Addictions

It has come to my attention that I have an addictive personality. At least in my mind. I have drifted into one physical addiction after another. It started with sex and pornography, transitioned to anxiety medications, and I have recently had to admit I am an alcoholic.

With guilt, therapy, and a lot of journaling I managed to get past the sex/pornography addiction. It is still tempting, especially when I am having a difficult time having sex with my husband. I used it for “inspiration.” When I could not have sex with him without looking at pornography online I had fought harder to stop. I also was made to realize most of women in the clips and movies were being used and I felt like I was using them also, which resembled abuse.

The anxiety medication was an easy addiction to fall into. I was taking more than prescribed. I enjoyed the feeling of calm they provided. Nothing bothered me and I could handle just about every situation without losing my temper. They were fabulous. I started to abuse them, mixing them with alcohol. I hit a really difficult part of abuse recovery and I was suicidal. The pills and alcohol became a source of self-abuse. I was not actively trying to end my life but if the pills and alcohol happened to kill me, I was okay with it. This way of thinking landed me in a hospital at the hands of a mini-intervention by my therapist and husband. I acknowledged my addiction the anxiety medication but did not see the alcohol as a problem. That was a little over a year ago.

Over the last month or so a voice inside has been telling me I have a problem with alcohol. I dismissed it for as long as I could. Alcohol was an option and I was not dependent on it, according to the little voice with horns. I did not drink every day and felt okay about it when I did drink. I told myself I deserved a drink because of a bad day or because my stress level was too high.

When I finally mentioned the drinking to my therapist he ever so gently (not really) mentioned I was not supposed to be drinking with my antidepressants. I was strongly encouraged to enlist my husband’s help in quitting and to just not buy anymore. It lasted 2 days. About a week later I was put on an antibiotic. The nurse and pharmacist warned me not to drink alcohol, not even use mouthwash, while on the antibiotic or I would be incredibly sick. In fact, I was told to avoid alcohol for 3 days after finishing it also. I took their word for it and did not have a drop. It was a perfect opportunity to quit completely. Two and a half hours after I finished I had a beer in my hand.

I started to get concerned when I felt myself craving a drink while at work. Granted my coworkers stress me out but I could taste the vodka and looked forward to getting home to drink. Once home I would make sure I did not have to drive anywhere or be some place where my full brain was required. If there was no reason to leave the house, I poured myself a drink in the middle of the afternoon, on an empty stomach to get the full effect.

My therapist again pushed me to tell my husband and get his help. This meant I had to tell my husband I believed I may have a drinking problem. I asked him to hold me accountable and help me. He asked if he needed to pour out the vodka and anything else I liked to drink in the house. I discouraged him from doing so because I did not want ‘to waste the money” spent on it. Less than 48 hours later I was sneaking it and mixing it into my benign drinks. I even started asking my husband to mix it for me or just bring it to me straight up, which he did. It was official. I am an alcoholic/addict. It also proved that spouses are not the best accountability partners.

In considering anyone I know to become my new accountability partner I thought about AA, a group of people in the same situation and who a had a reputation of accountability and tough love. Now the thought of being vulnerable to essentially complete strangers was terrifying. I am not good at being vulnerable at all, even with my husband. It is a skill I am trying to build; however I am not fond of it. My therapist and a pastor encouraged AA. I started looking up meeting locations.

I thought about a friend I have known for years who was posting updates on his sobriety journey. He has reached the 5 year mark. I sent him a message asking for suggestions for possible meetings. He immediately responded with, “There is a good one tonight at 8.” My first instinct was to decline. I was not ready to jump in just yet. Also, I was already in my pajamas (5:30 pm). The annoying soft voice insisted I give it a try. I got dressed and went to the meeting.

The experience was overwhelming. Everyone, I mean everyone, was friendly and welcoming. They were also huggers. I was totally out of my comfort zone simply because it was a large group of friendly people and I sometimes hesitate to hug people I do know. I was the only newcomer at the meeting and received more attention than I wanted. I politely refused to go up front and receive my first “chip.”

As nerve racking the experience was, there were positives. The friendly, nonjudgmental environment was encouraging. I was actually instructed to just listen to others speak and take it in. There was no pressure (minus the chip incident) to participate. All the members seemed to understand my anxiety and tried to make me feel at ease with my decision to attend. The more stories I heard, the more I realized I was headed in the right direction.

Hermit Mode

Admittedly I have become a hermit. If it were not for Facebook, I would have completely

disappeared. I was not exactly aware I was isolating myself until the other day.

I have kept in touch via text and email, but leaving the house, outside of work, has been a struggle. Excuse after excuse has been uttered by me to get out of going anywhere outside of daily function. Even the grocery store has been a chore. Some of my reasons have been legitimate but some of them were just a flimsy excuse to stay home. 

The last few weeks I have had to drag myself out of bed to wake the kids up for school. They go to different schools with different start times. I would get one up and then go back to bed until time to wake up the others. Once they were dressed and ready I would crawl back into bed until I absolutely had to get up and go to work. Once home I would perform minimal tasks to keep the house running and would retreat to my room for the evening under the guise of working. I did work some but not nearly as much as I should have. 

It had been a month since I had seen my therapist, mostly due to travel and medical issues. I was not desperate to see him and I considered myself in good shape. I blamed the dragging and isolation on a busy month and a desire to rest. When I went to my next therapy appointment I started to give my counselor a brief description of life since my last visit. As it turns out, I’m depressed. 

I did not see it coming. I did not want to see it coming. It all started to add however. My writing had slowed to almost a stop; nothing was completed. Was it because I was dodging facing whatever was making me tired and withdrawn? Yes. I convinced myself I was just taking a mini break or that I did not have anything to journal or contribute to recovery. 

The shattering of my denial by my counselor with the depression revelation did not immediately turn me around of course. I thought it would. I wanted it to work like a connection from the past to my future. There are moments when you connect a current reaction or mindset with the instigating factor in the abuse. The “AHA” moment. Once the connection is made, the transition and energy to change is apparent. Steps seem lighter as a sense of progress and growth burn bright in our hearts and minds. 

Pulling back the curtain on my depression was actually more depressing. I do not seem to have the motivation to pull out of it. I am not happy in this place but I feel I have cement shoes. I have made a few baby steps to move back into life. I have lethargically completed small projects around the house and made an effort to hang out with the family, but outside of work, I have not done anything social out of the house for a few weeks. I am not a fan of anyone I work with at the moment, so keeping to myself there has been fairly easy and not at all social. 

This coming weekend I have an event for my sons’ group. The place will be crowded with a lot of people I know with probably an equal amount of people I do not know. There will be a degree of fatigue as we will need to get up early and drive to an all-day function. I am mentally exhausted just writing about it. While I do have the option of not going, disappointing my sons, and feeling guilty, I really need to go. 

Another place I need to go is church this week for mid-week supper and study. I have failed to attend the last few weeks while my family went. I had work I could do from home but it was not critical. Admittedly I enjoyed the quiet in my usually active house. I slept or mindlessly watched TV a lot of the time. 

I will go this week, not out of a desire to leave the house and see friends, but in an effort to turn the depression around a little. I want to prove to myself I can move out of this horrible slump, even just a little at a time. I am hoping the momentum will keep me going and the weekend will be a little easier. From there maybe the fog will start to clear and I can start to understand the underlying cause of this big emotional dip.