Nowhere to go but up
I made a commitment to tell the truth as I see it. This may be annoying to you. It would be much easier to just adhere to the first part of the statement. And I can do that. But “as I see it” is the rabbit hole, where human expression and interpretation can support or offend, even anger an individual, if differing opinions are brought to the table. Because if my viewpoint collides with what you know to be true for yourself, you may cast me aside. That’s a risk, and that’s why I avoid confrontation. Publicly.
Pure and simple. It makes me uncomfortable, and if any situation ever got truly heated, I’d put down the book and tell you that we would finish it later. Likely I wouldn’t, but I’d leave that book on the table, so that you and I both knew that we could pick up where we left off. And eventually, that book would move to a shelf, and then to a donation box for Good Will, where their namesake tells me that they may be better suited for the job. I’d send it on its way and truly hope that someone else had the gumption to take on our failure, because I didn’t want any part of it.
My boldest confrontation came with alcohol. By the time I quit, I had started the conversation a million times in my head, but I never had any closure. Each time, we just argued back and forth
until I finally stormed out of the room.
I started drinking in high school, when it was offered as an
accompaniment to gatherings that felt uncomfortable in some way. Even though I was underage, my fear of being
awkward was more important than the risk of being caught. It was a choice. No one made me. If someone had offered me crack, I
wouldn’t have done it. That wasn’t a
risk that seemed acceptable at the time, but alcohol was. I’ve never even seen hard core drugs
in person. Then, in my twenties, it was
completely socially accepted, so I could deal with fear even more publicly. That was even better, because it was
communal. I hated the fact that I wasn’t extraordinary,
and I could let out that angst on the weekends.
Around thirty, I started to realize that I had an…ummm…..improper
relationship with alcohol. It would have
been great if I had recognized that it was unhealthy for me, but I didn’t
really care about that. I was only thirty! Oh, but I cared that it was “improper,” so I started
hiding it at least a little. Like going
back and pouring myself another glass from the fridge when no one was looking. But the risk to reward ratio was still in
decent balance at that point. I was able
to easily stop drinking when I got pregnant each time. The risk to an unborn child far outweighed
the reward. And also, I knew there was
an end to that abstinence, so the sacrifice was well worth it.
Mid-thirties were dates filled with other moms having chats over wine and letting the children play. I loved this camaraderie. Of course, then I started putting the kids to bed after those gatherings and having just a few more. Forty brought a divorce, and split time with my children. In short, this meant that I could drink the way I wanted to, 50% of the time. And I did. Being away from my children left me feeling like a teenager, terribly awkward in solitude, and completely directionless. By the time I met my husband, I was just into a sick routine. Alcohol hurt more than it helped, and I did the same with my close friends and family.
Mid-thirties were dates filled with other moms having chats over wine and letting the children play. I loved this camaraderie. Of course, then I started putting the kids to bed after those gatherings and having just a few more. Forty brought a divorce, and split time with my children. In short, this meant that I could drink the way I wanted to, 50% of the time. And I did. Being away from my children left me feeling like a teenager, terribly awkward in solitude, and completely directionless. By the time I met my husband, I was just into a sick routine. Alcohol hurt more than it helped, and I did the same with my close friends and family.
Fear was always present in a big way for me. We sat on the couch together and had long
talks at night, mainly. I didn’t adapt
to it well, and its avoidance kept me tipsy and oblivious. Fear of this and fear of that. Most of it could be boiled down to my fear
that I wasn’t good enough. Extraordinary
enough. As a daughter, singer, wife,
mother, teacher. I just couldn’t cut myself
any slack. Even drinking in celebration
was only an attempt to keep fear at bay.
“Just let me enjoy this moment, man.
Don’t pee in my Cheerios!”
Throughout all those years, I drank because I could. I didn’t move onto other drugs. I stayed loyal to my silent partner in
crime. My partner in fear.
Over the past ten years, I tried many times to make a
lifetime commitment to abstinence. Two months
here, three months there….many, many times.
Unfortunately, that was just a decision, and it didn’t actually mean anything. There was no power in the statement itself. And there was no power in denying myself
alcohol either. It’s just a
substance. Abstinence didn’t do anything
about the fear.
To say that I should have quit sooner is a given. But to say that I could have quit
sooner would be to also say that my brain wasn’t changing throughout those years. And I believe it was. So, threats didn’t work on me, not if they
came from someone else. Risk or threat may
have been rising, but fear went right alongside it. And I drank more.
I don’t know when I started drinking alcoholically. That’s the gray area again. And what does that even MEAN,
specifically? I know this to be
true. If I choose to focus on answering that, it
may take focus away from what’s really important. Now.
And that’s too much of a risk.
See, I’m getting better at that.
So, what makes me think I hit rock bottom 258 days ago? Because this time, I started to change. And it is my daily responsibility to use the
tools and knowledge that I’ve learned.
When I say I hit rock bottom, it just means that I can identify
the point of change. If I
would have declared my rock bottom on my first day in rehab, I would have been full
of shit. I didn’t know when I was there. I just hoped it was the worst it would get.
And it was.
You were absolutely never alone, we could've went through all this together... hand in hand. Scarily extremely similar here. I want to close the door now lol.
ReplyDelete