Stepping back from the ledge...

For as long as I can remember, my biological mother was an alcoholic.  My grandmother told me she even drank while pregnant with me.  Although in the 60’s that was not so uncommon. 

In my late teen years and before I got married, I would drink.  A lot.  I always remembered everything and woke up completely hung over.  I never had a black out.  I did stupid stuff but eventually found out I didn’t like it and I hated feeling so sick all the time.  I stopped.  From 1990 until late 2015 I rarely had a drink - maybe a glass of wine at Christmas.  I had kids to take care of and to be totally honest; I was always the designated driver.  My ex-husband would binge drink.  At parties or outings he would start drinking and wouldn’t stop.  He would do things he shouldn’t.  I saw this and memories of my childhood flooded back.  I didn’t want my kids to see.  I didn’t want them to remember the way I did.  More importantly someone had to be sober for him, for me and for the kids.   I know this sounds like I am dishing and I don’t want it to, but this is MY story and this “telling” is part of MY story. 

I spent my whole life feeling like anyone around me who drank and drank to excess did so because of me.  I had been told growing up that my mother did it because she couldn’t handle how she got pregnant with me; she couldn’t handle me.  I had people tell me that my ex-husband did it to escape me and my personality.  I did so much research.  None of it helped I just always walked away thinking so many people want to escape ME.  So many people have to do this to get away from me.  So I’m going to break the pattern and not drink.  I held strong to that promise until my divorce. 

The kids were gone.  The husband was gone.  The chores around the house were done.  I was exercising and had lost weight.  I was fixing things around the house.  Making new friends.  Taking trips.  

Despite all that I was swirling.  I would come home from work and while I enjoyed being alone, I felt so lonely.  Thoughts would creep in, remembrances of every year of my life.  So it started slowly enough, a glass of wine with dinner.  I don’t really like wine but I do love a neat scotch or whisky.  I love the way it taste.  So I upped the ante.  I replaced the wine.  I was still fine, only one or two.  It numbed things; it relaxed me; it let me go to sleep; it kept the anxiety I felt at night home alone, at bay. 

As the divorce date neared and the holidays approached, I was up to three to five glasses a night.  I didn’t wake up hung over.  I didn’t throw up.  I didn’t drink before 6:30 p.m. What I did do was send hateful texts; emails; bothered people on Facebook but hey I was ok because I woke up each morning and felt fine and went to work; worked out; paid my bills; lived life.  I would then come home and find that it wasn’t a few times a week but almost every night. I was cycling.  I didn’t really care.  I had spent 23 or so years not drinking, why not, I deserved this.  I had spent almost my whole life having people go off on me when they were drinking so they could handle the same while I figured out all this stuff. 

My first clue there was an issue should have been the night I was on the phone screaming at my ex-husband and my youngest, who was still home from college, removed the drink and phone from my hand. 

My next clue should have been when my ex-husband blocked my phone calls and texts.  It wasn’t.  All I did was still scream into his phone or fire off nasty texts.  I justified it all.  I had endured behavior like that all my life, albeit without current technology like emails, texts and cell phones but still I took it and harbored it in my “safe place”.  I had justified their behavior as alcohol induced so I figured they could justify mine. 

I didn’t drive; I got up for work each day; I was not hung over; and aside from seriously biting words who was I hurting?  The date of what would have been my 25^th wedding anniversary arrived.  I started drinking as soon as I got home.  I had a really crappy week at work, my boss had yelled and cussed at me.  Then it was “that” day.  I don’t remember much of anything about that night.  My daughter was here and recounted the “tale”.  I actually thought it was funny.  It did not bother me at all that I didn’t remember.  I didn’t really want to remember and was inwardly happy for the lack of memories, past and in that moment.  Again, I woke up the next day, no headache, no sour stomach, I felt GREAT.  April 1, 2016 I got fired.  I won’t go into that story again because the date is only relevant because I could use it as an excuse.  April 7^th arrived, the date I first met my ex-husband and I could use that as an excuse as well. 

Why is it that people around me saw a problem but I couldn’t?  I’m not blaming anyone but an incident occurred Monday night, April 11, 2016 (another anniversary I get to add to my books).  Since then several people have said that they have seen it coming; that they saw the downward spiral.  My kids actually talked, amongst themselves, about my behavior and what was happening. 

So what happened?  I don’t know.  I only know what I have been told.  I had one drink and for some reason decided to call my mother-in-law or ex MIL.  It was very emotional because her health is failing.  I had another drink.  These were not bar type drinks; these were 3 or 4 finger pouring.  I remember hanging up the phone with her and not much else.  In about two hour’s time, I had finished a bottle of scotch and drank more than a 1/3 of a bottle of crown.  Here is what I have pieced together:

I made several phone calls (so sorry everyone – for either what I said to you or the messages I left). 

I sent several text messages.

I yelled at everyone in my house. 

I verbally abused my daughter and foster son. 

I then proceeded to fall down and hit my head and blacked out. 

Apparently, I verbally abused the two paramedics; two firefighters and two police who arrived at my house. 

I got put to bed, assessed that I probably had a grade 1 concussion but was mostly drunk because I had not eaten and now only weigh 130 pounds and drank enough straight rum and scotch that it was hard for them to tell how much was drunk or head injury. 

My daughter and foster son had to handle all of this, they had to do for me what I had done for other people in my life, all my life, and had vowed never to put any of my kids through. 

I had a job interview the next morning.  My daughter woke me up; put coffee in my hand and told me to get my shit together.  She did damage control for me with her siblings and with anyone I texted or called.   I went to my interview then I went to see my doctor and he told me to get my shit together.  I spent the rest of the day apologizing and trying to piece together what happened.  I spent the entire night trying to piece together what I did and more importantly why?  My oldest son lovingly talked to me but basically told me to get my shit together.  I talked to my therapist and he told me to get my shit together.  

As I type, I can think of one thousand reasons why.  I can think of all sorts of justifications (and please read everything above here as explanation and not excuse or justification).  At first I thought, why?  I don’t have to have a drink; I don’t crave it; my hands don’t shake; I don’t…I don’t…and I don’t.   What I wanted was the drinks, not drink, to numb everything I was thinking or feeling; to make it to bed time; to sleep without dreaming.  What I wanted was for everything to fade away because if it all faded away then I could have some moments of "happy". 

See I have no excuse or justification.  I know first-hand what excess alcohol does.  Not to the person doing it but to those around them.  I wanted the pain and grief I was feeling to just be numbed out.  It wasn’t like taking medications because those numb you for a long time; I wanted enough numbness to stop the emotions and feelings.  I did to those around me what I SWORE and preached I would never do.  I am hoping I raised my kids well enough and my friends know that my hurt and grief overwhelmed my friendship and love for them.  I don’t know if it is true but I am hanging on to the hope of forgiveness for my actions, words, thoughts and deeds.  I know I was never very forgiving so I am hoping. 

I didn’t know what rock bottom is/was.  I’ve been in many positions of thinking I was rock bottom but none like 7:30 a.m. on Tuesday, April 12, 2016. 

So what now?  Well, I’ve issued some apologies.  I have had serious conversations with at least two of my kids.  I didn’t have anything to drink last night and it is ironic, I fell asleep just fine and for the first time in a long time didn’t dream of how horrible of a person I am (because while I thought I wasn’t dreaming, I knew I was and every dream was 47 years of what I had done wrong in my life).  Now I need to find a way to move forward, because despite all the outward progress I made since the divorce, all I was really doing was back-peddling onto a ledge.  I’ve stepped away from that ledge and now just have to figure out how to fix things.  I still feel shut out and left in the dust; I still feel sad; I still feel grief but my driving motivation is the hurt, shame, embarrassment and remembrance that THIS IS NOT WHO I AM – AND…that I did to those I love, what had been done to me.  Something that I had spent more than half my life trying to fix and make it so it wasn’t done to them. 

So I’m not going to give up.  I wish I could promise I’m not going to give in but I can’t.  I’m going to re-focus.  I am going to remember who I am.  I’m going to be and I’m hoping this huge knot on my head sticks around for a long time so I remember what hurt I have caused.  I am going to show through actions and deeds that the hurt I have caused was me and not them and that I am better than who I have been.