Day 5: Denial (11.19.11)

~I don't know who invented high heels, but all women owe him a lot~ Marilyn Monroe
  
I wear 3 1/2 inch heals some days, so I'm not an alchi.  An alchi is the guy lying in the street with a 40 in a brown bag.  It's not someone like me.  I play lots of different sports, try to eat healthy, graduated college, been employed at the same company for years, blah, blah, blah, so yeah, I'm not one of them.  I wake up, pop some prescription drugs, go to work, go to happy hour for a couple or maybe more, come home, maybe have a couple more, fall asleep or pass out in bed and then, start over again the next day, so I'm not an alchi.  There are a few days here and there that I don't drink and on occasion, I just have one or two, so I'm not an alchi.  

A couple summers ago, I went out to a happy hour with friends Downtown.  We went to a couple bars and then, I went to another bar with a friend's cousin.  Later, in the middle of the night, I ended up waking up to a cop shining his flashlight in my eyes.  The cop grabbed my arm, roughly picked me up off the ground and handcuffed me as I tried balancing on my 3 1/2 inch heels.  "Do you know where you are? Someone called across the street and said you were lying out here," he said.  "Why are you being so mean to me" was my inebriated, but now, fully cognizant response.  He then put me in the back of his squad car and pulled away.  He asked me some questions and I just stayed silent looking out the window; no tears.  I was so depressed and numb.  I had finally decided a few days earlier to leave a tumultuous 6-year relationship with an alchi.  At the time, I couldn't have cared less if I had ended up dead.  We then stopped in front of a building.  "You know I could throw you in detox right now and it would end up costing you $2000 to get out," he said.  My childish and stupid response again was "why are you being so mean to me?"  He must have felt sorry for me because eventually, he ended up dropping me off somewhere to call my parents.  

My parents drove an hour from their house to pick me up Downtown.  I expected them to be extremely upset as this was the first and only time I woke up somewhere on the streets, but they arrived and compassionately wrapped their arms around me.  They told me that they loved me and that they were so glad that I was okay.  They helped me walk away on my scruffed-up 3 1/2 inch heels.  The next day, I woke up for work, popped some prescription drugs, went to work, blah, blah, blah, so I wasn't an alchi.  

For most, this would've been their bottom, but for me, it took 2 more painful years to finally accept that I'm an alchi who lost control of this horrible disease.  I'm really looking forward to going to AA next week to see what other alchies look like and hear their stories. 

Day 4: Stigma (11.18.11)

~Any stigma will do to beat a dogma~ Philip Guedalla

I would've never imagined last week that I'd be sitting here at a coffee shop in Uptown; sipping a decaf Hazelnut Latte and watching all the cars head towards the uber fun bars down Hennepin Ave on a Thursday night.  If I had managed to get more than a few hours of sleep so far this week, I'd probably want to join them.  I'm listening to a couple guys behind me chat about each other, their families, interests, etc.  Hmmm..I wonder what it's like to be on a sober date.  No bottle of wine?!  Craziness!

I know lots of people with food or other types of allergies and obviously, if they eat certain things, it could make them sick or kill them.  I imagine if I just said that I was allergic to alcohol, people would be less judgmental then when I tell them that I'm an alcoholic when they ask why I'm not drinking.  I mean it seems to be a similar situation.  If I drink alcohol, it could make me sick or kill me.  Why does alcoholism have to be so anonymous anymore?  We seem to encourage people to be out about everything else.  Wouldn't you prefer to have a pilot that acknowledges they have a problem rather than remain in denial and try to manage it themselves. Why is there still a stigma with alcoholics?  I remember plenty of people binging in college.  It seemed to be the norm.  Am I the only one that continued to have a problem?  To this day, no one has ever told me that they're an alcoholic. 

"Mom, I'm scared that I'm one of those people."  Of course, I couldn't say the A-word at the time.  "Well, just have a pop when you go out," she said. Just go to a party or to happy hour and not drink?! But, I have social anxiety disorder, so it takes the edge off (even though I'm quickly running off the edge soon after a few glasses).  "But, Mom, all my friends drink.  No one will like me.  They'll think I'm weird."  My friends already know that I'm a nerd and have told me that I'm "so sweet" when I'm sober, but these are the irrational lies that the voices tell you when you're trying to escape.  Would I ever leave a friend if they didn't drink?  Hell, no.  I have quite a few friends that don't drink and most of my family doesn't drink. I don't judge people that don't drink or that do drink, so why would they judge me?  It's not the alcohol that I hate, but the way I abused it.

When I started this journey, I had no friends or family to talk to about whether or not I was an alcoholic.  It would've been nice to confide in at least one.  I took an online "quiz" from the Alcoholics Anonymous website that a friend sent and answered yes to every single question.  I quickly realized that my disease had progressively gotten worse over the last 17 years and I needed to stop, but I couldn't do it alone.  Like with most other diseases, I needed professional help.  I'll be starting an outpatient substance abuse program on Monday and will be attending AA on Tuesday, so now, you know at least one of "those people."  I'm Cindy and I'm allergic to cats and I'm an alcoholic, so if you need to chat, let me know.  I'd love to help. 

Day 3: Awakening (11.17.11)

~If every day is an awakening, you will never grow old.  You will just keep growing~ Gail Sheehy

Before I start the deep stuff, I would just like to add another thing about withdrawals.  My patience level prescription drugged was about a 6 or 7 with 10 being very patient.  My patience level with people during withdrawal is about a -50.  One of the worst people to deal with is someone that can't stop talking after making the same point 10 times; a rambler.  While I'm smiling and nodding, my mind is spewing profanity, my heart rate is at 300 beats per minute, my toe is tapping a million miles per hour and I'm pinching my hands under the table.  Just some insight into what it's like to be functional, but in withdrawal.   

When you've been very sick like me for many, many years, you believe the demons inside, rather than the people that love you.  The voices that say you're worthless, hopeless, helpless, stupid, ugly, fat and don't deserve to live overpower rational thought.  I remember at 8 years old lying on the bed in my room and a voice saying that I would die at an early age; a premonition that nearly came true.  Instead of talking to someone and exposing my imperfections, it was the start of burying these dark, disturbing feelings. All the other kids looked happy and I wanted to be just like everyone else.

I took my last Xanax this past Sunday morning. It was the 60th pill after filling the prescription only 10 days prior.  That night, I was a 33 year old woman lying on the hardwood floor in my room in the fetal position already feeling the affects of withdrawal.  I called my mom expecting to hear disdain after all that I had done and put her through with my self-destructive behavior over the years.  She still answered the phone with the most gentlest, compassionate sounding voice "hello, sweetheart." My tears started flowing and I said, "Mama, I need help.  I can't do this anymore."  It was the first time that I admitted to her and myself that I could no longer manage this on my own.

Day 2: Withdrawal (11.16.11)

 ~Do not dwell in the past, do not dream in the future, concentrate on the mind on the present moment~ Buddha

As I withdraw from alcohol and all prescription medications for the moment, I've been experiencing the consequences of abusing both.  I haven't been able to sleep the last couple nights as my mind and body collide.  After withdrawing from life by numbing myself for years, I finally want to feel and right now, I feel exhausted, but content.  The heart palpitations, racing thoughts, shakiness, anxiousness, nausea have finally subsided, but in the midst of feeling miserable last night, I heard a voice say "you are free" and then it kept repeating itself for a minute. It was a unique and special experience for me as I don't recall the last time I heard a positive voice in my head.

Since I don't want to take any pills right now, I'm interested in alternative therapies and medicine.  Tonight, I tried Reiki which is a Japanese technique for stress reduction and relaxation that also promotes healing.  It was an amazing experience because it wasn't a doctor spending 15 minutes with me and prescribing more meds.  It was basically healing touch which has been around for centuries.  I was lying on the table with a pillow under my head and knees and felt this burst of electricity running through one side of my body.  I asked her what that was and she asked me to describe it, so I told her about the sensation.  She said that she had just put a healing crystal under the table.  I know it sounds so bizarre, but it was a really cool feeling.  I had my eyes closed, but could feel as she moved her hands, the energy around me was also moving.  I felt some of the negative energy leaving my body and positive energy replacing it which was very cleansing.  I can only nerdily describe it as how The Force must feel like in Star Wars and now, this calming middle-aged woman with soft, blue eyes was like my Yoda.  I can't wait to go back on Saturday.

Day 1: Sober (11.15.10)

~The problem with some people is that when they're not drunk, they're sober~ William Butler Yeats

When you start to truly believe this, then it's probably time for a change. This morning, I saw the half-drunk bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon Three Buck Chuck sitting on the kitchen counter from the night before and wanted to puke. I was about to pour it out, but then stopped. It seemed an overly dramatic way to end this chapter in my life. When I told my roommate that I quit drinking, he said that he would gladly drink the rest of it, so at least, the Buck Fifty didn't go to waste.  

A series of events over the past 17 years led me to make this drastic decision. When everyone in the room is worried except you, then there's likely a problem. There's a fine line between being the life of the party and the dumb ass at the party.  What was cute, funny and adorable in your 20's is not as cute in your 30's. I don't want to become the bar fly at 40; I want to be flying down to Disney World with my own family. I love happy hour, but for me, it became hours, so it's time to begrudgingly get back on that dusty wagon.

I sought counseling today with a wonderful woman that reminded me of Cinderella's Fairy Godmother. She waved her wand of 30-plus years of experience saying that I would die soon if I continued on this path. I want to get to a point where I care was my response. She had this weird twitch on her face that I ignored because she was so comforting. I assured her that I hate blood and wouldn't harm myself. Instead of glass slippers, she gave me a list of contacts. I finally surrendered to the fact that no Prince Charming was going to save me, I needed to save myself.  

Ugh, where did I put that list?