***Submitted by Anonymous
It’s Friday night and my mouth is watering.
I want a drink.
The sane, rational, good, sober side of myself is livid. This desire welling up in me is growing, and I’m afraid -- afraid I can’t control myself.
How am I so weak?
Last Saturday, my husband called an ambulance because by 9 in the morning I had consumed such a vast amount of Vodka I could no longer stand -- or remain conscious. I drank almost the entire contents of a half gallon of the stuff. I’m sure my blood was flammable.
I’d like to tell you this was unusual. It’s not. I binge drink - 3 to 5 times a week, going through anywhere from a half to an entire gallon of hard alcohol per week. This is the one thing in life I am committed to, or rather the only thing I do with any consistency.
Normally I buy vodka, but sometimes I get rum ... “for my husband” (who never drinks more than a shot). I poured myself one large drink, (8 oz vodka and equal amounts cranberry) relaxed my throat and downed it in a matter of seconds, then went to sleep. I woke up at five in the morning clammy and itching for a drink. I was relieved when I saw how much alcohol remained, (the level dwindled just inches below the shinny red cap) because when I woke I wasn’t sure if I had chugged one drink or consumed the entire bottle ....
I told myself I need it. I need a drink because my wisdom teeth are coming in and I’m in agony. I need a drink because my husband and six year old son will be up in a few hours and I can’t possibly deal with them without a little “hair of the dog” to quell this nausea and panic. I need a drink because I’m anxious -- it’ll calm me down.... the same reason I need it now... right?
I lost all of Saturday save for a few patchy moments sprawled on my bathroom floor crying -- err blabbering -- to the EMT about how embarrassed I was, about how I drank because my teeth were KILLING me. I remember screaming/slurring at the male EMT, and cop, and husband that I wanted them OUT!! I’m sure that statement was followed by some derogatory remark about men, but that’s all conjecture.
I woke Sunday covered in deep purple bruises and sporting a broken toe. My face is still black and blue. I actually told someone I got in a car wreck -- there’s no way they’d believe I could have done this much damage to myself by falling on (and off) every piece of furniture we own. Of course, that’s assuming I had enough courage to admit to anyone what a drunken state I had been in.
I have to pause now to shudder, and swallow the wave of unbearable shame and sorrow. How dare I??? My husband is the hardest working, funniest, smartest, most forgiving, strongest man I’ve ever known. He has enough character and integrity for the both of us, but it’s not fair -- I cannot do this to him any more -- not one more time. And oh, the number of times I’ve done it to him -- to my son. In the past year (I’ve been drinking heavily for three or four years, but it’s been out of control for the past 18 months-ish) I’ve blacked out countless times, peed the bed, broken my hand, broken my toe, driven drunk, lied, broken promises and commitments to the people that matter most, and generally been a less-then ideal wife and mom -- which is putting it kindly, I think.
I feel blanketed in fear, in shame, in regret and I’m so SICK of my behavior. I do not deserve the life I have. I do not deserve my husband. I most certainly do not deserve to hold the esteemed title of mommy -- not like this. I just want a level of reciprocity, and to be the wife and mother I can be, should be, desperately want to be... used to be. I’m losing my life -- and ruining theirs, and what’s worse .. this is the life I want!! What the &@!# is wrong with me??? Why won’t the urge go AWAY? It’s so illogical. I hate illogical.
I am an alcoholic. It doesn’t sound like much of a revelation after what I’ve shared, I’m sure, but its taken me a very long time to accept the title. The question now is, am I able to do what it takes to be a sober alcoholic -- and not just for a week, but forever.
It’s Friday night and I want a drink... but I’m not going to have it. I’m scared, ashamed and a little bit hopeful. Tomorrow is day six. One at a time, right?
Your stories have been an inspiration. Thanks for taking a moment to share mine.