ROAD TO SOBER

To say I was red hot with shame in my twenties was an understatement. I was riddled with it throughout every bone in my body, in every ounce of my being, and to the deepest depths of my soul. Kind of like how cancer penetrates the cells of your body, smothers your spirit and takes over your physical being until you finally give up on life. Only I wasn’t battling cancer but addiction. Addiction to alcohol. With that came all the humiliating, shameful actions I so sloppily engaged in when I started drinking. There was just no way of stopping me once I started. Alcohol consumed me like molten hot lava streaming down a volcano, disintegrating all the helpless victims in its path. Alcohol consumed me like cancer.

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The shame I felt on a daily basis during these years quickly turned to disgust. I was incapable of wiping myself clean from it. It lingered on me like a thick film. Disappointment was undoubtedly something my friends and family expected from me. I was the daughter that knocked over the table at Thanksgiving dinner and passed out in the middle of the floor. I was the wife that went to the liquor store before her husband got home from work and bought two pints of whiskey. One to finish before he got home and the other to share with him when he walked through the door. I was the friend who missed the birth of her best friends first child because I was three sheets to the wind when I was supposed to be there.  I was the coworker who passed out during their bartending shift in the bathroom stall at closing time. I was the designated driver who drove through someone’s front yard to avoid running a stop sign and possibly getting pulled over. Blacking out was a normal occurrence, not a blackout of hours but of days. But this is not to share all the horrific things I did while being under the influence of drugs and alcohol.  I am going to share with you the journey I took to love myself once again.  Starting with day I woke up and decided to change my life for the better, if not for myself but for those that loved me and wanted me around longer.

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On this particular day when I woke up my belongings and cell phone had not appeared next to my nightstand like they should have been. Still incapacitated, I was in a desperate search of these things in hopes of trying to piece my night together with possible text messages and photographs.  The last thing I could remember was walking to a bar with some coworkers after work. To my dismay, my purse and its contents were strewn across the front lawn. I very confusingly had come to my car parked in the driveway. My hands and face had felt hot and paralyzed when I had come to the realization that I had driven myself home the night before. I did a once over circling my car to make sure I was not involved in any hit and run scenarios and something clicked inside. The thought of me possibly hurting someone the night before infiltrated my thoughts and would not leave. My heart started a rapid beating and my breathe became shortened. My fingers and toes began to tingle. This was not the first time that fear had disabled me. What could I have possibly done? I was tired of feeling the same crappy, shameful self every single time I woke up. What did I do or say to whom to upset someone the previous night so they would never talk to me, yet again. It was inevitable. Always questioning myself with possible scenarios of my lowered moral standards and degenerative booze filled nights.

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The morning of Tuesday May 16, 2012 was the day I woke up. I woke up tired of who I had become. I woke up wanting more for myself. More than anything else I wanted to do something for myself before something horrific happened and I wasn’t able to actually obtain the help I needed. It was a beautiful sunny day. So off I went in my car. I was unsure where it was I was taking off to, but ended up driving to the nearest hospital emergency room. I was unsure how they would be able to help me, but I felt amazing knowing that I was not going for a sprained ankle from a drunken spill off the curb or stitches from a broken pint glass on my hand from drinks at dinner or even a slippery trip and fall on some trolley tracks. I knew I had to ask for help the only way I was familiar with getting help before. I could not do this on my own and today was the day. It was as good a day as any.

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 There I laid across the plastic seats in the waiting room patiently listening for my name to be called, trying not to think about the previous nights misadventures. Finally, I was called to the check in desk and the women that thoroughly investigated my insurance card, handed me a large manilla folder filled with information about addiction and different chemical dependency recovery programs in the area. She also told me there was an opening tonight at a nearby hospital and a young lady named Emily, was waiting for my phone call  before 1pm. It was 11am. What on earth was I going to do? How would I pull this off? What would everyone say about me? I walked myself to my car and called my husband. What would he think of me when I bear my weakness to him? For some reason I didn’t care, I was doing this for me.

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As I returned home my father and husband had been already been there sharing their own thoughts to one another about my new found, abrupt life change. As I made the phone call to Emily, I overheard them talking about how I had just been hungover and looking for excuses as to why I felt so bad. I had been over exaggerating the issue, that I had no problem. At that moment I realized that everyone else was in denial but me. They had not known the lies I kept from them. Everyday they had seen me over the past years I had been under the influence of something. I had not shared with them what a heinous person I perceived myself to be day to day. My husband was asked to talk to Emily on the phone. She made him promise he would get me to check into the recovery center by 4pm that afternoon for evaluation of my vitals and possible check in depending on my level of need. So I packed my pillow. My amazing husband may not have agreed with my decision completely at the time but he supported me and made sure he got me there on time, as instructed.

Upon my arrival, I went through an intense counseling session that consisted of what seemed like a million questions and had some blood work drawn. I had already began the shakes from withdrawal as it had been late in the day. Had it been a normal day, I would have already started drinking, whether it was to catch the hair of the dog to bring me back to feeling normal again or to start my night. It was time to check in. I was unaware at the time how long I would be in the the chemical dependency recovery program. My husband was saying his goodbyes over another patients screams of agonizing withdrawal down the hall. “You don’t belong here,” he told me. I wanted to believe him but I was no different from the people that were already there. We all had a common struggle and we were there for all the same reasons. We checked out my new room and I was immediately administered some medication for the withdrawal of alcohol which would prevent me from having seizures in my sleep. I handed him over my cell phone as we were only to use the landline phone provided if we needed to get ahold of somebody. He reassured me he would be there the next day with clothes for the remainder of the week the following day. This had all happened so fast and here I was sitting by myself in an unknown place not knowing what the next day would hold for me.

I remember a nurse coming in and giving me medication and taking my blood in the early hours of the morning, but the next time I came to was Thursday night when my mother showed up beside my bed. I will never forget this moment because in my entire 29 years on the planet together with her as my mother, never once had she told me that she was proud of me until this very moment and I could only manage to utter a “thank you”. A counselor had dropped in and suggested I attend the AA meeting that night that was held on the other side of the hospital. My mother had come to support me and attended my first AA meeting with me. It was nice to have someone there in a time of such unknown chaos. I received a roomate at the same time the meeting had started. She had come from the hospital where she was first admitted as 5150.  When I returned back from the meeting we shared our why’s and how’s with one another. The next morning was my first full day of group therapy sessions and scheduled preparation classes. The therapy sessions were emotionally gruesome. The preparation classes were mainly geared towards preparing you for being on your own outside of the of the dependency program. You had to have a plan when you were released from detox.  What was I going to do to stay on a positive path for myself? I remember these days in detox as being a delicate numb person that was just going through the motions, slowly oozing out small amounts of feelings as I slowly progressed towards getting released. When the time came I was petrified.

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My husband came to pick me up a few days later and was so happy to see me. However, he acted as if I had been “cured.” As if because I did what I did, I was 100 percent healed and I no longer had an alcohol problem. He was unaware of what I had been through the previous week and didn’t understand what to expect from me. Neither did I. I was so fragile, and afraid of the outside world that my outpatient classes and recovery process I chose to participate in was my comfort. I did not know myself outside of drugs and alcohol. I had to learn about myself all over again.  I had to relearn what life was like without alcohol.

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Over the following 6 weeks I quit both my jobs and attended a dual outpatient program three days a week as well as a wellness recovery class once a week. I was prescribed Antabuse, which is a deterrent medication that does not metabolize alcohol in your blood and leads to vomiting and seizures if it is ingested or absorbed through your skin. Had I decided to drink again it would take two weeks to leave my blood system. Which I had only hoped would be a gracious enough waiting period for me to change my mind not to drink if that was a possibility. I attended several AA meetings weekly and got a sponsor who helped me work through the steps of Alcoholics Anonymous. For the first time in a very long time I actually had emotions which became extremely hard to deal with as I was not used to crying and being upset at things. I learned about the factors of why I was the way I was. I was introduced into this world from a long line of alcoholics on both sides of my family that showed me from a young age that drinking in excess, hiding emotion and pretending everything was okay was normal. Through the therapy I received at my outpatient program I was diagnosed with General Anxiety Disorder and also prescribed anti anxiety and depression medications as well as sleeping pills.

Over the next 6 months I realized the medications were no longer meant for me. I noticed that my so called friends were never around to support me in my new lifestyle. Every day was a new day with a new struggle. Day by day, night by night was a constant fight against myself, my old habits and my thoughts to stay sober. I had an overwhelming amount of support from my family and my husband. Over this time I tried to make my days as happy as possible and in doing so my clarity and my life began to change for the better. I had began to tackle the immense gray fog that was keeping me from loving myself once again. And those friends and family that stuck around me during this time started trusting and respecting me again.

One day when I was leaving a coffee shop from a meeting with my sponsor I had turned around to her from down the street and so proudly shouted and jumped waving my arms “54 DAYS!!” She began to to the same. We chanted together blocks apart “54 DAYS! 54 DAYS” It may not have seemed like a lot at the time, but I was so proud of myself.

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I actually had something to be proud of for the first time in a long time. It has been the most difficult but most rewarding challenge I have ever done for myself. Today I am 2,508 days sober. Everyday got a little easier. I began to have faith in myself that I no longer needed alcohol in my life. I am so thankful that my kids only know sober mom. I am grateful everyday they have never experienced a full fledged alcoholic woman who did not care about herself. They have never seen me fall down a flight of stairs, bust out my front teeth, or pass out on the couch with my shoes on with day old puke in my hair. I can honestly say they only know my best self and a mom who wants to continue to succeed in her personal development and not show them whatever it was I experienced as a kid and as an adult. I am clear headed enough now to realize I can change what was meant to be passed down. I am very capable of showing them and making sure they are always listened to, always loved and can always speak their heart without hesitation.

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The hardest part of addiction is letting go and realizing you have a problem. Pride easily can get in the way of admitting to yourself you might need help. From experience I must say that my shame and disgust ate away at my pride until I was close to none and gave up. I shoved whatever reminisce I had left of it to the side to begin the journey of loving myself once again. Now I have more pride and faith in myself than I ever thought I would. I am grateful for my decision every single day. I may not have been living on the streets or out of my car, but hitting my own rock bottom might have been the only thing that could of brought me back to the top. And for that I am thankful.