Sobriety begins, again.

I just turned 35 on Monday the 18th, and after nine full years of being an alcoholic, I made the choice to get sober, again. Unlike some alcoholics (including some I personally know) I recognize my issue and all of the bad things that come with it. I say recognize in present tense because, does it ever really go away? I believe once you’re an addict and you realize you have that tendency to be one, it’s an effort you have to make day-to-day in order to keep that demon at bay and not let it control your life – hence the saying “One Day At A Time.”

As hard as it may be to write all of this, I feel like I need to do so in order to help me process everything I felt, am feeling, and will feel. So, where did this all start? The funny thing is, I was never a big drinker before this all happened. Usually, I was the Designated Driver for my friends and people I used to hang out with. I hated the taste of alcohol and no matter what chaser I used or what alcohol I drank, the taste alone would be enough to make me throw up. And I think any of us who have thrown up after drinking know that it’s a miserable experience.

When I was 26 I decided to stop taking birth control. It was making me mental! After 11 years of taking something in order to control my hormones and my periods, it was taking a huge toll on my mental health. I was constantly angry and aggravated, and would go completely ballistic if I got into any sort of argument – sadly my significant other took the brunt of it all at home. I would have the fits of rage where I would scream and yell, break shit, slam doors, I mean if I could have, I would have lit the entire world on fire. When I was mad I saw nothing but red. Then, I would have days where I was just so completely depressed, I considered things that most doctors would put you on a 5150 mandatory 72-Hour Evaluation for. Plus, my sex drive was a -5 on a scale of one to ten. Completely dead. Needless to say, I was headed down an incredibly dangerous and destructive path. And it was starting to scare even me. So, one day I said forget it. I’m not going to take something that controls natural functions of my body which also have a huge impact on my emotional state. None of it was good, so why was I continuing to take it?

About two weeks went by and wow, I felt better than I ever had in my life! My head was clear, my rage subsiding significantly, my emotional state was on the rise, and my sex drive was back… in full swing! I felt like I had made the best decision of my life! Skip to two months later. Things are great, I’m happy (I was told almost annoyingly happy), the bad thoughts are gone, depression is a thing of the past, home life is better, arguments are almost completely gone, and the sex was amazing. See where this is going yet? Now, it’s been two months since my last period, but before I ever started birth control my periods would leapfrog and so I would go anywhere from one to three months in between. So technically, I wasn’t too concerned. I was too busy reveling in feeling good every day.

One day, I’m sitting at work and I just have this nagging feeling. Something felt… different. I couldn’t tell what it was but I could feel it, something wasn’t quite right. On my way home I stopped and picked up a pregnancy test. I bought a two-pack because I figured hey why not? It’s always good to have a backup for later right? I went home, drank an entire glass of water, and waited. When it came time I went into the bathroom and did my thing, placed the test on a flat surface as instructed, and spent the next five minutes pacing in my room, mind racing, heart feeling like it was going to break through my ribcage and fall to the floor. After five minutes I checked. Two lines. Positive. I sat there staring at it for a few minutes, not knowing what to feel or how to process this. I took the second test, just to make sure. Positive, again. Shit! What am I going to do? Now, before you ask, no we were not using any other form of birth control. Stupid, I know. I honestly thought that since I had spent 11 straight years on it, that it would take at least a few months before my body was “back to normal” enough to get pregnant. Again, I know it was a dumb decision.

It was still going to be another two hours before my significant other came home from work, and not knowing what to do, I got in the shower and just stood there under the water for what seemed like ages. I was crying and worried and unsure of what he would say when he came home. This was not our intention, especially not mine! I realized after a while that I couldn’t bring myself to put my hands on my stomach. That broke me. I sat in the bottom of the shower crying until the water ran cold. I can’t remember where in the house I was when my SO came home, or even how I told him. We both sat emotionless for what seemed like an hour. I remember at that point it was starting to get dark outside and I wanted to turn the lights on in the house but I didn’t want to move or break the silence. I was cold and my hair was still wet but it was like my body was frozen. Finally, he spoke. He let me know that it was completely my choice since it was my body and that he would support me no matter what decision I made. He was completely sincere and I could hear his heart in his voice. It only took me a day to decide.

We were nowhere near being emotionally, financially, or mentally stable enough to have a child. We had just moved from a two-bedroom apartment in a bad part of town and all of our money was tied up in this newer, more expensive place to live in a better area and were living paycheck-to-paycheck. By that point we had been together a little over five years and four of them were spent arguing and me being a basket case. I just got my mental freedom back. I was just starting to obtain emotional security. I was just starting to be happy again! How could I do this? How could I afford this? How could we afford this? Will this break us? Make us closer? How can I support a living, breathing, human being that would be 100% dependant on me if I couldn’t even support myself. I was still having days where I didn’t eat so I could pay for gas just to get to work! My decision was made. This couldn’t happen. It would be cruel to bring a life into this world that you couldn’t provide for. Both of us came from broken homes, we knew what it was like to struggle, to be shuffled around family members, never having complete stability. Seeing the stress our mothers were constantly under and how it wore them down so much they couldn’t be there for us in the ways we needed as children sometimes. Adoption was not an option. Neither of us knew (even now) our fathers and growing up with a hole like that causes some serious issues. I couldn’t put a child out there that was a part of me, a part of him, and not know where they were or how they were… if they were happy and well provided for, or if I made another mistake by letting them fall into a system of corrupt and underqualified processes. Sadly, abortion was my only option. I know some will judge me for that, but believe me, it’s a burden I will bare for the rest of my life.

Two weeks of the most agonizing depression ensued. I had to wait two weeks until my appointment, and I was a complete fucking wreck. Worse than I had ever been. How could I be so stupid? How could I do this, to myself, to him, to… the life I just created. I was more depressed than I had ever been in my entire life. Truly on the verge of being suicidal. I happened to work in an office where I was alone for a majority of the day after the initial morning scheduling, so my days were spent aimlessly staring out the window and wiping tears away. I had Valium left over from something a while back, and began taking that at work just to cope and not break completely down. Then, the alcohol. Every day I came home and drank, (hard alcohol – not beer). I drank trying to drown the feelings of depression, of regret, and especially, of the guilt. The guilt of bringing this all on myself, the guilt of not being smarter about having sex while not on birth control, the guilt of having a life growing inside me that I knew I couldn’t keep and the guilt of drinking and taking Valium while that life was still there. I would break down crying and all I could say out loud was, “I’m so sorry.”

The appointment came and went. The details of that day I don’t want to write about. If you’ve ever been through it, then you know. And if you haven’t, just consider yourself extremely lucky. I was devastated, resentful, angry, ashamed… especially ashamed. Not to mention I was still pretty loopy from the drugs they gave me. I went to sleep. I wanted to sleep for ever. I was done with life. I don’t remember much about the rest of that day, I remember waking up and my SO was asleep and it was dark outside. I went to the kitchen and drank.

And drank.

And, drank.

After that it was every single day. I was trying to drown it all out. I was completely shattered. What was the point of even living anymore? Yeah sure, my SO, my mother, my close family and friends would all be heartbroken, but they would get over it. So every day, I shut my feelings off by drinking. I closed a door in my mind and never planned on opening it again. Fuck that. I hated myself.

Honestly, I think a part of me didn’t expect it to last so long. I was never a fan of alcohol in the past, I was just using it because it was cheap, accessible, legal, and once I was over it I wouldn’t need it anymore. Can you see I have a bad habit of making stupid decisions? My SO and I returned to fighting, not getting along, sex was nowhere in my thought process, and my anger was now becoming uncontrollable. I was drinking so heavily that I was blacking out and completely unaware of the damage I had caused upon waking up the next morning. There would be days were my SO wouldn’t even speak to me, and I didn’t know why. I mean, I knew it was because of something I did and said the night before while I was in a rage and blacked out, but I couldn’t remember any of it. I just knew that if I woke up and he wasn’t next to me, I fucked up, again. Eventually I stopped asking what I did, and just accepted that he was angry with me. I would tell myself that I would do better tonight and that if I got it under control everything would be fine and he wouldn’t be so angry with me.

Hence the beginning of an eight-year roller coaster of being in and out of control, happy and angry, logical and completely a different person. There’s so much that happened in that eight years, but I won’t go into that.

Cut to three years ago. Our financial and living situation is changing and there’s new opportunity for him out of state. We’re moving. I was angry and scared and the only reason I made the decision to go is because of how much I love him. By this point we had been together ten years! (We also have history from way before that, but that’s for another post). I had an amazing job that I absolutely loved, I was finally making good money and bought a new car, I didn’t want to leave what little family I had, and I didn’t want to leave the City for… well… rural middle of fucking nowhere in my opinion. That’s when the anxiety started. What the hell was this new feeling I had all of a sudden? Why does it feel like I can’t breathe sometimes? Why can’t I sit still or concentrate, why do I have this nagging feeling that something bad is happening? Part of me was angry with my SO. How could he ask me to do this? To sacrifice all of the things I have – didn’t I already sacrifice enough? How could I give up everything, with no guarantee of employment, with a new car payment, with no friends and no family… to a small town that I only ever saw glimpses of on my way to Burning Man when I was younger. The drinking increased.

Now I was drinking so much to drown that feeling out, that I was still feeling like I was drunk while at work the next morning. My kidneys were on fire. I was dehydrated all the time, and losing weight because my appetite was completely gone. My family and friends would comment on how “bony” I looked and that I needed to eat. My skin on my face went from flawless to acne and red blotchy patches. And I could feel my teeth being affected as well. Then, I had a severe panic attack a couple of weeks before the move date. I wasn’t feeling well that day and had spent the previous two days drinking heavily. I spent half the day laying on the couch and drinking tons of water. My hands were tingly and I could tell I was dehydrated because my range of motion in them was becoming limited. My mind was all over the place and all I kept thinking was how badly I wanted a drink. But I knew that because I already felt physically ill, it would most likely make me throw up. And just the thought of throwing up sent me to the bathroom. I threw up all the water I had drank. I just let myself heave and get everything out until there was nothing left. Then, I had a few minutes where I felt fine. Wow – that was all I needed this whole time? Was to just vomit? Fine! Awesome! Lets get on with the day then. I decided to do some cleaning to feel productive and not like a piece of shit.

The tingling came back. Now it was in my feet too. Whats happening? I remember I was standing at the kitchen counter, I was leaning over it and putting pressure on my hands because they were starting to curl up involuntarily and it was painful. My SO walked in and asked me if I was ok, to which I replied that I was fine but my hands were bothering me. Not even two seconds later I felt a wave rush over me and I collapsed to the floor. My entire body was in atrophy. I felt like someone had turned my body to stone, and every muscle was completely seized. Including my throat muscles. I couldn’t breathe! My SO dropped to the floor next to me in a panic asking whats wrong and should he call 911? And I could do was look at him, I think I was able to slightly nod my head. I could tell my eyes were wide open, and I remember just staring at the kitchen light above me hearing him frantically talking to the dispatcher and the sound of my breathing as I struggled to suck in air. I don’t know how long it took for them to get there. When they did they assessed the situation while I felt like I was going to die, and then they started talking to me trying to get me to calm down. Breathe they said, it’s a panic attack, there’s nothing we can give you, you have to calm down on your own. THAT did NOT make me feel any better! Nothing you can give me? What? Why? They sat me up in a sitting position on my kitchen floor against my cabinets, and the pain that shot through me from that was incredible. You know the feeling you get when your leg or foot falls asleep and when you move it, it feels like a thousand needles are shredding your muscles? Yea, that feeling. Except this was every single inch of my body. They got me calm enough to be on a stretcher and rushed me to the ER.

A few weeks later, we move 261 miles away from the only home I had ever known. My SO immediately started work once we arrived and I found myself in a new home, in a new town, completely alone. And, I drank. Unfortunately for someone like me, the liquor stores never close out here and there is no “cut-off” time to purchase alcohol like in some areas. I eventually found a job I liked and settled in, all while hiding my secret of how I spent my afternoons and weekends. After two years, my drinking was so heavy and so out of control, I had a co-worker pull me in a room and explain to me that she can smell alcohol on me pretty much every day. This was a very professional setting where I had to interact with the public at times and no amount of mouth wash, mints, or whatever I had could mask it anymore. I was starting to call in sick on Mondays and sometimes Tuesdays because I would drink so heavily on the weekends that I was sick and/or still drunk come Monday morning. My boss and HR started to take notice. One morning after getting to work I’m immediately called into HR and grilled. I was taken for a random drug test and at 10 A.M. I blew a .286 blood alcohol level. I, by all definitions, should have been completely wasted out of my mind. But I was balanced, able to walk a straight line, and felt fine. That’s how used to it I had gotten. I was fired, as you can guess.

That was my first huge wake-up call. I checked myself in, voluntarily, to a Detox center that night. After consuming more alcohol of course. I spent 72 hours there, being blood tested, given medications, vitamins because my potassium levels were dangerously low, counseling, psychologist, psychiatrist, social worker… I can’t even remember all who I spoke with. After 3 days and – to me – incredible progress compared to what I was expecting, they said I could go home. I promised to go to AA Meetings and a counselor and continue working towards staying sober. I made it 45 days. Then, out of nowhere, I discovered I was pregnant. Again.

This time, we were excited! This is amazing! We are finally in a place where that is a possibility, and couldn’t have been happier. I started making doctor’s appointments immediately, making sure I found the best OBGYN possible, no matter the cost! Initially it was too early to detect a heartbeat, but they could see the pregnancy, it was definitely there. I was taking vitamins, eating full meals, drinking lots of water, and even started a list of names. Then the day came for my next checkup. This was the six and a half week mark. I was going to hear the heartbeat for the first time. I went alone because by this point my SO had already taken previous days off of work and him being the breadwinner, it didn’t make any sense for both of us to miss work every single time. I arrived excited and anxious. After all was said and done I waited in the small room to speak with the doctor.

There was no heartbeat.

My HCG levels had dropped, signifigantly.

No. Not again. I struggled to hold it together while she spoke, explaining all the reasons this could have happened, etc etc. I couldn’t wait to get the fuck out of there. I thanked he for her time, and left. When I got to my car in the parking lot I called my SO and somberly, flatly, numbly gave him the news. He asked if I was ok and I lied. There was no reason for him to worry while at work. It took me 45 minutes to get home, all the while struggling not to break down completely so I could see through the tears to drive safely. The minute I got off the freeway for our town, I stopped at the liquor store. I couldn’t take it, not again. Not when I wanted it so badly. My heart was shattered and I could feel it freezing inside me.

For a while the drinking was under control and relaxed. I wasn’t blacking out and my new job wasn’t being affected. I of course convinced myself I was fine. But the last few months, were rough again. I can feel it taking over, my health degrading, my skin, my motivation, everything is falling apart again. I promised myself I would get sober for my birthday. My birthday was Monday. I never work on my birthday (tradition of mine) so I spent the day gardening and… day-drinking. Yesterday was “Day 1” of sobriety on my calendar, and what a rough fucking day it was. After day-drinking for three days straight, I of course work up feeling like absolute garbage. And the anxiety set in. The tingling in the hands, the racing heart, the random vomiting when my mind was going way too fast. I spent last night pacing in my kitchen or curled up in a ball on the couch with a blanket wrapped tightly around me. My SO? Amazing. He was right there by my side the whole night. Listening to me babble on, watching me pacing, sitting next to me on the couch, rubbing my hands when they hurt, and genuinely being supportive of what I am and was going through. I knew if I made it through last night, then today would be better. I just had to make it. When I get like that, I get terrified that I will have another panic attack. I have to actively and constantly tell myself to relax and breathe. Stop questioning your heart rate, stop thinking about throwing up, just breathe.

Today? Day 2…..

I’ve never wanted to write all of this out before. I still feel ashamed and embarrassed. But after seeing the support I have already received in the last 24 hours on social media and people saying that I’m not alone, I thought I’d write about my story, and my journey into sobriety, so that I can make someone else feel like they are not alone. I didn’t expect this blog post to be so long, but if you’ve made it this far, thank you. And if you’re struggling, I hope that you find the help and support you need. That is so important, to know you’re not alone.