Not ever again.
I am terrified. I have never been in control of my own life, never been in the driver’s seat, always a passenger, always letting someone else or something else take the blame. I can’t do that anymore. I can’t live like this anymore. I can’t.
I joke around a lot and talk about drinking more than I actually do it; I exaggerate when I’ve had a bad day and say things like, “I want to drink my body weight in alcohol,” and it’s funny. I’m being sarcastic and it’s funny, and everyone laughs. Except it stopped being funny. I can control myself some of the time, which is why it’s been so easy to rationalize why I continue to drink, not to mention that I live in a town where drinking is practically mandatory, and raging alcoholics are accepted with open arms. I blend in here. Alcohol is socially acceptable. It’s the times that I don’t stay in control that outweigh the times that I do – those are the times that, at this point, have accumulated to an incredible number that I don’t even want to think about. It’s killing my marriage. If this were reversed, I’d have left Andy by now.
I have used alcohol as a scapegoat, every time. I could do anything with it. I could be invincible whenever I wanted - do, say, or act however I pleased when the numbing liquid flowed through my body. If I offended someone, “I was drunk. That’s not the real me. It was alcohol.” If I did anything bad, it was the reason. I’ve relied on it. It has been a friend. A friend who’s always been there for me, no matter what. And breaking up is hard to do.
I am absolutely shaking with fear that I won’t be able to do this, that I’ll fail. I’m ashamed. I’m embarrassed. I’m hurting inside. Badly. I’m so very sorry for the things I have done to people I love, afraid that they won’t accept me even if I quit drinking, afraid to become who I really am instead of who I am with alcohol.
I have never been so scared in my life.
I’m afraid to face the truth and push denial out of the way, because to do that means I was wrong all these years, wrong for thinking I was okay, and wrong for thinking I could control myself. To admit that I was wrong means all those years, all those incidents shouldn’t have happened, and that means I have regrets. And I want no regrets. I feel guilty. I feel like a scumbag. I’m open about everything in my life, including my depression (which drinking exacerbates) but this, for some reason, ties my stomach in knots. I’m so afraid of what people will think. Maybe because bipolar disorder, though not fully understood by the general population, at least, I think, seems more like a disease to people; they view it as something beyond a person’s control. Alcoholism, I feel, is looked at by many as a weakness, a sign of making bad choices, not necessarily a disease, even though it’s been proven to have genetic predisposition involved, as is the case with me and my family.
Of course, depression runs in my family too, and I have obviously been self-medicating for a long time now. It’s the first thing I reach for, my go-to, my trusty friend. With a glass of wine I can feel good again. It’s a great feeling. It’s the nights that the glass turns into two glasses, then a bottle, then two bottles…the nights I’ve blacked out, remembering little, if nothing, about a majority of the evening, wondering what I said, what I did…who I did it with…the horrible dread of trying to recall the next day, what took place the night before, the hangovers lasting days – those are the reasons I want to quit drinking. At this point there are no benefits.
But mostly it’s my marriage I want to save. I have an incredible man and he does not deserve this. There are a couple of other reasons too, and it’s a knife through the heart to hear them ask why Mommy won’t get out of bed. No, it’s not every day. It’s not even too often at all in the minds of many, I’m sure. I know there are so many people who are in much more advanced stages of alcoholism than I am. But this is not their life. This is my life. And I know I have to do this if I want to keep it. I want to be a better wife. I want to be a better mom. I need to be a role model.
I know in my gut, with every fiber of my being and pound on my body, that this is the only solution left. I’ve tried limiting drinking to weekends, drinking only at home, drinking only a certain kind of alcohol, drinking only for a certain number of hours – I’ve tried everything. I’ve taken “breaks” from drinking before when I’ve been spiraling out of control; I’ve “slowed it down.” But once I started again, I ended up right where I had been. I know I can’t just “take a break” this time. I know my addictive, all-or-nothing personality, and telling myself I can stop for a while and then set limits once I start again does not work. I’ve tried that. It’s a slippery slope. I’ve exhausted the options, made the excuses, and fiercely embraced the denial with a warm, tight hug every single time. This is it. This. Is. It.
I am very scared. What do I do? Can I still have fun? Will I fit in? Will I always feel awkward now? Do I attend AA meetings? I’ve always thought of alcoholics as people who get up in the morning and have to drink. People on street corners with tattered clothing and bottles hidden in brown paper bags. People who in general seem much more “out of control” than I am. I’ve never thought of myself as “one of them.” As it turns out, there is no exact alcoholic profile. I am one of them.
I’m not sure where to go from here, how to go from here. My path has not been marked out yet. I know that I do need to go from here, though, and take the path I have never taken. In order to save my marriage, my family, my life, I can’t stay on this path. My therapist said just as much a few weeks ago, when I had, once again, vowed to be better. Yet somehow, some way, no matter what precautions I try to take, no matter how much I worry and think, and try, really, really try...I somehow always take a detour, and I’m back on the old path again. That path has now been blocked off, eradicated, and filled in with the grasses and weeds of yesterday. I know I have a problem.
So today, I am going down a new path. The path of sobriety. It’s surreal. Alcohol has been such a focal point in almost everything I do. It’s very hard to imagine my life without it. It might not look like to others that I even have a problem, but I know I do. I’m scared that people won’t be supportive, and I’m scared to be this honest and vulnerable. I don’t know exactly where I’m going yet, but I know where I’ve been, and if none of it had happened then I wouldn’t be where I am. And that is at a point of great change. Everything in my life has lead me to this point. Everything.
My name is Sara, and I’m an alcoholic.
Posted by Stefanie Wilder Taylor on October 14, 2011
3:00 pm •
Don't Get Drunk Friday •
Hi. It's me Stefanie. Here is a post from a member of the Booze Free Brigade. If you would like to be a member of the Brigade, an online support group, please click here. And now, meet Jo.
"We were alcoholics. It had to get worse before it could get better."
This post also could have been titled: "Today Would Have Been My 10 Year Wedding Anniversary: My Marriage and Other
Things Alcoholism Destroyed"
Or: "We Loved, We Fought, We Lied, and it Killed Us."
Or: "How Alcoholism Helps You Build a Cocoon and then Destroy it from the
Inside"
Or, my current favorite: "It's Not My Fault, but I Am Responsible for It."
I think you get the drift.
Yep. Ten years ago today I was atop a beautiful Northern California cliff, on a crystal clear day, with soaring views of the Pacific, vowing to love, hold, honor, respect… and pull through when the going got tough. Hand in hand with my lover and friend, both injured in various ways, but with youthful bravado coloring our thinking, we thought could conquer the world with our love.
But we were alcoholics. And things had to get worse before they could get better.
Even before August 25, 2001 there had been signs: his depression and suicidal fantasy. Always needing space and time to be alone, which he spent checked out on pot, wine, porn and movies. My controlling tactics and manipulation, obsession about him cheating or leaving or dying unexpectedly. The livid anger and helplessness I felt when he was a few minutes late getting home or calling. My reckless party girl behavior on the weekends, which was usually a reprieve from my stressed out, control freak behavior during the week. Our terrible fighting, that would be followed by equally passionate "making up" only to have the whole cycle repeat itself. Over and over.
By the time we were married the patterns were already set, but they would have to play themselves out to the bitter end. After all, we were alcoholics. And things had to get worse before they could get better.
Maybe you know this story? It goes something like this:
1. It feels good to get a little drunk and loose.
2. It feels good to get a little drunk and loose again.
3. The periods between getting a little drunk and a little loose get shorter.
4. You start to get a little drunker and a little looser once in awhile, more so than your other "grown-up" friends, and vow every time that you're going to keep it under control going forward.
5. You begin to break your promises, to yourself and to others.
6. Bad things happen.
7. Even though it doesn't even feel that good to get drunk and loose anymore, you do it anyway.
8. You start to act drunk and loose even when you haven't been drinking.
9. Everything kind of blurs together, and one bad decision or outcome leads to another.
10. Things really suck.
And that brings me back to the marriage. It started to really suck. It's hard to pinpoint what exactly happened to make it fall apart. Maybe it was slowly spiraling down from the beginning (speeding up a little toward the end). Or maybe that handful of really terrible episodes just soured any hope of resurrecting it. Whatever the case, we were alcoholics. And things had to get worse before they could get better.
It is said that an alcoholic is uniquely unqualified to make healthy decisions, that he/she frequently lives in a state of denial, and that the disease is progressive. (In other words, it gets worse.) Ten years ago today, when I was gazing into the eyes of my beloved, I couldn't imagine a day that I'd be trembling on a street corner explaining my marriage and its abuses to a female cop who didn't give a shit. I remember even in that moment wanting to prove to her that we were somehow different or special, and this wasn't your garden-variety Jerry Springer domestic violence.
It was, however, your garden variety alcoholism. This time he was the one who'd hit me. But had been many episodes before that (going both ways)—all of which we would later deny or excuse, or get down on our knees and hold one another, and promise never to do again. That night my husband was handcuffed and put into the back of a police car, and was carted off to jail in front of our children and neighbors. He was the Vice President of the PTA, a stay-at-home dad, a brilliant writer and musician, and generally regarded as a nice, sensitive guy. We were a well-known and well-liked family. And, as you might guess, we threw the best parties! And in one moment – a moment that was years in the making -- our lives and reputations came crashing
down on us. And the sobering truth was there for everyone to see.
Here's the deal: we were alcoholics. And things had to get worse before they could get better.
I could titillate you with the details of what exactly we were fighting about all those years. It would make for a good movie or book or soap opera. Yes, there were mundane issues, like conflict about division of labor in the household or with the kids. There were also heart-wrenching things, like money troubles, dying parents, and affairs. You might even get carried away in our drama; you might even, based on what you heard and who you heard it from, choose to take his side or mine. But that wouldn't matter, because the real truth is that we were alcoholics, and we were doing what alcoholics do, which is destroy things that we care about, most specifically ourselves.
Alcohol is an ice-breaker, a means to maintain friendships, an event for every weekend, a symbol of personal freedom and ability to make choices (there are so many varieties!), and a little something to rely upon when things just don't feel right. It's there for the celebrations, for the milestones, and for when the shit hits the fan. It was there on my beautiful wedding night ten years ago today, and it was there for me that wretched night I was alone with my children while my husband went to jail for both of us.
Our alcoholism isn't our fault. But we are responsible for it. It builds a prison for us to live in, and it's next to impossible to get ourselves out.
It is completely outside of my comfort zone to seek help, but I have to remind myself of something that my ex-husband (who made it to recovery before I did) said to me: "If a person can lead themselves to a place like this, they would be a fool to try and lead themselves out."
God bless that man. May he achieve the happiness and freedom he deserves.
And me too. May I, with the help of [god, goddess, higher power, higher truth] achieve the happiness and freedom I deserve. And may this anniversary of our marriage be a reminder to me to love and forgive myself and him, to raise our children as best we can, to listen to other people, and to seek help when I need it.
For all alcoholics whose marriages were casualties of this disease... with gratitude and sobriety,
Jo
Posted by Stefanie Wilder Taylor on August 26, 2011
2:40 pm •
Don't Get Drunk Friday •
Hi Everyone, I just celebrated two years of you know what. I will post about that on the front page of the blog soon but here is yet another excellent story about letting go of alcohol. Remember, there is help out there and even right here.
I loved drinking. I loved opening a bottle of chardonnay and looking forward to it taking the edge off. It never really worked (the edge was always there) but eventually the self-loathing became too much and I had to admit my life was out of control.
I’ve read/heard so many people say things such as – I never had a DUI, I never lost my job, it never destroyed my family – and I would be right there with them. But I should have a DUI, I should have lost my job, and it didn’t destroy my family because my family all had their own addiction issues and I had yet to begin my own family.
I always drank to get drunk. Early in my drinking, I could limit myself but eventually all my promises of only one or two glasses of wine became one bottle down and looking for more. I kept it somewhat in check until my mid-thirties. I then started drinking daily because I was bored, working freelance from home, and living in a city where I hardly knew anyone and was so isolated. I was in a relationship that to this day I remain ambivalent about. I kept making dates for when I would quit and as always I would drink the day and night away. Eventually, I quit freelancing and became employed in my field, but I was still able to work from home. However, I began to make mistakes in my job; I became unreliable and flakey. I used to be a solid person but I was no longer dependable. I would watch people managing their lives and wonder – how in the world do they do that? I was falling apart.
By now I was in my early forties and had to get serious about building my own family. At the same time, my dear, sweet, kind mother was diagnosed with terminal cancer. I spent a year travelling back and forth (we were in different states) to see her. In that year, I probably flew home at least 15-20 times. I am forever grateful that my employer allowed me that flexibility.
My mom died a year after her diagnosis. If there is one thing in my life that I wish I could change, it would be that I was not drinking during that year. I was physically present for my mom but now that I’m no longer drinking, I am so sad that I used alcohol to numb myself and not be fully present for her.
Yet I still kept drinking after her death. I cannot begin to describe how much I hated myself. I would get on an anti-depressant to see if that would help, but obviously I still drank. I took xanax to help me deal with my anxiety during the day and ambien to help me sleep at night. And I was drinking the entire time. I was so incredibly miserable and really, truly believed that I was a failure with my life.
I used to smoke cigarettes and one day I quit cold turkey – after smoking for 16 years or so. I woke up that day, hungover, and didn’t want to smoke. I didn’t the next day, or the next, and realized I needed to take advantage of that. I kept praying the same thing would happen with my drinking. I kept setting dates (yet again) and finally one day held. August 15, 2009. The Assumption of Mary in the Roman Catholic faith (which I was raised in). I thought it would be a date I could remember.
It was not easy and I was so unprepared for a life without drinking. I read blogs by others who didn’t drink, I read books about it, and I just held on by my fingernails. Before the holidays that year, I began to attend AA meetings. They helped me tremendously and I continue to go when I feel the need. I know I will never drink again, but I do not take it for granted.
I have slowly learned to live without drinking. I am the dependable employee and friend that I wasn’t for so many years. I am also financially responsible. I like myself again. I have my struggles, but I am finally becoming the person I so hoped I would be.
The most wonderful part of my story is the growth of my little family. I quit drinking at 43 and right before my 44th birthday I began adoption proceedings. Everything fell into place so beautifully and easily and I like to think my mother had a hand in it. My mother died in February of 2008 and my daughter was born in October of 2008. I so hope they spent some time together and I can’t help but believe that my precious mother guided this beautiful angel into my life.
My daughter is from Ethiopia. The part that amazes me the most is that I quit drinking on August 15, 2009 and I returned home with my daughter on August 15, 2010. The date of my quitting (the Assumption of Mary - mother of Jesus), the loss of my own mother, my becoming a mother, and this beautiful little girl in my life; it really gives me the shivers. I am so humbled and grateful for everything in my life. While drinking, I couldn’t imagine a life without drinking and thankfully I can’t imagine a life now with drinking.
Posted by Stefanie Wilder Taylor on May 27, 2011
2:25 pm •
Don't Get Drunk Friday •
I wasn’t always a drunk. In fact, growing up I rarely had a drink. But I never felt like I fit in. I was always a bit shy and felt different than everyone else. I wanted to fit in and be cool more than anything, but didn’t have a clue how to do so. So I sat and watched my youth go by from the bleachers. I got passed up for dates and never was invited to the parties the cool kids threw. I never got asked to school dances and since I didn’t want to miss out on all the fun, I had to ask boys myself, which was beyond awkward. And even though I seemed to make friends easily, I never really had any that were at a best friend level. By the time college rolled around, I had a few relationships and was still that shy, awkward girl.
I opted to move 3 hours away for school without knowing a soul. The move proved to be a good one and I fell into a good crowd straight away. I got out of my shell, went dancing, stayed up late and began to discover the delirious effects that alcohol had on me. But I still had things under control, or so I thought. As I think back, I now remember times when I blacked out and had to have friends tell me just what had happened. The first time I blacked out was at a party my roommates and I had. There must have been 100 people at our house. At this point I had become quite the flirt and was not shy once I had a few drinks in me. The morning after our party I was telling my roommies about what I thought were crazy dreams, but before I was done talking, I noticed them snickering. They came clean and confirmed my worst fear that my unsavory behavior was in fact reality and not a dream. I was highly embarrassed but never let on. I continued to go out and have a good time, but never missed a class or had an awful hangover. The university I attended had a bar on campus, which made for easy consumption between classes. I even remember having a beer or two before finals. Who does that?! Me, that’s who.
I finally graduated and moved, yet again. This time it was to Sacramento where my drinking went full steam ahead. I had somehow decided I needed to drink like a fish to survive. I was thrust into a world that still had 3 martini lunches and scotch in the office at the end of the day. I just wanted to be liked and accepted by my colleagues no matter the cost. At first it was fun and I didn’t see the real problem. I saw colleagues come back to the office after a long lunch totally hammered and I figured since I didn’t do that, I was fine. I didn’t drink until after work. But that soon changed when I changed jobs.
I evolved into drinking at the bar downstairs at lunch and then after work with my colleagues. Then it turned into slipping downstairs for a coffee with a shot of whisky mid afternoon. Then when my favorite wine, a nicely chilled Rombauer Chardonnay, went from being available by the glass to only by the bottle, I ordered up the bottle. For lunch. Daily. What I didn’t drink at lunch, I brought back to my desk in a to-go cup. Yep. I drank at my desk. Daily. On a particularly bad day, I blacked out, and my colleague had to totally cover for me, but that didn’t last long as I ended up passing out on my bosses couch. In his office. In the middle of the afternoon. With him working at his desk. But that didn’t stop my drinking, nor did it slow it down. Not even the come-to-Jesus talk I had with my boss the next day did nothing to thwart my incessant need to drink. I just wanted to belong. I just wanted to be liked. I just wanted to fit in. My boyfriend had since become my husband and was in grad school while I worked, so while I was drinking, he was staying as far away from me as he could at school. Our home life became strained but I didn’t see it. I stayed out late into the night and he studied all the time. We became distant and more like roommates than a married couple. I stayed out later and did more things to embarrass myself. I drove drunk. A lot. I came to from blackouts on 1-5 or in my house. I had a few minor car accidents and crashed my car into a parking structure pole. The pole won. But that still didn’t thwart my drinking. But something had to change.
So once again, we moved. This time to the wine country. How apropos. I changed industries, thinking the change would do me good. But I continued drinking. My final drink was after a long day at work followed by an event in San Francisco at which I drank pretty much the entire time. After returning to town by way of party bus, I evidently decided it was a good idea to hit up the local bars. I was also kicked out of said bars. A girlfriend drove me home, but only after I argued that she could follow me. Thankfully, I lost that argument. I was later told it took me a good 10 minutes to get into my house and stumble into bed. I also apparently had another come-to-Jesus talk with my husband, which I also don’t remember. He had given me an ultimatum of either AA or a divorce. I chose AA.
I went unwillingly, but now by the grace of God have close to 6 years sober. I also have an almost 3 year old daughter and cannot imagine what my life would be like if I was still drinking. Just knowing what a mess I was while I was single and drinking is enough to terrify me. I could never be a good mother while drinking any amount of alcohol. I cannot have just one. And my daughter is my world. I will not knowingly do anything to every put her in harms way. So, for me, that means to never, ever have a drop of alcohol again.
Posted by Stefanie Wilder Taylor on May 16, 2011
7:20 pm •
Don't Get Drunk Friday •
