At ten days.

One day I hope this blog will be filled with stories and pictures of life outside of alcoholism, more than just an accumulation of days and weeks and struggles and triumphs. Till then it is what it is. I count and review days. I do my program and go to meetings. I practice daily gratitude for clarity, for the people in my life reaching out, for Colin who will at any time be at my side to talk me off a ledge, for the purity and innocence of my girls.

I have very few shiny ‘things’ or luxuries but what I do have I appreciate more. A new box of tea. An iPod that I can run with. A camera to freeze moments in time. A journal and a pen. A car that goes. A computer that I can connect to my support group and you and the world.

I have basics and necessities and for those I am incredibly grateful.

Today makes 10 days, double digits. The last time I quit I went for 11 days before having a drink ‘just to see’. I put together about three more days before I said fuck it and drank every day to various degrees of drunkness for 14 months.

I can see now that I planned my relapse while practicing sobriety, that I wasn’t ready to say goodbye quite yet. But man, that was a long and painful goodbye. I can’t help but think that if I relapse again that that could be it, that my drinking would go to the next level, a level not as easy to walk away from.

About a month before I made the decision to start talking about my problems, I sat at the dining room table with my mom, a bottle of white wine between us. The girls were sitting with us and one of them started picking up the glass and pretending to take sips, “playing drinking” she said. A couple of days or weeks later I overheard them saying that they were going to drink wine “like mommy” when they grow up.

And that was the seed planted in my head.

God girls, you do not want to be like mommy like that.

My girls want to be their teachers and they want to be me. We are the three women they look up to most in the entire world and here I was dropping them off to their teachers with a hangover. Here I was brushing my teeth so hard that my gums would bleed, dropping Visine into my eyes, splashing cold water on my face, dreading the breakfast and lunch making, dreading the noise of their cheerful rested little morning voices, dreading having to talk to their friends moms, dreading the entire day, dreading the afternoon rush of homework and dinner making. Dreading my entire life, day after day after day.

And that’s who they wanted to be.

All of a sudden it’s not about control or unhappiness or depression or a simple choice to drink or not drink — it’s about saving my life and the lives of my daughters. Alcoholism and addiction runs thick in their veins and it’s my job to be an example and to educate them on the evils and life-destroying effects of alcohol and drugs well before they pick up.

Ten days in and this weekend was really hard, torture. Between Friday’s errands and torrential rains, going out for dinner on Saturday night, spending most of Sunday at beer-soaked Rogers Arena watching my brother play hockey, man, I would have done pretty much anything for a glass of wine.

But if I’ve learned one thing in 10 days it’s this:

I can’t drink one glass of wine.

Okay, I can, but as I drink that one glass my mind is already to the next one. Where is it coming from, is it available, etc. And if there’s no additional alcohol I’m either really disappointed, or bitchy, or I will go buy it, or I will wait till later, or if I’m broke I will go to someone’s house who I know will have wine, or I’ll wait till tomorrow. See? My mind will hold on to the thought of more drinking until I’m able to get enough to shut the addict up.

So while I’d have done anything for a glass of wine on Friday, Saturday and Sunday, it’s more like I’d do anything for many bottles of wine.

I can now think a “drink” through to the end and that’s a powerful tool. Understanding that it will never be “one drink” is another powerful tool. Same with smoking. I could quit for weeks and months then take one puff and not smoke again for days but within a few weeks I’d be buying packs again. It wasn’t until I learned to never take another puff that I’ve been absolutely smoke-free for over two years.

It’s that addict in me, always and forever waiting for it’s fix. Drinking is way more deep-seated, way more emotional and fucked up than habitual smoking. Same addict though.

Anyway, this weekend was HARD. Mind fuck is an exhausting game. Constantly feeling things is even more exhausting. I never thought I’d say it but thank god it’s Monday. I need a nap

It’s good to remember.

I remember the chocolates and flowers from last year (thanks to pictures) and the two bottles of champagne a few years back, but the only Valentine’s Day I clearly remember was seven years ago – the one I was newly pregnant and sober because of it.

I remember feeling incredibly nauseous and making a reservation for the early seating at The Boathouse on English Bay, three blocks away from our apartment. I remember trying not to vomit entering a seafood restaurant, ordering cranberry and soda, insisting Colin get a beer because he’d been abstaining since we found out I was pregnant, ordering fish and chips. I remember eating a few fries, getting the rest packed to go and hightailing it out of there to home and to bed.

I don’t remember any other details of any other Valentine’s Day, just like I don’t remember a good portion of my life since 2005.

Today marks three full days sober, working on my fourth.

I’m detoxing, and that sucks. Today is especially hard because I woke up with what felt like a hangover – so that doesn’t really feel like fair play.

It’s Valentine’s Day and my mom is making us a home cooked meal. Roast chicken, mashed potatoes, gravy … so, so good for the soul. That and I am useless in the kitchen right now, triggers everywhere.

Things are going well but I feel like total shit. The only things keeping me up and going are both my online support group and the women from my face-to-face group. People want to know what it’s like, do I stand up in a crowded room and say, “Hi, my name is Jen …”

No, I don’t. The group is small and it’s all women and they don’t even ask you to introduce yourself or talk about yourself, you’re just one of them, hanging out on comfy couches in a nice but badly lit room, laughing, talking, sharing, nodding, connecting.

We are mothers, grandmothers, without kids, professionals, stay at home moms, travelers, wealthy, poor, single, married, divorced, remarried, young, old, happy, sad, serious, hilarious. The little snippets of background are incredible. Women, all beautiful. Instant sisterhood.

The group is based on 13 acceptance statements, no steps.

There is no such thing as being powerless over alcohol, no handing over of power to something higher. Here you are powerful and strong, a competent woman with just a willingness to admit you have a life-threatening disease, and that you are taking back control from alcohol or drugs.

You own your power.

But it’s hard. Sobriety is incredibly hard and takes a lot of work, takes a lot out of a person like me who drinks to function and then drinks again to escape. Discomfort is very much present and there’s no numbing or promise of relief. You’re forced to feel.

Anyway, I just wanted to give an update and say hey. And thank from the bottom of my heart each person who reached out in support. I’d love to respond individually to everyone but right now that is a mountain I can’t climb so I’m just sending a ton of love and thanks out into the universe.

Being a closet drinker became too exhausting and soul-sucking to bear but the thought of telling and explaining to each individual person in my life was also too much. A lot of people don’t get it, can’t believe it, don’t understand how they could have missed it when in fact it was my full-time job plus overtime to hide it.

It is what it is, accept it, carry on.

Of course, I’d also chat more about it with anyone who thinks they might drink too much. Beyond AA there are very few resources out there for women, and I feel incredibly blessed to have found one, but it took a lot of digging. If anyone out there needs info let me know.

At that, I’m off to my kids Valentine’s Day party, and then to mom’s house to make some memories.

It’s good to remember.
xo

Ready.

Next month Colin and I will celebrate our 11 year anniversary. Since this year has been the best yet and Colin has given me the go-ahead to plan anything I want, Whistler it is. We’re going to be non-traditional and take the girls because they’ve never been to our favourite place and that fact makes me sad!

Another reason we’ll be heading into the mountains in March is because on Monday I start an alcohol recovery program: a very cool, women-only alternative to the higher power and 12-steps of AA. (Whistler will be something to work hard in the program for.)

In that respect my drinking relationships are now over.

So many factors contributed to reaching out for help but reading my last post over and over again, the control issues, the handing over of control to alcohol, well, my answer was there.

I wrote it in such a way that said I had other issues to deal with and alcohol would be moderated to social situations but in my reality, depression and alcohol go hand in hand. Moderation of any kind exhausts me, constantly thinking about when and how much and where and with whom and limits … it’s just another obsession I don’t need in my life.

It took a few posts, a few in-depth exchanges with people I trust, one heart to heart with Colin who has lived with my depression and alcohol dependency for years, and one phone call.

Then I had to say help and that was the single most hardest thing I’ve ever done. Once I said it though it was a flood of relief, like breathing after holding my breath for way too long.

I had to laugh talking to my program coordinator last night: I was telling her about what a drunk I was, how I’d sit in bed at night, wasted, making promises to never drink again, knowing how hard the morning was going to be, how bad my head hurt, how shitty I felt. I’d sit there and write in a paper journal exactly how I felt so I could read it the next day.

In the morning I’d wake up hungover and write in the journal again about how hard it was to get out of bed and make breakfast and lunches and get the girls dressed and to school. Occasionally I’d still be drunk depending on how late I’d stayed up the night before drinking and how I couldn’t even stomach coffee, my shakes were already bad enough as it was.

I’d write all of that to read when cravings to drink started like they did every day. At 4pm I’d take the journal, rip the pages out so no one would ever see them and pour myself a glass of wine. I just won’t drink so much tonight, I’ll deal with my problems later, I’m stressed, I’m exhausted, I need to drink tonight.

She says, “That’s one of the most common stories among women here.”

Huh.

So, here I go.

Stoked but nervous. Sad like I’m losing my friend, my rock, my security blanket. I’m not even going to attempt thinking about all the future times I won’t be drinking to deal with things — stress, sadness, happiness, people, family, celebration, etc. — all without the veil of booze. Crazy. And honestly, I can’t even fathom my life without alcohol right now.

I feel weak and like a total failure for not being able to control my drinking, or quit without help, but I know it’s the opposite.

The stigma attached to alcoholism is harsh, so I have to look around at all the people with all the problems.

Legit medical problems aside, a lot of people have control issues with food and you can tell because many people are overweight to some extent, or trying to lose weight. They simply cannot say no to foods that are bad for them even if they know it. Or they can’t stop eating when they’re full. Like me, they don’t grasp moderation.

It’s totally acceptable in society to eat and drink. Overweight and addicted to food, functioning alcoholic and addicted to drink. Equally sucking away at quality of life and health, one just sounds a lot worse.

Same goes for most accepted/overlooked addictions: TV, video games, internet, extreme exercise, calorie obsessing, nail biting, gossip, etc. It’s all kinda the same thing, a lot of it ties in with depression and addiction, some are just habits.

All I know is that I’m not alone in struggling with something, I’m actually in the majority.

But alcohol is my own beast. And I’m ready to reclaim my life.

Gettin’ It.

You’re strolling along enjoying abnormally warm February weather thinking nothing other than how beautiful it is and how happy it makes you, when it hits: the meaning, the sum, the answer. Everything is clear and whoa buddy watch out because you’ve got it all figured out!

Here it is:

I’m a control freak.

If there was a step up from control freak, that would be me. Is there a phobia of losing control? Because that is me too.

Every single thing I fear in life is about losing control.

I fear being a passenger in a car.

I like to drive, do it well and am cautious to a fault. I am the driver who sees the tenth car ahead tap his brakes. I am the driver who prepares to stop when yellow lights flashing. Few people like driving with me but I am a safe and phenomenal driver.

Having to be a passenger, especially on long trips at high speeds, sends me into panic mode and I’ll do pretty much anything to never be in that position.

I drive and it’s all good. You drive and I’m probably not going to go.

Yeah, I know it, I’m a messed up girl.

You see, when I was 18 my boyfriend and I were in a car accident. A drunk driver ran a stop sign and we crashed, really hard, going really fast. I had no idea I’d be traumatized for life, no idea that 14 years down the road I’d be worse off not better.

Basically, I no longer trust anyone behind the wheel of a car except myself.

I fear flying.

I’m not afraid of heights, I’m not afraid of dying by fiery crash into the Pacific Ocean, and I’m not afraid of the plane exploding in the air after take off. I’m afraid of the minutes the plane is out of control before it crashes to the earth.

I fear having my face ripped off by a bear.

I live on the side of a freaking mountain, yo. My kids have wildlife drills more than they have fire or earthquake drills. They see bears all the time from their classrooms and we have an extensive trail system in our backyard.

I am terrified of having no control over the cougar or the bear trying to eat me alive. Plus, we are campers, always have been, and every time we go I have severe anxiety all night long of being trapped in a tent while a bear claws it’s way in. Not relaxing times.

I fear left turns.

This one goes back to driving. Having to make left hand turns in heavy traffic makes me extremely nervous. I guess it has to do with the fact that I’m not 100% in control and I am forced to give some of it to oncoming cars. Sometimes I’ll even go out of my way to make a bunch of right turns instead of one left.

Did you know that UPS and Fed Ex drivers aren’t allowed to make left hand turns during peak traffic hours because it takes too much time and time is money? Well, that’s my excuse too, heh.

I fear the dentist.

Sharp needles and tools and pain I’m not in control of. Terrifying.

I fear pills. Red pills, blue pills, white pills, green pills, every kinda pill pills.

It takes a brain crushing headache to make me take an Advil, forget any other kind of pill. And not because I have a hard time swallowing them but because the moment I swallow I lose control of it and what it’s going to do to me. Most of the time it does a nice thing like makes my head feel better but a long time ago a pill almost took my life.

In early 2001 I took what I thought was Ecstasy but wasn’t. It was the closest I’ve come to overdosing or dying, or perhaps it was just a severe panic attack, but I couldn’t breath or swallow, couldn’t stand, couldn’t see anything except bursts of bright light.

I was totally fucked and there was nothing I could do except pray. Yep, pray to God. I’m not a God person, I’m a vibes and positive thoughts person but in my mind I was *thisclose* to dead because I couldn’t get oxygen to my brain and the only thing I thought to do was bargain and beg for my life.

That included a promise to never take another pill.

So yeah. I know that means illegal drugs, but somehow the fear has me applying that promise to all drugs.

I’ve had two surgeries and two recoveries and when morphine wasn’t entering my blood stream anymore via IV I had to take pain killers but I’ve never taken anything stronger than extra strength Tylenol, even after my c-section, no joke.

WHAT THIS ALL MEANS.

I try so hard to control everything and it’s an exhausting full-time job.

In the past I lost control in ways that hurt and scared me and it’s shaped my entire life. I’m worried, anxious, afraid, scared of everything, doom and gloom. That’s why Buddhist studies and meditations helped so much because I learned to simplify, to be aware, to live in the present and stop foreshadowing all of the potentially bad things that could happen.

I learned to enjoy the ride.

I believe I have two really huge things to deal with and alcoholism isn’t one of them, but it definitely ties in.

1. Depression

It resides in me. When I get depressed I do not turn to exercise or heart to hearts with girlfriends or group activities. I turn to alcohol. Alcohol is a depressant so I’m doing myself absolutely no favours there and I’m playing with fire.

I have to make a plan for depression, I need to understand my triggers (rain, rejection, lack of money) and see it coming, and I need to avoid alcohol, especially drinking alone. I need activity, I need fresh air, I need more girlfriend time and I need more fun.

2. Control

I give control over to alcohol. And why wouldn’t I? I spend most of every single day controlling every second with severe anxiety. I’m tired and worn out and the only way I know how to relax is to let alcohol take the wheel so I can chill the fuck out for a little while.

No more.

I have to begin dealing with my control issues. I need to take baby steps to let go.

I need to pull out all of my awareness and presence books, study them, get back into that weekly class that teaches me to just be.

I need to let someone else drive the Sea to Sky Highway doing 10km over the limit and be okay with that. ENJOY THAT. I have to take lots of hikes fully aware that I may come across wildlife because yeah, I’m living in their territory, but not let it stop me. ENJOY THAT. I need put some faith in the fact not everyone is drunk and running stop signs and turn left for fuck sake.

~

This much is clear: I don’t have a problem with alcohol when I’m happy, fulfilled and content.

I like having drinks with friends, enjoy a beer with hockey or around the camp fire, love to discuss and try new wines.

My dream has always been to do a Napa Valley or Okanagan vineyard tour. And not because I’m an alcoholic but because I want to learn about and experience wine culture. I don’t even have to drink (though I’d likely get shitfaced and that’s OK), I’m just interested, always have been.

This isn’t denying I have a problem and this isn’t giving moderation another try.

I’m admitting I have two major problems and I need help.

Until I start figuring this out and maybe forever, alcohol cannot have a place in my day to day life. I can no longer hand control over to a substance that will potentially take me down if depression is lurking.

Alcohol + depression will kill me after it destroys my entire life and the lives of my family.

Depression, control. These are my focus points.

Lets do this.

Like a sad song.

I had postpartum depression but at the time it didn’t occur to me.

I’d had twins, sure, it was hard. People carried on saying they didn’t know how I did it and those were great compliments but I had no choice. My two babies was your one baby, nothing amazing about that.

I’d cry all the time. I didn’t know what I was doing, didn’t know how to bond, didn’t understand the feelings of protectiveness and love I was supposed to have. I’d be alone too often and I’d yell and swear and cry and feel total remorse and failure.

I shouldn’t be a mom, how did I think I could handle this?

To top off an already horrible mental situation, Colin and I began having problems and I was able to add ‘woman’ to my failures.

I managed to get through dark days knowing that by 4pm the girls would be napping and I could have a glass of wine. 4pm turned into 3pm then 2pm. Soon days revolved around when I could drink, when I’d finally be able to feel normal, stop being angry, stop crying, start being a mom.

With the veil of drink I could enjoy my girls, shower, tidy the house, make dinner, function.

~

I’m not sure when I stopped drinking like that, probably spring when the sun came out. Fresh air improve my state of mind. The girls thrived outdoors and I’d spend days following a routine. I loved walking while they napped, sun on my skin. I still drank but never during the day. I was a closet drinker, just like I was a closet smoker, never in public where one could be judged.

When fall came I went to work. My mom babysat. Early mornings and routine kept my seasonal ‘disorder’ at bay. It felt awesome being back in the city, my career, with adults. Awesome until the girls weren’t sad to see me go or excited at my arrival, and sobbed when my mom left. Awesome until I began missing firsts.

I quit after 6 months. It was 2007 when I started my first blog. Drinking wasn’t an issue, still, once in awhile I questioned frequency and amounts. Looking back I believe I turned in an addiction (drinking) for an obsession (building a blog/readership).

~

2008. Those days were consumed with bad choices and people (some literally bad, some bad for me). There was one drinking episode in the latter part of ’08 that should have been my rock bottom but became a jumping off point when everything collapsed at the start of ’09.

~

2009. I started using alcohol to self-medicate. This time I wasn’t dealing with PPD or feelings of failure, I was drinking to drown my fuck ups as a morally bankrupt human being. At times it would start as early as morning.

I saw therapists this year and hated them. All I did was cry, sign a $150 cheque, book another. I should have been in AA.

~

Most of 2009 and 2010 is blurry.

~

Because of things I couldn’t handle anymore the girls and I left in 2010. Over the years I’d threatened to leave but never did because I had no money, no place to go. With my brother travelling and room at my mom’s house I left.

It didn’t last long but it was good. I think sometimes both partners need a glimpse of life apart to open their eyes. Especially when you have children. The life you’ve built, the togetherness, the friendship, the family. It makes the bullshit less significant.

By the end of 2010 I realized the biggest contributor to my unhappiness was that I was an alcoholic and I found support. That lasted three weeks before deciding moderation worked better. I found a Buddhism study, practiced meditation and felt a strong sense of being grounded, centered and clear going into 2011.

~

Things were amazing last year.  Best ever. We moved into a beautiful new space with a backyard and pool and a sense of community – everything I dreamed for my family.

Then out of the blue I crumbled.

The girls went to school, I struggled to find my identity, my doctor ordered me to lose 20lbs, my friends felt far away, I struggled with comparing myself to the wealthy women who live in this neighbourhood. I tried to get back into my career so we could keep up with the Joneses and all I got were rejections.

For someone who’d had a meaningful career and salary it was a huge slap in the face. This led to anxiety, insomnia, depression and heavier drinking.

~

I know drinking sucks life from me. It takes me away from mothering, home, relationships, health.

I have a choice and I’ve exercised it whenever my mind has skirted the edges. I’m aware. And like Jeremy’s comment it is simple: do or don’t.

I have a history of alcoholic drinking but I’m not powerless over it. I abstain. I drink responsibly. I drink socially. I do all of the above.

The complicated part is that from time to time I make the decision to float around the numb place at the bottom of a bottle. Lonely and alone in a pool of worthlessness and failure, sadness and hurt, hate and rejection. The fog, it’s strangely comforting like a sad song that takes you back, helps you remember, makes you cry.

I guess that’s why every so often I question what it all means. Having that place, it’s not normal.

I understand and appreciate what it means to be powerless, but I can’t say it. Nor can I say I have a hereditary disease thanks to alcoholic genes. It’s too easy to play a victim card, say circumstance happened and I’m the fucked up result.

Drinking is my choice and choice is power. I make the decision of whether it will suck away my quality of life, health, happiness and future.

Me.

I’m in control here. Most of the time I forget that fact completely.