dry holidays

My grandmother and aunt have a gambling problem. My maternal grandfather, aunt and uncle are active alcoholics. My paternal grandfather was an alcoholic as well, though he quit drinking after a drinking-related incident nearly killed him.

I've always said that I think I have an addictive personality, though I never had hard evidence until my alcoholism took root. I never gambled -- I refuse to by lottery tickets and will never go to Las Vegas. I know that I wouldn't know how to stop once I got caught up in it all.

The longer I go without alcohol, the better I know that I am truly an alcoholic. A few months ago, my husband was out of town, and I went to the grocery store (which remains the most difficult place for me to keep the beast at bay). I put alcohol in my cart, fully intending on drinking it entirely that night and hiding the evidence. In a moment of clarity I realized that what I was about to do was the sirens of my addiction, and just left the cart in the middle of the store and high-tailed it out of there. I am not proud of this, except for the end result: I still have not drank since the day I gave it up about ten months ago.

I'd like to say that I have control over my addiction, that I am fully 'recovered', but I would just be kidding myself. I know they always say the addiction is always there, but I liked to think that I was different. That it was a phase for me, and once I got over it, I could be a responsible drinker.

That was the hardest part about putting down the drinks -- the idea that never again will I taste an oaky red or crisp white paired perfectly with a meal. Never is a very long time. Finally, AA taught me to stop focusing on forever, and just focus on today. I can get through today without drinking, that's easy. We'll worry about tomorrow when it gets here.

Yesterday, my husband and I went to a friend's house for a thanksgiving dinner. We haven't been out with a group of friends like this since my realization that I was an alcoholic, and we knew there would likely be alcohol there, wine -- my particular poison -- especially. And there was: a carafe of white and red sitting on the table, everybody but my husband and I partaking.

It wasn't as difficult as I thought it might be, but I did have fantasies of everybody being in another room and me escaping to the bathroom off of the kitchen with a bottle of wine. I found myself staring at an empty glass as wine was being poured into it. Luckily, it was cheap wine that I know doesn't taste good, so I was able to quiet the thoughts of, "It's just a little wine -- it tastes good, and it's Thanksgiving."  I was even able to take part in conversation without the presence of the wine completely enveloping my thoughts.

The holidays are difficult for an alcoholic, especially and introverted one with a messed-up family situation like me. But I made it through without any missteps-- my first holidays as a non-drinker.

sponsor

I am not an open person. I barely know what I'm feeling myself; I tend to just stew in my emotions, not explain them out.  I don't like talking about the past, especially the not-so-happy parts of it.  I don't like the idea that somebody could know me better than I know myself; in fact, the implication would infuriate me. But, that's exactly how I was able to hide my alcoholism so well for so long: I didn't even realize that I had a problem, I just knew I didn't want my husband to know I was secretly gulping glasses of wine down when he wasn't looking.

For the health of my relationship, I have been working on these things. But I still don't like it. Especially with people I don't know and don't fully trust. When I tell you something, I want to know what you're going to think before I even say it.  There are a lot of people in my life who have called me perfect at one time or another. It is completely untrue, but I've worked damn hard to seem that way, and god forbid you see through it.  That's aprtly why I have always alluded therapy, though I've done enough crazy, stupid things in my life that it's warranted. Well, that, and I don't want someone else to get to the bottom of my problems before I do -- because I don't know that I want anybody to see where the bottom of my problems rests.

So, when I say that the idea of an AA sponsor makes me uncomfortable, put it in the context that I have to work to be open with myself, let alone anybody else, let alone a stranger. And if I'm just going to mask myself to them, is one even worth having?

I've been feeling pushed by my AA group to get a sponsor. I'm not ready for it yet. I want to know the person first. I want to have felt them out. But, should I abandon that comfort, knowing that it'll just be reason to avoid telling the full truth to them? Should I just bare it all, knowing that I'll never know this person in any other context than AA?

Step One.

I went to my first AA meeting a little less than a week ago. To be honest, I sat there, shaking and crying silently through most of it. It wasn't because I missed alcohol, or because I didn't want to be there, or because I was happy to finally be getting help. My mind kept repeating, over and over: "This can't be my life. This can't be my life. This can't be my life." I was, and often still am, in complete disbelief that AA has to be a part of my life.

Both sides of my family tree are littered with alcoholism.  I had been diligent, I thought, about making rules for myself regarding drinking so that I would never have a problem. It's not okay to drink when stressed. It's not okay to drink to feel better. It's not okay just because you "feel" like one. It's not okay to drink alone. I designed these rules to make it only okay to drink socially with friends, family or coworkers.

My rules seemed like they were working. But the Devil side of my mind would often get around the rules: "I shouldn't drink, because I'm alone...but I haven't been sleeping, and that's more important right now" -- ignoring the fact that I was using alcohol to lull me to sleep. My mind was full of work-arounds I could call on as necessary. I would amend, or append, or ignore as I wished, but having the rules at all gave me the peace of mind it took to continue on my path.

While tapping her finger on her temple, a woman at my first AA meeting told me: "We are much more conniving than we know," to which the crowd around us agreed. My mind instantly responded with, "I'm not like these women. I didn't get kids taken away from me, or a DUI, or have any relationship problems because of my drinking. I'm not like that. It's not like that." Even though I had enjoyed the catharsis of AA, I became increasingly convinced that it wasn't for me.

As I was driving home from orchestra practice two days later, I kept thinking that it wasn't fair that I didn't get a farewell drink. I kept thinking that I could stop somewhere and get one last drink. For the entire half an hour drive, I couldn't empty my head of all the options I had to just have one final glass of wine. Increasingly, those thoughts were punctuated by panic: what if I am like those women? When I got home, I laid down next to my husband, and told him how conniving my brain was being, all the thoughts that I was having that were telling me to drink and to lie to him and everybody about it. And only after that was I able to stop obsessing.

It's commonly heard that the first step is admitting you have a problem -- but I think it takes more than that. I think that by time you're willingly at an AA meeting, you're already pretty sold on the idea that you have a problem. I realize that it takes a lot of naivete to be saying something like this a week into sobriety, but I think the "aha" moment of Step 1 is realizing that your problem is on the exact same level as everybody else with alcoholism: we are all powerless, particularly when it comes to alcohol. And to stay healthy, we have to stay the hell away from drinking.

As the wise woman in AA said, my mind is more conniving than I know. So, I think talking is the answer. I'll show my evil mind for what it really is. I was able to feed my alcoholism by hiding it diligently. To recover, I need to expose it incessantly.

Rabbit Hole

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.

to my close friends and family, a confession

Dear Friends and Family,

Let me get to the point, before I scare anyone: I have an inappropriate relationship with alcohol, and if I wasn't already an alcoholic, I was well on my way. A few of you will not be shocked at all. Many of you may be rocked to the core, and for that, please forgive me for telling you in such an impersonal way. Realize that I chose to tell you this way for fear I might not tell you at all otherwise, so that I might continue this inappropriate relationship with alcohol without you being the wiser.

I want to tell you that this is not a reason to be sad for me, though you may be as astounded as I am that this has become a part of my life. Alcoholism is rampant in my family tree, and so don't think that my problems with it are a sign of unhappiness. In fact, it is my happiness and levelheadedness, as well as my recent decision to head my anxiety issues head-on, that has allowed me to make the decision to remove alcohol from my life permanently. Be happy that I will never again find myself feeling ill after indulging my addiction.  Be happy that my realization comes now in this good time in my life, before it has affected my job, marriage, or finances. Be happy that I have come to realize that there shouldn't be shame in having a problem with alcohol, though there is shame in indulging it.

I also want you to know that if you didn't see it in me, it wasn't your fault -- I strove to hide it. A very good friend of mine once said one of the most true things about me: that I am great at seeming as if I am open person, while in fact, it is such a core reaction for me to keep quiet about my real emotions or perceived imperfections that I never think to share them even with those closest to me. The bulk of my problem-drinking was while I nobody was around, in a perceived attempt to relax, though it often ended in anything but a relaxed state. What you might've seen is that I could and did go days or weeks without alcohol. But what you never could see is that alcohol enters my mind at inappropriate times -- such as in stressful meetings or while grocery shopping. What you couldn't see is that after a single sip of alcohol, I have a physical impulse that tells me that no amount of alcohol will be enough. Most people could easily accept the idea of never drinking again without a second thought; it gives me a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach. So, it's time to leave it behind.

I finally admitted my problem with alcohol to myself this past week, and told Mike the first day we were in person after that. On that first night, we dumped out our Anniversary Champagne together. The morning after, though I told him he didn't have to, I walked in on him opening and emptying every one of the beers in his collection.

I want you feel free to ask me any questions -- I did not send this in a email to avoid talking a discussion, but to ensure that I tell everybody that should know. In fact, talking about it will help me, since hiding my problem has been such a big part of my life for so long.  Feel free to talk amongst yourselves about it, as well, but I would appreciate if you would do so only out of respect and love. Know that the only thing I'm asking of you is your support of keeping alcohol out of my own body. Also, please don't see this as an indication that you  need to tiptoe around me: I'm lucky enough that, even though I have this problem, none of my relationships are founded in alcohol.

I have been sober for 5 days. I plan to stay sober for the rest of my life.

Thanks for all of your love and understanding,
Melissa