I had barely been sleeping, and the little sleep I did get was punctuated by dreams and tossing and turning. I didn't know if the problem was my husband being away visiting family, or the general anxiety I tend to carry. Either way, I decided that a little relaxation was the answer. On my way home from work, I bought a bottle of my $10 favorite and laid down to watch some TV.
That's where the normal stops.
About an hour and a half later, the wine gone, I drank the three raspberry smirnoffs in the refrigerator in an hour. My stomach started to turn, from the aciditiy of the smirnoffs I thought, so I took a few tums and looked for more to drink. The alcohol we had in our kitchen consisted of a bottle of champagne to be drank on my one year anniversary with my new husband, a bottle of Old Ale, and several bottles of Sam Adams' from their Winter Collection. I hate beer, but I chose the Old Ale -- either because I didn't realize it was beer, or because I didn't care that it was. In any case, it was my husband's, and I drank it with the intention of replacing it without him knowing.
I felt disgusted with myself the next day for getting into something that is his, with the clear intention to deceive him. That is not me. That is not the relationship we have. I still feel remorse for that. But it didn't keep a similar incident from happening early the next week, again in an attempt 'relax'. This time, it ended with me alone, retching in the bathroom; I had forgotten to eat dinner since I was feeling full with alcohol before I had a chance to be hungry. The next day, feeling terribly hungover, I couldn't pretend that my relationship with alcohol is a normal one.
I sincerely think that my alcoholism isn't rooted in unhappiness, but I'd be lying if I said that I didn't feel lost after the realization that I'm an alcoholic. It seems that somehow, now that I've come to realize that I'm an alcoholic, my life revolves around alcohol more than ever. Or, at least, now I'm more aware of it.
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