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The hardest thing I ever had to admit to myself and other people was that I had become powerless over alcohol and could not control my drinking. I felt like a failure. I didn't think at the time that there was anyway out of the mess I had made of my life. But there was, and I have begun that journey.
I began drinking in junior high school as a way to gain popularity and take care of other problems I was having. There was a group of people in my class that I wanted so much to be a part of, but didn't know how. I joined the Pep Club and began to hang out with kids from that inner circle of friends. I learned to talk the way they did, dress they way they did, and be they way they were. At the time, I thought this was the way to gain new friends and be part of a group that before had always shunned me. Unfortunately, I didn't choose the best peer group in the world. Yes, they were popular and definitely not "geeks" or "nerds" in any fashion of the word. They dressed the best, had the most money, and were the coolest kids in town. And I was a part of them.
I remember the first party they invited me to. I had never tasted alcohol before that night. I didn't know a thing about it or what it could do to you; and I had never seen anyone drunk. I'm not sure what I had to drink, but I had a lot and was completely out of it. I guess I was an alcoholic from the word "go." I enjoyed the feeling of being drunk. I liked being the life of the party and losing most of my inhibitions. But the next day that's a totally different story.
The drinking went off and on throughout junior high and high school. As the years would pass, my drinking would go from times of sobriety (like during both of my pregnancies) to times of blacking out and having that feeling of being completely lost. Even now as I look back, I wonder how I kept from losing jobs, wrecking my car, or getting killed. I know that my moods during this were up and down the scale and would range from being a giddy schoolgirl, to an out of control drunk. I was not a violent alcoholic, but I was definitely an alcoholic. I never saw it that way, but I know now that I was.
My drinking had an ill effect on my family that is hard to forget. My husband (now ex) was fighting his own addiction to drugs, so our relationship was pretty rocky most of the time. My two boys never saw me drunk, but they did see what I was like the day after. The house would be a mess; there would be empty beer cans and bottles everywhere; and I would usually be in bed or on the couch. Usually they just left me alone to wallow in my pity. They spent a lot of time away from home, practically being raised by their grandparents. However, in my greatest time of need, during my rehab, my kids were my best supporters. I talked to them each day and they kept urging me on to get better.
As my drinking career came to a close, the last years are pretty painful for me to still recall. I remember the fights and the words that were said. I can recollect the money that was squandered on bottles of booze or extravagant parties that I couldn't afford. I lived through the embarrassment of the utilities being shut off and going without food in the refrigerator. One memory that hurts the most was the look in my oldest son's eyes when I pushed him down and he hit his head on the bathtub. But even that was not enough. It would take a few more months of out of control drinking, becoming homeless and losing everything in my life to make me realize that I had a problem. By the end, I would lose my house, my family, and most of my friends. I had no where to turn.
My husband took a job in Durango, Colorado in August 1993, and after taking care of things in Missouri, I followed in September with a friend, who moved there with me. We arrived Labor Day weekend and my husband was on a hunting trip. So she and I spent that weekend in the bars. I met someone during this time and left my husband to be with him. He was a drunk, as well, so we got along perfectly. We lived out of my truck and did that from day to day. We would work labor jobs to earn a little money and this would all go to booze. He and I traveled from Durango, to Corpus Christi, Texas during a rather long drinking binge. We were there about three weeks or so, and he had to go back to Durango for court. Several days passed, and he never returned to continue this sordid relationship that had begun.
After being stranded and having no where else to go, I knew I needed some kind of help. I called my husband, after a bad night at the bar, and he told me that I could come home if I would just get sober and stay that way. I had met a lady during my stay in Texas who knew of a place that I could get help. She drove me there and that was when my journey to hell and back began.
I thought that 17 years of being a drunk were bad, but the days I spent in rehab could be compared to living a nightmare over and over. The day that I entered the hospital was October 18, 1993. I was legally drunk; my purse had been stolen the night before at the bar so I was only known as "Jane Doe"; I was flat broke and feeling very suicidal. This was not a good day in my books! The staff put me on a suicide watch and began the drugs that would sober me up and get me headed in the right direction. The first few days I did nothing but cry, complain and sleep. I met many people in that hospital ward that I still remember to this day.
I began attending the support group that was required and twenty-four hours later I had made it one day without a drink. I haven't made the past five years perfectly. I have stumbled a few times and began again. But I have learned to live life one day at a time and keep everything as simple as possible. |
