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.