I have always had a love/hate relationship with alcohol. I grew up with an alcoholic mom and stepdad. These were two of the kindest, most easygoing people you’d ever hope to meet…until the partying started. Then it got loud, tumultuous and violent. They were physically violent with each other; I absorbed a lot of emotional abuse in the process. Alcohol was not the cause of the problem- it was how Mom dealt with all the years of sexual abuse/assault as a youth. It was how my stepdad coped with PTSD from Vietnam and his father abandoning him when he was a little boy. Those were the causes, alcohol was the Band-Aid.
I was never an alcoholic per se, which made it easier to abuse without judgement. When I was married, my husband and I would drink because it was something we had in common. It was never in excess, but it was a band aid for me as well. It numbed me so I could forget my marriage was falling apart. It paralyzed me so that I could be intimate with the man I’d vowed to love til death do us part. It numbed my conscience when having indiscretions with men who weren’t my husband.
When I was single again, I started partying because I thought it’s what I was supposed to do. It was good for me to be more social and get out there. Over time I realized that more often than not, I drank because I was uncomfortable. I drank to make my surroundings better; I drank to make me better. I’m more fun and more interesting when I’ve had a few, or so I told myself. I simply wasn’t ok without it, nor were the situations I found myself in.
I was also in an unhealthy fwb arrangement, so I would drink to better accept the unacceptable feelings that consumed me. I was settling for someone who wasn’t capable of meeting my needs. I struggled to be honest about what the hell those needs were. I would find the strength to end things, then inevitably get wasted and contact him. So, a situation that should’ve lasted a couple of months dragged on for over a year. All thanks to liquid courage- all thanks to the deep seeded cowardice that convinced me I required it.
Then came my anniversary- May 29, 2019. I got so wasted I blacked out. I’d gone to a friends house to share a bottle of wine. My former fwb was there. A couple glasses turned into the whole bottle. We got dinner, which I don’t recall in the slightest. I was told I passed out on the my friend’s bed. I do remember praying to the porcelain God before getting shuttled home by a friend. I also remember coming onto my former fwb earlier in the evening. I missed work the next day. In my entire my life, I’ve never called in for this reason. I was sick for almost a week. It was a new low for me. In your twenties, nights like that are a right of passage. For me, at this stage of my life, it felt unacceptable…it felt just plain sad.
Prior to that night I had kicked around the idea of quitting drinking for good. Hell, I even have consistently elevated liver enzymes which make drinking even riskier. But it took that experience for me to accept that it was time, that I was truly ready to give it up.
I concluded that alcohol has taken more from my life than it has given. Now I no longer have to worry about going to a bar and losing my belongings. I don’t have to fear a possible DUI or texting an ex in a drunken stupor. No more fretting over alcoholic amnesia, trying to piece together fragments from the night before. If a situation requires liquor for me to feel alright, I won’t put myself in that environment. I never needed alcohol to be more interesting- all I ever needed was to believe that I am enough without it. That clarity is so much easier to attain when I stop numbing myself because then the real “courage” begins:)