Nine years
ago my life changed. There is definitely a line (or a day, if you will) that
separates my life into the “Before” and the “After”. That line is May 18. It is
my sobriety birthday.
Nine years
ago today I voluntarily checked myself into out-patient rehab. I had no idea
what I was in for and I had no idea that I was going to be labeled an
alcoholic. My psychiatrist had said I had “alcohol dependency”. In my 22 year
old mind, this did not qualify as alcoholism, merely a preference for alcoholic
beverages over non-alcoholic beverages. I was dumbfounded to learn that alcohol
dependency and alcoholism are one and the same.
My life “Before”
is a blur of drunken nights and regrets. It is full of uncomfortable memories
and awkward nights. But it probably isn’t what you imagine when you picture an alcoholic.
I was not a person who drank daily but rather one that when I did drink, I
drank heavily. There was rarely a time when I drank that I didn’t black out. It
wasn’t until I was in rehab that I realized that isn’t the norm. I had gone
through college believing that everyone blacked out when they drank and I was
never concerned that I didn’t remember the night before. My ignorance was over
whelming.
I had my
first drink at age 15, the summer before I would enter my freshman year of high
school. It was a beer and it was disgusting. I remember being told, “The more
you drink, the less gross it’ll taste.” I couldn’t handle it so my friend gave
me a Zima. (Does anyone else remember Zimas? Those were only good if you put in
a Jolly Rancher…) I don’t remember how much I drank that night but I remember
feeling cool and part of the “in-crowd”. I remember believing that drinking was
going to make me popular. This theme continued all throughout high school. I held
onto the belief that the more I drank, the more ‘impressive’ my drinking
abilities were, the more popular I would be. As it was, it turns out it didn’t
make me popular, just a drunken mess.
College
was worse. My depression and anxiety were at an all-time high (or low,
depending on how you look at it) and so I drank to cope. Still, I wasn’t a
daily drinker. I wasn’t your stereotypical alcoholic that you see in movies or
on television shows. I drank Thursday night (or Thirsty Thursday as we referred
to it in college), Friday night and Saturday night. I drank three nights a week
just like all of my friends. I didn’t think it was a big deal. I didn’t black
out three nights a week. I did black out at least one night a weekend, though,
again thinking it was the norm. As I got older and my depression got worse, I
would drink a glass or two of wine on Friday nights to wash down Dramamine.
This ensured that I would sleep deep and not have to deal with the real world
for at least twelve straight hours. If I thought this was strange, I didn’t
have the mental ability to think upon it.
By the
time I checked into rehab at 22, I had reached the end of my capacity to care. I
was more depressed than I had ever been and wanted to quit. I didn’t
necessarily want to commit suicide, I just wanted to quit my life. I wanted to
wake up with a clean slate and no past. I wanted a new life. Thankfully, my
rehab team knew exactly what I needed.
I would
spend 28 days (week days, out-patient rehab doesn’t meet on the weekends)
learning how to re-live. I would spend 8 hours a day, five days a week,
learning how to be a human without alcohol. I would learn how to function
sober. I would learn how to deal with my past demons and how to cope with future
ones. I would learn to accept my alcoholism and how to be an alcoholic in
recovery. The things I learned nine years ago in rehab I have used daily ever
since. There was nothing I learned in recovery that wasn’t and isn’t still
relevant. The women who worked with me along with my psychiatrist easily saved
my life and I will forever be grateful.
My life in
the “After” (wow that sounds morbid), has not been easy but it has been worth
it. When I started out, I attended AA and NA (Narcotics Anonymous) on a regular
basis. I learned the Steps and I vented about life without alcohol and dealing
with people who can have alcohol. While I understand that The Program is
supposed to be helpful and a tool necessary for recovery, I stopped going to
meetings when I was roughly 9 months sober. The town where I was attending
meetings was small, you saw the same group of people at every meeting. There
really wasn’t any anonymity and it was not
a healthy environment. I believe that had I continued to attend meetings, I
would not have stayed sober. I admired people who work the steps and have a sponsor
but I also believe that The Program only works if you have a healthy
environment to work it. I did not so I got out.
More or
less, I have done 9 years of sobriety by myself. My parents have been a huge
help but as they aren’t alcoholics they don’t completely understand. My brother
and sister-in-law have also been huge helps, especially my sister-in-law who
lets me vent whenever I need to. The most important thing my support system has
done is help me celebrate my accomplishments. My parents sent me a gift when I
was six months sober. (They also attended support meetings for family members
of alcoholics through my rehab program.) They helped me celebrate annually my sobriety
birthdays. They realize that I have reached large milestones and
accomplishments and they validate me which means more than they will ever know.
My husband
met me when I was four years sober. He never knew the “Before” me (thankfully).
This means he doesn’t quite grasp how big of a deal it is that I have gone nine
years without a drop of alcohol. He doesn’t know what a mess I was while I was drinking
or how awful my depression and anxiety were (turns out, anti-depressants don’t
work when you drink on them). He only knows the “After” me and therefore he
doesn’t see what an accomplishment nine years of sobriety is. He doesn’t help
me celebrate, in fact, he has never remembers my sobriety birthday. It hurts me
and saddens me but at the same time I understand why he doesn’t understand. It is comforting knowing he only knows this me, the "After" me, and I like knowing he doesn't realize how far I've come because than he doesn't realize what a mess I was in the "Before".
My life
was not easy and my life will never be easy. Every day I wake up I am an addict
and every night I go to sleep an addict. Hopefully, every night I will go to
bed sober and wake up without being hung over. My life from age fifteen to
twenty-two is a blur of drunken nights and many regrets that I have yet to make
peace with. I feel strong in my recovery but that doesn’t mean I will stay
sober and thinking I will is the first step towards relapse. But as great as my
fear is of relapsing it is miniscule in comparison to my fear that my children
will become addicts.
Every time
my daughter chugs her milk (just like I used to at her age), I worry she’s
already showing addict tendencies. Every time my son tells me he likes the
taste of medicine, I worry he’s already showing addict tendencies. My children
may be young (7, 3 and 5 months) but I constantly worry about what their future
holds. I constantly worry that my children are already addicts and just need to
take that first sip to become active addicts.
I will
never hide the fact that I’m an alcoholic from my children, or anyone for that
matter. It’s not something I boast of but it’s also not something I want to
hide. I am surviving my disease to the best of my ability and hopefully I will
keep surviving one day at a time. I just hope and pray and wish on every star
that my children won’t have to fight this disease because more often than not, the
disease wins, the disease is always there, waiting to overcome you and swallow
you whole.
Nine years
of sobriety. Nine years of fighting battle after battle, knowing I will never
win the war, rather all I can hope for is a continuous draw. I was always be an
alcoholic, the best I can hope for is to be a recovering alcoholic. And while I
stay in recovery, I plan on educating my children to the point that they are vomiting
out information on the disease and scared out of their minds to take a drink
for fear of being an addict itself.
I’d like
to say nine years went by fast and that it was easier than I thought it would
be but that would be a lie. Nine years of sobriety have not been easy and I don’t
expect it to get easier. But being sober
allows me to be a good mother, it allows me to be a good wife, it allows me to
be a good human. It helps me manage my depression and anxiety. And guess what?
When I’m sober, I no longer wish I had a different life. Instead, I love my
life and the craziness that it is.
Nine years
ago I stopped drinking and I haven’t started since. Go me.
