I can convince myself all day long that I have my alcohol usage under control. I can convince myself, I can convince you…it’s a skill I’ve pretty much mastered at this point.
More days than not this past week, I’ve woken up and wondered to myself if maybe I should, once again, *attempt* sobriety. Aside from months and years collectively I’ve spent being pregnant, I’ve never been sober. And my drinking has always been…varying degrees of a problem. Usually with the degree being pretty severe.
At my lowest, which was just a few years ago, I’d spend all day drinking. And all night. You wouldn’t catch me sober. Ever. But if you knew me, you probably had no idea either. No one did. My husband didn’t, my therapist didn’t (until I told her, and then she did), it was just…it was awful. I was so deeply in the trenches.
I only started coming out of it…SLOWLY…after I finally admitted how much of a problem it was to my therapist, and what exactly was going on. It took a good few years to get myself out of that phase.
Okay, wait. No. It took me getting pregnant with my now 12 month old son to get over that forever long and god awful hump.
After I had him, I stayed sober for exactly 10 days. I started drinking again when I found out my friend had killed herself. And I haven’t had a night off since.
Things have been much more controlled this year. I don’t drink right before therapy anymore. I don’t drink during the day anymore (except for the rare occasion where the anxiety is so bad I think I might actually die), and I’m actually trying. This is probably the first time in my life that I’m really trying to keep things…stable…with alcohol.
I’ve never been able to get anywhere close to sober. But I’ve been able to cut back enough to just drinking at night, ya know, as to not completely fuck up my life.
If you know anything about me or my life at all, you might know that it’s INCREDIBLY high stress. And full of trauma and grief and everything ugly that’s ever existed. I’ve been using alcohol to cope with it since I was 15. It’s not pretty, but that’s just how it went.
“Stable” for me right now means drinking the equivalent of 7-8 drinks a night. My alcohol of choice is Kraken, which is …strong.
My definition of “stable” is probably completely unacceptable by…most people’s standards. No one should drink 8 drinks a night, every single night. No one.
Lately, things have been getting harder. My kids health have all been shit (thanks so much, genetic disorder!), there’s tension in my marriage because of our kids failing health, financial strain…you name it, it’s a stressor.
So, yeah. My drinking is…it’s not good.
I’m starting to be ready to admit that I’m not in control of it, as much as I’ll lie to your face ALL day long that I am.
I don’t control alcohol. It controls me.
It always has.
Maybe it’s time I start being more honest about it again.
When I’m afraid of the very thing I just cannot stay away from? When I can see the demons staring back at me, and I run towards them anyway…all the while be scared for my life while I continue in that very direction?
Yeah. Maybe it’s worth a second thought.
Maybe, I just don’t have this.