I'm Still Here

Ha! I sure am not going to get to 365 memories at this rate. I've been up to a lot since my last post. The same stuff the rest of the world goes through. Most important is that I am still sober. I am living in a new place, a better place and while that is good, I dont have as many meetings near me as the last place I lived. I've dedicated myself to three meetings a week and sometimes find that I don't even make all of those. But I am getting better each day at disciplining myself into doing the things I must do and making those meetings no matter what is at the top of my (admittedly very long) list.

I stopped back in to force myself to post and went back and read some comments I had received and you don't know how much it means to me to know people I don't even know are rooting for me.

I feel like it is getting so much easier because I am so busy and have not had a desire or thought of drinking in so darn long. When I realized that I had passed 2 months sober and not given it much thought I knew I was heading for trouble. Ain't that a revelation? Two years ago, five years ago, ten years ago if I went a couple months with no desire to drink I would drop the whole AA thing. What would be the point, right? Oh, devil alcoholism how well I know thee now. It's when I think you are gone, no longer a bother, that you sneak up the quickest. For me, not feeling like alcohol is a daily or even weekly struggle is my surest sign that I need to head to the rooms and stay there.

Meeting Makers Make It

I'm slipping on meetings again. I have only one excuse - I'm exhausted after a day of taking care of my kids. Of course, that isn't a good excuse especially given that one of my triggers is tiredness. I have been finding myself thinking of drinking as a means to relax at the end of the day. I don't think I am near picking up a drink but having the thought is unacceptable. I know that when I consistently make meetings these thoughts occur much less frequently. I am rededicating myself to one meeting per day. Taking in a noontime meeting while the baby naps would get rid of my end-of-the-day-exhaustion excuse. Now I just need not to use the excuse of needing to get this and that done while the baby sleeps. Recovery has to be the priority. The damn laundry can wait.

Relapse is not a Requirement

Several weeks ago when I raised my hand in a meeting to ask for phone numbers, crying over the situation with possibly losing custody of my children, the first woman who came up to me was A. She was a pretty and petite woman, well coiffed, perfect makeup. In tight blue jeans and black heels, she looked ready for a Vogue photo shoot or clubbing. Handing me her phone number she hugged me and whispered in my ear "I just got my children back." I never did call her. But on the night when I picked up my 30 day chip, she came in a few minutes late. I knew right away that something was wrong. She was again dressed to the nines but something about her face....and she seemed unsteady on her feet. I knew that she had relapsed. She sat up front and at the end of the meeting they asked her to present the chips. When I got mine she gave me a hug. Outside the meeting clubhouse afterward several of us stood smoking cigarettes. Her voice was hoarse and shaky. I wanted to ask her what had happened to make her pick up again. I wanted to ask her where her children were now. Her relapse scared me. It didn't scare me into thinking "My goodness, this is what I don't want to go through ever again." It scared me because I have seen others relapse and for some reason I usually think "I'm not that bad. Anyway, she went out again and here she is at a meeting...I could do that, too." It is twisted really. I used to think the same thing when I saw someone falling down drunk in a bar or club, unable to speak coherently. I used to think, "God I never want to be like that. And I'm not so its okay to keep drinking." The problem is that it was true that I was not like those people....I was worse. Only I didn't see myself worse because by then I'd be in a blackout, suffering the shame and embarrassment only in the hungover aftermath wondering what I had done and how I had gotten this far again. No, relapse is not a requirement...to me, it is a warning and a very frightening one at that.

1000 Nights

I wasn't going to pick up a 30 day chip today for the same reason I didn't pick up a white chip one month ago - I have so darn many of them. The white chips, I could tile a kitchen floor with them. A blinding reminder of failures past. But I did get a chip tonight because it feels like these 30 days were hard won. There were quite a few nights that I felt like drinking but did not. Those first two weeks in particular were hair raising at times but here I am. It's no joke when they say that those first 30 days feel like 1000 nights. They sure did to me.

1 month down, another 24 hours to go.

G'night.

Enabling

I went to a women's meeting this morning and like happens at 99% of meetings, the topic of discussion was just what I needed to hear. We talked about enabling, with many of the women there talking about enabling their children and how difficult it is to stop. It was interesting hearing their take on it as I was always the enabled, never the enabler. They talked about how sometimes cutting their kids off and/or kicking them out of the house is the only way to save them. For me, my parents' did not get to that point until my alcoholism was costing them their health, their money, and their respect in their neighborhood. And while I understood why they finally got to the point of kicking me out, it still made me angry.

I find that in the past few weeks, every time I am getting angry at someone, I force myself to consider how my actions brought about the situation in the first place. And what it comes down to is that every major and minor upsetting or negative situation that exists in my life right now is a direct result of my drinking or my immature feelings of entitlement (itself a result of stunted emotional growth due in large part to drinking.) Part of no longer being enabled is being allowed/forced to grow up and make decisions and take responsibility for the outcomes - good or bad - without expecting anyone to bail me out. I suppose 37 years of age and a mother of three is a good place in life to start acting like a grown-up and taking responsibility. haha.

Ramble on Loneliness

I really like using HALT to take my emotinal/physical "temp" when I suddenly feel like drinking or when I just feel out of sorts. I check if I am Hungry, Angry, Lonely, or Tired. For me, the answer is almost never Lonely. I am the type that likes to have time to myself. But in the past couple weeks, I have found myself returning to my rented room and staring out the window, wishing there was someone to talk to or just be around. I call my sister on the telephone quite a bit, we talk almost every single day - several times a day usually. But I have not been able to make use of the many telephone numbers I have been able to gather from the rooms in the past week. Two of those who gave me numbers also gave me their email addresses and I think I may try emailing them as a first step toward actually using the phone.

Lucky Thirteen

I have been going to meetings every single day. In the past week or so I have been going to two meetings almost every day. I am afraid to say that things feel different this time because I still have that fear of jinxing myself. But the truth is it does feel different. I am not getting all into my head about what I am doing in this recovery process and whether it can really work. I am just doing it. And it is so strange that although I still say I don't like meetings, I go rushing out the door once or twice a day to get to one. To be sure, sometimes at about half-way through I am ready to go, I get a little antsy but I am always, always glad that I went.

I had a rough couple of days over the weekend, dealing with my mother as usual. A couple of times the thought of having a drink or two or a dozen came to me just to get out of the anger or depression I was feeling. But instead, I called and talked to my sister, I watched stand-up comedy on cable, I ate a meal. I ate a lot, actually. Finally, on Saturday I raised my hand at a meeting and asked for phone numbers. My problem is that I have no fear of speaking in public in front of large crowds but I get nauseous and feel like I'll mess myself if I approach a person one-on-one. So I told the group that and at the end of the meeting ended up staying an extra 15-20 minutes while women after women came up to me to share their stories of dealing with their mothers or losing custody of their children and gave me their telephone numbers. I have not yet called any of them but I finally programmed all their numbers into my phone this morning.

Two things happened today that let me know it is time to get a sponsor - even a temporary one. One was that I almost forgot about the noon time meeting I wanted to go to and the other is that I almost didn't go to the 7pm meeting because I was feeling lazy and wanted to watch t.v. Thirteen days into this program is waaay too early to feel like I want to slack off even a little. I made both meetings and tomorrow and I will in earnest look for a sponsor.

6 Days Sober

I finally started going to meetings when I returned home to Florida. There was nothing especially upsetting that happened last Wednesday when I ended the day in a bar. In fact, I had started therapy that day, something I desperately need and something that has been so helpful to me in the past. It should have been a fine day. But for some reason my head filled up with voices - about my debts, my anger with my mother, my uncertainty as to where to take my life from this point - and getting a packk of cigarettes was not enough to quiet them. Of course I only intended to have one or two drinks. Of course. So after taking the following couple of days to recover, I started what I hope will be a complete 90 in 90. I am actually feeling hopeful and have been for a couple of days. I still am not crazy about meetings but I have made the decision not to analyze why I don't like them and not to analyze the meetings themselves. I go because I am told this is part of the program of recovery that will help me stay sober. I don't understand how that works and it is okay that I don't understand. I will just continue going everyday.

Day Eleven

I am shaking right now. I woke up this morning to find in my email box quite a nasty little note from someone who managed to do some research on me on the internet. I have a very public blog I keep in addition to this one and my articles and books and facts about my personal and professional life can be found in various very public places. I don't mind. And I share more about myself than most people do (my alcoholism excepted). Still, it hasn't been a big deal - occasionally cheek-reddening but nothing I can't handle.

Until this morning. The email I got was the type of hurtful personal attack that could easily reduce me to tears. And once reduced to tears comes the self-doubt, self-pity, how-do-I-find-a-way-to-stop-hurting self-talk. We know where that eventually leads all too often. So, what do I do about it today? How do I handle this in a healthy way? I hope writing here is the first indicator that I have chosen to handle things differently now than I would have in the past. But, I have to be totally honest and reveal that before I came to post here, I spent 45 minutes researching this person, googling myself, resetting the privacy settings on various social networking accounts, etc. But that is done and what I do not want to do is keep dwelling on it and turn it into a festering resentment or at the very least something that will absolutely ruin how I feel about myself for the rest of the day.

I'll take a walk after breakfast, get some other writing done, spend some quality talking time with my sister, and later today, go to a meeting. I feel better already.

Day Nine

When I was five years old I almost choked to death on a piece of peppermint candy. It was a late Sunday afternoon and I was at my stepmother's side as she washed dishes. As usual, I was bouncing around and jabbering nonsense - probably telling her one of my made-up stories - when suddenly the little red and white striped candy slipped from my tongue and lodged in my throat. I fell to the floor, thrashing around, and clutching my throat for what seemed like ages. Finally, my stepmother reached down a glass of water to me. I grabbed it, gulped, and swallowed that little piece of candy. I did not have another piece of peppermint candy for thirteen years.

Thirteen years. Each time I was offered one I would decline, sometimes explaining that one just like it almost killed me, sometimes with no explanation. When they showed up in my Halloween booty, I'd give them all to my siblings. It was simple, see. My five year old mind learned something - peppermint candy bad for you - and she didn't need or desire to test and re-test what she had learned. As we say in the rooms, she didn't need to go out and do more research. I finally, cautiously, put a piece of peppermint candy in my mouth when I was eighteen. I sucked on it for just a couple minutes, long enough to convince myself that I could stop fearing it, then spit it out. In the twenty or so years since then, I have not had peppermint candy more than a handful of times. It isn't that I am afraid - I know intellectually that peppermint candy itself does not cause choking - it simply is that that memory I formed as a five year old is so indelible, I'd rather not tempt fate.

So, why is it that as a five year old I could learn a lesson and stick to it and as a nineteen year old, after being terribly embarrassed by my first drinking episode I decided to keep at it until I "got it right?" A counselor at the first rehab I attended said to me "I've never met anyone too dumb to get recovery, but I have met many people too smart to get it." It isn't that I was dumb as a five year old - it's that I had not yet learned the art of rationalization. I wonder if I had first gotten drunk as a five year old, if I might have spared myself years of alcoholic agony.

Day Eight

Did not sleep a wink last night (tonight?) Had a late morning nap then tea with lunch and then diet pepsi with dinner. Total caffeine overload. The night was not a total loss though, as I reaffirmed that I indeed have a most addictive personality. Still sober but binged on not only caffeine but nictotine and food as well. If there is anything bad that I can do to excess, it appears I will! Now why can't I just go back to a few healthy things that I like (reading, writing, laughing, walking) and go at them with abandon? At least I do put my all in playing with my children.

I did like re-watching the movie "Shine" with Geoffrey Rush. Had myself a good boo-hoo and made the decision that I need to once and for all seperate myself from my mother. That movie just clarified for me that a parent can be both loving and toxic. That is my mother. She manages to be quite loving to my children but then again they are quite young.

I had a bout of "I really don't like myself" period this long night. My own annoying voice in my head has many, many times drove me to drink just to shut her up. Then there is the laziness and chronic procrastination. Luckily that line of thinking didn't last long as I had a great idea for a story and did quite a bit of writing. Then again, not finishing projects is another thing I don't like about myself so who knows if that story will ever end up completed.

Oh, oh...not going anywhere good knocking myself around like that. Think I'll stop now.

Day Six

I have made the decision to go back to taking the medication Antabuse. I am not a fan of it because in the past I have decided it was a "cure," and then when the meds ran out or I "forgot" to take it, I would go back to drinking. I was using the Antabuse as a substitute for working a program, going to therapy, etc. But now that I know that nothing takes the place of a true recovery program, I am hoping to have better success. I'll be using the Antabuse to put some time and distance between myself and that last drink while I start a program.

Looks like I will be away from my kids for another couple weeks at least. But the powers that be have decided that I can indeed stay overnight at my mother's house when I go visit them. That's something to look forward to.

Now, I have to work on cleaning myself up and pounding the pavement - time for job hunting which of course totally sucks in this economy. Wish me luck.

Day Four

I must have given serious thought to drinking a half dozen times yesterday - each time eventually shrugging it off. I have to remember that there will be cravings, there will be temptations. I have to remember that so as not to get caught off guard.

Yesterday I was told that I will not be allowed to spend the night at the house where my children live. And as I have very little money, I'm now not sure when I can return to Orlando to see them since I don't have a place to stay. I didn't call to speak to them yesterday, the first time in two weeks. I just couldn't bear it. Yes, I put myself in this position. Yes, this is a memory I need to keep at the forefront. Drinking did this. Drinking put miles between myself and my precious children.

Day Three

I am not going to start counting again. I guess this blog will just be about my struggles over a year. I am back at day one again. How many more day ones are left for me? I sincerely hope there aren't any more.

Yesterday I remember making the decision to go to my brother's house. But I have no memory of driving over there or driving back. That's 15 miles of mostly highway and I have no memory of it. My brother is an alcoholic and cocaine addict. We understand each other. We have hope for each other - more hope than we have for ourselves. When will this end? I guess when I have a craving and reach out to God, to a meeting, to friends and not to a bottle.

Day Two, MidMorning

Damn it, Damn it, Damn it! I just got off the telephone with my parents who are trying to decide how many days they will allow me to visit my children at their home. I know I've messed up too many times. I know where they are coming from. I know I can't afford to let anger carry the day. All this I know yet I am still angry. I feel like I have been abandoned. I feel like my mom is getting what she's really wanted all along - my children. And now that papers have been signed (no matter that they are supposed to be temporary) she has less reason to work with me. I might just be paranoid...I don't know. But after I got off the telephone I paced my sister's house then ran into the bathroom and swallowed a capfull of mouthwash. Stupid, stupid, stupid. But I desperately want to have a drink and of course I know where the nearest store to get booze is but not the nearest meeting. It's 10:30 in the friggin' morning and I just want a bit to drink to forget what I am feeling right now, if only for a few hours. Otherwise I fear I will only want to cry and scream all day.

Day Two

There are so many things I have lost to alcohol. Friends, respect of my family, hope for my future. But on August 15, 2009 something happened that I never thought would. That afternoon my sister picked me up from detox where I'd spent five days and took me to my parent's house where I have been living for the past nine months. A Department of Children and Families social worker met me there and gave me two options: say goodbye to my children as they were packed up to foster care or sign over temporary guardianship of them to my mother. I signed. And while she listed all the conditions such as my not being allowed to me alone with my own children, I tapped my foot impatiently because I knew I just needed one more binge. My parents had thrown me out, I was not allowed to stay there. But when they heard I would join my brother and sister early the next morning to go to Atlanta for a few weeks, my mom said in that case just spend the night here. A mom is always a mom, after all. But I didn't. I couldn't. The need for a drink was overwhelming and I had already decided in detox that I was going to drink. Alcohol was threatening to take my children away and there I was the very day I signed the papers, holed up in a hotel room with a twelve-pack of Heiniken. Baffling, no? I sometimes force myself to create a picture in my mind: A bottle of beer on one side, my children on the other....which do I want more? I always say my children but so far that hasn't stopped me from drinking.

Day One

I almost drank today. I tried to distract myself first by playing some computer games. That only lasted a few minutes and I was grabbing the keys off the table and heading out the door. I made it all the way to the store. Made it into the store when I noticed something odd about the cases with the beer and wine and wine coolers. The cases were not lit up from inside like the other non-alcohol containing cases. I walked over and took a closer look. Through the handles of all the coolers with alcohol in them was a long wooden rod. I had forgotten that here in the suburbs of Atlanta you can not buy alcohol on Sundays. I got back into my car and pumped my fist in the air. Yes! I was saved. For today.