Over time, I actually became the friend who drank an unpredictable amount and acted erratically. Sometimes I was perfectly normal throughout the evening and carried on normal conversations and presented myself in a lovely way, other times I passed out in the bathroom by 8 p.m. because I had gone through the host or hostess’s medicine cabinet, helped myself to whatever mood- or mind-altering pill I could find, and drank all the booze I could get in my body. When that first drink my lips, all bets were off on predicting my behavior and I had zero control over my actions. It was like playing Russian Roulette.
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Oddly enough, I kept a pretty great group of friends and the support of my family through my drinking career – they loved me and often reminded me of what an incredible, talented, successful person I was. Never once did I believe them. Ever. The voice within me told me that they would eventually figure out the real me – lazy, stupid, fake, ugly. As my outward success grew, so did my inner demons. In 2010, I finally fell in love. Real love. Big Love. At 29 years old, I finally thought my life would come together.
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I had the career, the paycheck, the car, the house, and finally the love. I thought I had finally discovered the missing puzzle piece for a complete and happy life. I just knew that being in love would be the solution to making my happy outside life overcome my dark inner thoughts. Love would make me happy. I couldn’t have been more wrong. It became another outward aspect of my life that appeared to be successful, and happy, and fun, that didn’t match the thoughts and feelings on the inside of me. I looked to him to love me enough for both of us, because God knows I hated myself.
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As our love and relationship grew, once again, so did my inner demons. For all the goodness around me, I have always had an inner demon to outweigh it. After a few years in that relationship, when it was time to grow together, trust deeper, I did just the opposite. My reliance and trust on alcohol grew – alcohol became my best friend, my lover, my everything. Alcohol was the only thing that could quiet the constant negative chatter inside my head and for a few moments, alcohol could make me feel complete – it allowed me to accept my successes, it made me feel a part of my own life.
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As my relationship ended, my love affair with alcohol heated up and I became a daily drinker which progressed to an isolated daily drinker. I lived to drink. I woke up each day and did what I had to do to get to that drink. I rushed through work, I chose my social activities by if and how much there would be to drink, I went to my Godson’s T-ball games with a 42 ounce cup of wine, I showed up to dinner with my parents drunk and rushed through it so I could get back home to my couch and my alcohol, I showed up to first dates so drunk that I can’t remember their names or what we ate,
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I answered work emails in full on black outs, I walked my dogs, went to the convenience store, grocery shopped, and anything else you can think of under the influence of alcohol. For me, the goal became blackout every time I drank. I just wanted to get to a place where I couldn’t feel. I stopped eating regularly, my kidneys became very infected, and I threw bile up in the kitchen sink on a daily basis. I had no desire to live, but didn’t have the courage to kill myself. I remember thinking, ‘what a joke – we work our whole lives to grow up, become successful, and none of it brings true happiness.’
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Then one Saturday morning I headed to the store (I had run out of booze and I had run out of prescription sleeping pills – because I took way too many the week before), so a box (that equals 4 bottles) of wine, a pint of whiskey, and a bottle of Tylenol PM were on my list. That should get me through Saturday and Sunday.
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I can remember walking in the liquor store, I remember driving through a fast food restaurant, and my next memory from that Saturday is of me sitting on the floor in the lobby of the building where I was living – half dressed, my dogs were running everywhere, and one of my dearest friends was standing in front of me begging me to stand up. I wanted to stand up, but my legs wouldn’t do what my brain was telling them to. I wanted to get it together, but my body just wouldn’t cooperate.
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Eventually she was able to get me up, in the elevator, and up to my apartment. When I walked in my front door, I turned sharply to the right, in doing so I lost my footing and fell. I fell face first into a solid wood door frame and eventually to the concrete floor. I can remember every second of this fall. I can feel the force of my head slamming into the corner of the wood door frame and eventually into the concrete, I can still hear the sound of my scull popping when impact was made, I remember that my arms and legs felt like Jell-O – they were twisted and just wouldn’t work.
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I can remember picking my head up to look at Alexis as she was standing behind me and scrambling and scaping to help me, and all I could see out of my right eye was flesh. Swollen flesh. The impact on my head had created a hematoma so large on my forehead that it covered my right eye. Immediately, my next thoughts were to get it together so that Alexis would leave my apartment and I could get a drink.
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I immediately put ice on my eye to hide it and somehow convinced her that I was fine and would check in with her the next day. So, there I was – beat up with a tremendous head injury, alone in my gorgeous apartment sicker than I had ever been. I poured a glass of pinot grigio, took 8 or 10 sleep aids, kissed my dogs (who were laying on the floor beside my bed) and went to sleep – praying that I would not wake.
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At 7 a.m. the next morning, I awoke to realize I had no vision out of my right eye and was in tremendous pain. I got to the bathroom and saw myself in the mirror. For the first time in my 35 years, the outside of my body matched exactly what I was feeling on the inside. All the shame, guilt, disappointment, and pure hatred that I had always had for myself was right there on my face, literally. What I saw in the mirror matched exactly what I felt deep in my soul. It was that moment I knew I had a choice. Life or death. If I continued drinking, then I would die. If I didn’t drink, I might live. But I had NO idea how to live without alcohol. Alcohol had been the one constant in my life and I couldn’t imagine going on without it.
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Fortunately, my mom is in recovery, so I made a phone call that no mom ever wants to get. Within an hour, my mom was at my apartment and I will never forget the look of absolute terror on her face when I removed the ice from my right eye. All at once, she could see the immense amount of pain I was in physically, emotionally and mentally. With the support of my family, I was able to enter an Intensive Outpatient Rehab program in Memphis. Along with an incredibly strong rehab program and 12 step recovery program, I am currently 599 days sober.
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