Eight Years Ago

Eight years ago today, I checked myself into out-patient rehab. It wasn't a decision I came to lightly and it wasn't a decision I completely agreed with at the time. I did it because I had seen a new psychiatrist who diagnosed me with "alcohol dependency". (I put these in quotation marks because at the time I did not know that meant I was an alcoholic.)

Eight years ago when I agreed to rehab, I was desperate. I had been struggling with depression and axiety for twelve years, first diagnosed when I was 10, and I was fed up. I wasn't suicidal exactly, I just didn't want my life to be mine anymore. I did not want to hate myself anymore. I did not want to run away from myself anymore. I needed something but I wasn't sure what so I thought, What the Hell, I'll give this a try.

Eight years ago my life changed. Eight years ago I was not a person I would want to know or be friends with. I was not proud of myself in any way. My self loathing was greater than any other feeling I had for anything. I do not know why I drank so much, other than I'm an alcoholic, but I don't know if it was for self confidence or because I wanted to escape myself or because I didn't want to feel anything or if it was because when I drank, I didn't think. All I know for sure is, I drank and I drank a lot. I'm an alcoholic, that's what we do best.

Through an intensive out patient treatment program, I dropped my wonderfully constructe facade (as one counselor put it, I was the best actress she had ever seen, to the point where she wasn't sure what was real and what wasn't. I was such a good actress I had even fooled myself and didn't know I wasn't even real anymore.) Was I cured? Ah Hell no. Not even close. But I was healing.

Eight years later and I am still not cured. I never will be. Alcoholism is a disease that never leaves you and it is never cured. If it tricks you into thinking you are cured, it has won and you will relapse before you realize what has happened. It's not even as if I'm remission, as if the disease is lying dormant, no the disease is never dormat, it's always there, right at the surface, threatening to take control.

Some nights I dream of drinking. I dream I get drunk and I wake up hungover. Those dreams used to be quite frequent, maybe one every other week. These days the more frequent dream is I have relapsed but don't remember doing it. In my dreams I know I have relapsed but I don't know how or when. I am filled with terror and shame. I wake up panicked and can only calm down when I realize it was just a dream.

There are some days, even eight years later, when I can tell you exactly how a Bud Light tastes. Or how a Corona with lime feels going down your throat. There are some days when all I want is to drink wine with my friends or taste the new beer that's out or sip an after dinner drink. I don't give in to that want though because I know now that that is all it is---a want not a need. What DO I need? Well that's simple, I need to stay sober.

Eight years have come and gone....and I have changed and grown in more ways that I can tell. I am a mother, a wife, I am the kind of sister and a daughter that I was not eight years ago. I am stronger. I am healthier. I am happier. I'm also smarter in the sense that I know being happy is not a constant. Sure, I'll get sad (and I have) or I'll get depressed (which I do) but I know that as long as I stay sober and in touch with the real me, it won't last long. I'm also smarter in the sense that I know I can't, and don't have to, do this alone. I reach out for help when I need it or even when I don't so that I'm never truly alone.

If you're out there and needing help, get some. Talk to someone, anyone. Make sure your voice and concerns are heard and helped. If you're out there and sober, whether for one hour or fifty years, I salute you. Know it's a daily struggle, sometimes hourly, but know it's a struggle you can win.

Eight years. Who would've thought...