I am powerless over alcohol.
No-one likes to admit this and I am no exception.
I have known, of course, for years that this is the case, but like any grieving process, I was in denial.
People who are alcoholics do grieve. They grieve the loss of being that good time person, the life and soul of the party. They grieve the dutch courage afforded them through that elixir their bodies so desperately crave. They grieve being the person who cannot drink socially, having one or two drinks, and being content with that.
For me, it wasn’t being the good time person, or the dutch courage. It was the numbness it brought night after night.
If I am brutally honest, I have probably been an alcoholic since I was 14 years old, when my best friend and I snuck booze out of both of our parents’ booze cabinets, decanting them into yellow, plastic cold drink bottles, and slugging it down in her bedroom, if I recall.
It was a premeditated affair. We had been planning it for weeks. The effects were almost immediate. Within minutes I was running atop my friend’s four foot wall, yelling I wanted to die.
Alcohol has always played a part in my life. My dad, and I know he won’t mind me telling you this, is an alcoholic. His brand of alcoholism was not pleasant and had reached a particularly nasty high (or is that low) around the time I turned 15, 6 months after I had my first experiment with alcohol. Life had become pretty unbearable and I remember begging my mom to leave my dad.
She almost did, but then he convinced her that their marriage was worth saving and at 5am on the morning we were due to leave, my parents woke me to tell me that they were going to give it one more go.
I felt so betrayed. My mom and I had planned the exit with mission impossible precison. We had colluded to leave my dad in such a fashion that it would be too late for him to convince us, again , that he would indeed stop drinking. Now, my mother had betrayed me. I felt isolated, and alone. Not the first time and certainly not the last.
Three months later, my dad gave up alcohol for good. He joined Alcoholics Anonymous and has remained sober for the last 26 years. He is, and always will be, an inspiration.
So it was with great shame that I came to the realisation that I indeed was also powerless over alcohol. Deep inside, I knew of course, but I did not want to face it. I am sure, if I am honest, that my friends and family knew it. They never said anything, however. On the odd occasion someone might have suggested something along those line, I would dismiss it and tell myself that they should try walking in my shoes for just a day and see how they would feel.
Justification is a big thing in an alcoholic’s life, I have come to realise.
My confrontation of this addiction came out of the blue.
Yesterday, I was visiting a friend whom I hadn’t seen in a long while. We were talking about our lives, filling in the blanks where we had left off, about a year ago. I had mentioned a couple of times about my increase in drinking due to some stresses that had occureed in the past year.
Suddenly, my friend stopped talking, hesitated, looked at me right in the eyes and said:
“Do you think you are an alcoholic?”
The question slapped me right across the face. I felt my face flush. Tears immediately welled up. I stammered and then simply said, “Yes”.
Despite knowing the signs, and knowing deep down inside that I had become caught up in the grip of alcoholism, I really didn’t want anyone else to know.
I should know better, I should be able to control this monster. I had been to Al-Anon and Alateen for God’s sake. I did not belong on the other side of the fence. The shame was unbearable.
My friend is a good friend, and being a nurse, she urged me to get help. She urged me to see my GP and to join AA, and to even see a psychiatrist if I wanted to. I am not sure I am ready to talk to my GP as yet, but I am ready to go to AA.
I think being around people who share the same affliction may give me some comfort. If I am honest, I am scared out of my wits. I don’t want anyone else to know.and I certainly don’t want my father to know. He must know of course. He must have watched over the last 26 years, in his sobriety, saddened and powerless, as I descended further and further into the abyss of alcohol.
The shame I feel is haunting.
It must seem strange that I am blogging about this, since I have said I don’t want anyone to know. Well, strangely, this is cathartic. By writing down my thoughts, my feelings and confronting my issues via this blog, I am no longrer able to run away from them, or pretend that they don’t exist. I am able to say yes, this is my problem, no longer hiding, but standing up and saying no more will I put myself through this turmoil, no longer can I pretend that there isn’t something drastically, horribly wrong.
So, today, is day 2 of sobriety. I had planned on having some wine last night after seeing my friend, but funnily enough, it just didn’t have the allure when I got back home. So yesterday was Day 1. I will keep blogging my progress, more for myself than anyone else.
I need to do this to help me be accountable. I hope I make it.
In AA, they have a saying:
Just for today
So, just for today, I will not drink. Just for today, I will be strong. Just for today, I will be grateful for my friend, who had the courage to make me confront the inevitable, and my family, who have watched helplessly as I disintegrated as a person, yet have unyieldingly stuck by me, showing me every drop of love they have every single day. Just for today, I will find some pride and make them proud.
Just for today…
Until next time,
0 thoughts on “Powerless over Alcohol”
Your post really hits home with me Sarah. I’m a recovering addict/alcoholic. My AA “birthday is Feb 28, 2008. Last night my husband completely lost it. We don’t live together because he’s still drinking -more and more over time. For three hours last night I had to listen to him scream obscenities and insults at me through the windows of my house. He pounded on my door and walls until I thought he would break through. He threw pottery and things I had by the door at the house. I don’t remember when he quit. I just did what I always do and got in bed in a fetal position with a pillow over my head. I’ve tried to divorce him but he became so violent and threatening towards me that I finally gave up. The police don’t do much. The prisons here are so full that they don’t keep him in more than a few hours even though the law requires a min. of a 24 hr. hold. My husband told me that if I called the police again he would hurt me so badly that I’d have to be hospitalized-he said he would smash in my face and break my hands. Oddly, once he’s gone I go back to normal and am a pretty happy person. It’s good to hear someone else’s story-it gives me hope.