Well, maybe. Okay, I probably am.
Let me first say that I will never divulge my real name. It isn't relevant anyway. What matters is that I am beginning a new and sober chapter of my life.
It feels so strange to type that. Writing the words
sober and
alcoholic and thinking that they have any attachment to me. But, I am really not surprised that it has come to this. Here is a little history (I will probably explore much of this in great detail over the course of time):
- I am 40 years old and I have been drinking a bottle of wine (give or take) a day for 10 years.
- I used to have a nicotine addiction, but I quit 5 years ago for good.
- My father was an alcoholic, had a 2-pack a day nicotine addiction and was a regular pot smoker.
- Two of my uncles are alcoholics.
- My mother was a binge drinker for several years.
It's somewhat ironic that I started drinking. I was president of Students Against Drunk Driving in high school and I was about as square as they come. My first memories of drinking are unpleasant.
- At 5, my father gave me a shot of brandy before walking to school in sub-zero temperatures. I was a buzzed kindergartner a couple of times.
- Also at 5, I curiously drank from an unattended glass of booze at one of my parents' parties. I later threw up all over the bathroom floor.
- At 10, I took a sip of beer from a can my father had abandoned in our garage. I swallowed about a teaspoon of cigarette ash at the same time and nearly gagged.
- After high school graduation, a friend's mom bought a celebratory case of cheap beer for us. I drank a few and got horribly ill.
- The first weekend of freshman year in college, I attended a frat party and drank loads of punch with vodka, then did shots of tequila. I was hungover for my first day of classes.
I started drinking more regularly in college, but not more than my friends. In fact, I probably drank less than most college students. My tolerance was low, so I would get blitzed at a party after 1 or 2 cocktails. Back then, smoking cigarettes was way more important. My best friend and I worked ourselves up to a half a pack a day by the summer of sophomore year.
My twenties were spent drinking moderately. And smoking lots and lots of butts. I never drank alone. Ever. I assumed that was a sign of a person with a real problem. I would stop after one drink, with the exception of Saturday nights, when I would have 3 beers at my favorite nightclub then dance and sweat each one of them out before the night was over. I did not crave alcohol. I never really thought about when I would have my next drink. I was too busy chain-smoking to care.
Quitting smoking is something I am sure I could win a prize for. My friend and I used to laugh at those
Let's Make Smoking History bumper stickers. We wanted to add the tag line:
Smoke Like You've Never Smoked Before! However, I did quit many, many times without much success. I once quit for a day only to be weakened by watching Peg Bundy light one up on an episode of
Married with Children. I had a few quits that lasted up to a year. While I wasn't smoking, I was missing it a whole lot. It wasn't until I was totally and completely sick to death of it that I was ready to stop for good. I figured that I didn't have the willpower to do it on my own, so I decided to do it for my father, who, at that time, had been dead for almost 7 years. I gift wrapped my little quit and gave it to him that day. And it was as if a switch went off in my brain. Suddenly, my hardcore smoking addiction that had a serious stronghold on me drifted away. Peacefully. I still can't explain it.
I came to realize that I was the type of smoker who could either have no cigarettes or 10, 000 cigarettes. There was no in between. What I didn't want to admit then was that I am that kind of drinker, too. No fucking brainer, right? Denial is a kooky thing.
