Knowledge is Power, Right?

What I knew for sure & what I didn’t know at all…

I think I knew, subconsciously anyway, at a very young age that I would have a problem with alcohol. I’m an introvert, and as a kid, that was something of an obstacle. I didn’t mind being shy; I only wished everyone else would be fine with it. I still don’t understand why people like to urge the quiet out of someone. I would never push an extrovert to be silent, although I have often fantasized about it. Around the age of probably 12, maybe, my parents would offer me a tiny glass of their wine at dinner. My own little crystal cup. It was only Beringer white zin, but wine just the same. I didn’t mind the taste; I liked it alright. What struck me, as I look back now, was how swiftly the physiological effects took place after only a few sips. I wasn’t drunk, or even tipsy by any stretch of the imagination. What I noticed was an almost instant tickling in the very pit of my stomach. It sorta felt like I had to pee. And it was a fun, toasty sensation that felt silly and carefree. This sharing of the dinner wine with me probably only happened a handful of times in all, but that’s all I needed to know that alcohol was going to change my life. What I didn’t know was in what a long, drawn out, painful way.

“that’s all I needed to know that alcohol was going to change my life”

Taste never had anything to do with it. Ever, at all. As long as it didn’t taste like motor oil, I would drink it. The stronger the better. Rather, the stronger the quicker. The faster I could get from point A (uncomfortable, introvert, Type “A”, anxious) to point B (that fun, tickling sensation that felt silly and carefree) the better. I wanted to get my money’s worth! Screw the taste. That’s what food is for. And boy did I know it, especially when prefaced with a few drinks! More on that unhealthy habit later.

The point is, as the years passed, and my discomfort and anxiety grew, I relied more and more heavily on the bottle to lift the weight of life like I always knew it would. And it was effective. For as long as I could manage the hangovers and guilt and regret and fear, which of course only made me want to drink more to lift those weights. If alcohol was a God, he would be a brilliant one and I his most faithful follower. Willingly being pulled back into the fold over and over and over again, desperate to complete the next drinking assignment to his satisfaction.

I had to quit. And somehow, I mustered enough sheer will-power to put down the bottle and leave it there for a year and a half. But will-power is like a muscle and as such, can get worn out. Especially when the thing against which it is resisting is the exact thing that gains strength if ignored and left unsupervised.

What I didn’t know was how sneaky an adversary alcohol would be. I thought I had it beat.

I didn’t know that I had been so absent for many of life’s lessons throughout my years of heavy drinking that now I would have to face them all at once. All the feelings I had not learned to manage, the situations I had not practiced navigating, the average everyday problems I had not worked my way through. Fifteen years’ worth of neglect to my development as a human being on this earth. It would all hit me and hit me hard.

“What I didn’t know was how sneaky an adversary alcohol would be.”

Boundaries; what are those? Self-care; that’s a thing? Discomfort; you mean it won’t kill me? Struggles, challenges, negative self-talk, mistakes, making ends meet, embarrassment, my kids’ inevitable struggles throughout childhood and adolescence, all the hard things that triggered me to drink… Turns out the severity of these was directly related to the intensity with which I kept drinking… I drink too much and make mistakes. I spend too much on alcohol and it becomes difficult to make ends meet. I get wasted and do something embarrassing. I black out and hate myself the next morning. I drink too much every night and can’t guide my kids as they face their own challenges growing up.

Now, fifteen years later, I must finally stop and ask myself ‘What the fuck is going on?’… For every moment that I am desperate for a drink, rather than reaching for one, I must stop and take a look at what is happening, what I’m feeling, and what on earth is going through my head. That, in and of itself, is uncomfortable. But once I do that, once I pause to reflect for just a minute, I begin to recognize some things which should probably be addressed with facts and strategies rather than drowned in wine or vodka. I’m talking about trauma, hyper-sensitivity, self-harm, self-sabotage, addiction, binge behavior, social awkwardness, over-thinking (yes, I recognize the irony), and plain old life-long anxiety. To realize that these are things to be identified and researched is freeing. Simply to see that there are causes, symptoms, and treatments is liberating…

So I put down the bottle yet again. Life is amazing and I am lucky to be here. I know that it is well worth the effort to stop delaying the work I have to do and start getting to the bottom of all this. Engage in my life rather than watch from the sidelines as a spectator wondering why my team is taking a beating. Do the work I should have been doing all along.

Now, to tackle each one, little by little. Baby steps, but sober ones. Like a toddler on time-out, I will sit my hiney down and think about what I’ve done. Really though, at those times when I want a fucking drink, I sit my ass down and just take a break. Clear my head with the sober air around me as I sit and reflect for just a few minutes. It is always shocking to me the answers that surface if only I let them. “If you build it, he will come.”? If you sit, clarity will come.

I know for sure this is how it has to be.

Day 1, again.