Chip On My Shoulder

In the past 90 days I have collected 4 chips, all from Alcoholics Anonymous.  Every alcoholic’s story is different and not all involve several DUIs, trips to jail, losing jobs, or family.  Mine involved my daily decision making and I decided to give it up before drinking lead me to one of the above.  I only mention this because giving up alcohol has made facing my recovery that much more difficult.

Over a year ago I “voluntarily” admitted myself to a behavioral health center to get help with abusing my anxiety medications and cutting.  These medications were removed from my regimen and I have not taken them since.  I considered not telling my new psychiatrist about the medication abuse in order to have the anxiety pills prescribed again.  It was a short-lived internal debate. He had my discharge papers from the hospital.  I have had to ride out the anxiety since then, which is not all that much fun.

I did not stop drinking when I stopped the pills. I did not see it as a problem, even though I was mixing pills with the alcohol.  I decided alcohol was controllable and I did not drink that often anyway.  With the loss of anxiety medication, the drinking picked up.  A lot of my writing has taken place with a glass of vodka right next to me.  On occasion I have met with my therapist and support group just after consuming a drink, just to take the edge off, to numb reality enough to avoid being crushed by it.  

To recap, I am off anxiety medications and alcohol.  Where does this leave me? Smack in the middle of reality with no way to escape and experiencing “white knuckling” when I feel like I could just explode. There is not a clear way to distinguish the good and bad of this new lifestyle and I can argue both sides.

I am no longer depending on alcohol or medication abuse to help get me through the rough spots.  The buffer is gone. Everything I have used in the past to keep myself sane has disappeared.  Cutting is no longer satisfying.  I tried it after giving up alcohol and its effect was minimal.  I considered upping the severity, but eventually decided against it. I did not want to have to explain it to anyone.

The upside of all this is the same.  I can no longer numb myself or keep a buffer zone between myself and all that emotion and truth I need to get through.  Logically I can rationalize the benefits.  The possibility of having a life unconsumed by the abuse and its effects surrounds brings hope in face of soberly tackling the mess the abuse left behind.  However, the thought of digging through all this mess head on, without chemical help, also brings nausea and fear.  There are moments it all feels like a lose-lose situation.

Not drinking has affected my desire to write for the same reason above.  I will feel the full impact of the emotions and memories I post here.  For the last 90 days it seemed easier to keep the laptop off.  

Recently, I wrote out another portion of my story for a support group, first time I have ever done this totally sober.  It was painful, simply because I felt it this time.  There was not my comfortable level of detachment.  In the past I had written out parts of my story in one sitting, maybe taking an hour.   This time around it took nearly the entire week.  I would get a section down and have to stop.  I wrote some of it in a public place, which is a cheap form of putting distance between myself and the words on the paper.  I have a strict rule about making an emotional scene in public.  I barely do it in counseling or in private.  My nerves of steel were now spasming and I was amped up on emotion.  If I had to paint a picture of what life was like that week, leading up to the time I had finished reading my story, it would be of a squirrel in the middle of the road with a car coming at it.  I could not make up my mind which direction to go.  It was like I did not have time to think rationally, and I wasn’t. I experienced my first episode of “white knuckling” and hated every second of it.

Approximately an hour after I finished reading the story and the next member told theirs, I felt better in the sense I was no longer rocking back and forth in my seat.  I was exhausted and I was emotionally exhausted well into the next day.  However, I had done it.  I faced my story head on, as nerve-racking as it had been.  I am certainly not saying I will be able to handle my recovery in stride and with grace, but I at least know I have done it once, and the first time is always the hardest, right?

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.