Food for Thought

I've been listening to Anne Dowsett Johnston's, Drink: The Intimate Relationship Between Women and Alcohol. In one chapter, she talks about the makers and marketers of alcohol and how they target specific groups. If you do the math, it's pretty easy to figure out that these companies actually depend on people who drink alcoholically to stay in business. This is a great article about the subject.

Key paragraph:

Indeed, advertising that encouraged only moderate drinking would be an economic failure. This becomes clear when you know that only 10 percent of the drinking-age population consumes over half of all alcoholic beverages sold. According to Robert Hammond, director of the Alcohol Research Information Service, if all 105 million drinkers of legal age consumed the official maximum "moderate" amount of alcohol - .99 ounces per day, the equivalent of about two drinks - the industry would suffer "a whopping 40 percent decrease in the sale of beer, wine and distilled spirits." 

But aren't they always asking us to drink responsibly?  What they really mean is, go ahead and get smashed, just don't drive or become violent and injure someone.

Find Your Truth

I had a few white knuckle rides this weekend. I went to NYC and had dinner with an old friend. This is a person who I love dearly and who came into my life when I started drinking heavily. He started drinking heavily around this time, too. We both had our excuses: Job stress, external factors romanticizing alcohol, etc. I told him of my recent decision to be sober and he fully supports it. He also admitted that he and his partner have increased their alcohol consumption to dangerous levels over the years. It is highly likely that they are both dependent and need to start asking themselves some difficult questions.

The next day, my husband and I went to an outdoor movie and people were boozing it up all around us. I could see it and smell it everywhere. It was horribly distracting.

But I made it through without drinking.

I have resolved not to have a full-blown conversation with my in-laws about my sobriety. It doesn't need to become a drama. The most important thing isn't whether or not people understand or support me (although those things are very helpful), it's about my choice to be sober.

You can call it a disease. You can call it poor decision-making. You can say a person is genetically predisposed. You can call it whatever you like. Whatever the label or non-label, I was drinking at an alarming rate and was unwilling to control the volume and speed in which I was drinking. Some say you are powerless. Others say, you have the power to make better choices but choose the substance instead. One thing is clear to me, however, and illustrates, without a shadow of a doubt that I must abstain from drinking: When in the rare situation where I was allowed only one drink, I would be angry. Normal drinkers would be so happy. Yay! I get a drink! Not me. Though I would never vocalize it, I would be seething and frustrated. One drink wouldn't do it. One drink was impossible to savor and enjoy. One drink fucking sucked. That's me being 100% honest.

Whatever you decide to put in your toolbox, you must find your truth. You must be clear about the facts of your drinking and your motivations. You you must carve out an individual path that works for you. Call it your own special brand of recovery. Recovery should feel right, whatever that becomes for you. Cherry pick what you need from various sources. If you don't agree with something, don't be afraid to say, "fuck that." This is your life. Philosophies and theories are not hard truths. You know your story, you know what informs your decisions, you know your triggers, you know your truth.

He's Still Not Getting It

This weekend, my husband and I have plans to see my father-in-law (Father's Day). I made mention that I will need, at some point, to tell my in-laws (who I love dearly, by the way) about this. To my knowledge, they do not know that I have a drinking problem, let alone that I am an alcoholic. They drink, too, probably border-line socially (and perhaps tip-toeing into something more), and I've never gotten obliterated in their presence, though I did overdo it this past Thanksgiving. However, I was far from the only one super drunk that day.

My husband started asking how I knew I was an alcoholic. "Shouldn't you be diagnosed by a doctor?" he asked. I explained that alcoholics diagnose themselves. He was confused, this didn't seem like a good enough response. Almost like I made it up or something. I told him that I forever altered my brain chemistry. He still isn't buying it. He thinks that I should be able to drink, at some point, like a social drinker. I am thoroughly exhausted from explaining this to him. I also felt that there was something more going on here. I asked him why it bothered him so much that I had resolved to never drink again. I started wondering that maybe this wasn't about me. That my coming out as an alcoholic somehow worried him because of how it might appear. Then, a little truth started seeping out.

His sister's ex-husband was/is a cocaine addict. We still don't know for sure if he is actively using. When they were married, he was so ensconced in his addiction, that he stole money from her to buy drugs and was high around the children. When my mother-in-law found out, she was livid. She demanded that my sister-in-law divorce him, for the sake of her grandchildren. He isn't really the nicest person, addiction or not, and I think it really was for the best. My nieces and nephews and my sister-in-law are about the most loving, most adorable people I know and I am sure that they are so much better off without him. He did go into recovery (not sure if he kept sober) and explained that he had a disease. My mother-in-law, still so angry for his actively using around her grandchildren, said, "He doesn't have a disease! He's just an asshole!" I think these words stuck in my husband's mind. He mentioned them last night. So I asked him if he thought I was an asshole because I have an addiction. Of course, he said no. I asked if he thought his mother would think I was an asshole. Again, he said no. A highly functioning alcoholic does their best to protect the people they love. I did not jeopardize our marriage, didn't steal money from anyone, didn't endanger him or myself, etc. In fact, I've carried the financial burden in our marriage. But I still believe that I have a disease.

I know my mother-in-law. I love her with all my heart. We have a mother-daughter bond. When I tell her, she isn't going to suddenly accuse me of being an asshole. So, on top of protecting my sobriety, I now have to help my husband process my disease. I actually have to defend my own diagnosis to him. Do you know how weird that feels? Do you know how much I wish I could agree with my husband? "Yes, honey, you're right. I can probably have a drink every now and then." And he doesn't even drink! So it isn't like he's missing his drinking buddy or anything. I am so confused.

Milestone

Me vs. Perfectionism (Spolier Alert: I Lose)

Growing up, my mother was a neat freak. She would start vacuuming before I even got up in the morning, sometimes, and I was an early riser. We used to joke about this. When she was going through chemotherapy, I took Fridays off from my then job to help her around the house. She asked me to clean the upstairs on more than one occasion and I would always go up there, look around and think: Okay, what the heck does she want me to do here? The floors were spotless, the beds were made, there wasn't a speck of dust to be found. I would go through the motions, but it honestly didn't look any different when I was done because it was perfect to begin with.

I don't know exactly where my perfectionism comes from. I think it started in the 2nd grade. My parents were not wealthy. We sort of managed and squeaked by for years until my mother went back to school and became a registered nurse. When I was a child, we struggled a lot. My parents couldn't afford to send me to dance school (this is something I eventually did on my own, for which I paid out of pocket from the part time job I kept in high school) or gymnastics. They were good parents who did their best. I never went hungry, never wore torn clothes, never froze in the winter. But I went to school alongside the girls who had and had lots. The girls who went to dance lessons at their parents' insistence and resented it. In the 2nd grade, my teacher really favored those girls. In obvious ways that left me frustrated, lonely and hurt. I carried that with me right into adulthood. I knew that my parents had to block off the upstairs of our house in the winter to save money on heat and that I had to sleep in the front room of the house in a sleeping bag during this time. My bedroom and toys were upstairs and these things were not accessible to me during the winter. I knew this wasn't normal. I was embarrassed and ashamed. My mother still kept the house clean and perfect-looking, as perfect as it can be without money for all the trendiest furniture. I got new clothes for school every year, but just so many garments. I received new toys at Christmas, but just so many. Looking back, it was probably a better experience, as it taught me a lot about what truly matters (a loving family), but I was too young to understand that at the time. Instead, I seethed and eventually resolved to the fact that some people have and some people don't have. One year, we couldn't even afford to buy cake mix for my father's birthday cake, so my mother made pancakes and stacked them up, put candles in them and presto! I thought that was really creative and cool then, but I also knew why she was doing it and this made me feel sad and inferior. It drove my need to be like the others. To have the latest clothes and gadgets. I wanted that Family Ties house and the petty Family Ties problems. Add to this my father's insistence that I get straight As, start a job the second I turned sixteen and you have a recipe for perfectionism. Always trying to keep up, always wanting to please my parents. When I became an adult, it functioned on autopilot. It still does. Drinking hushed it, put it on hold.

The problem is it feels like a fucking runaway train. And no one ever told me where the brake switch is. I have no idea how to stop my inner critic like drinking did. I am sitting here, crying, just like I did in the 2nd grade when my teacher told me that I couldn't participate in the talent show because there simply wasn't room (translation: the popular girls will be doing all the routines). How does one stop thinking alcoholically? How do you stop beating yourself up? I feel like a tiny twig spinning around a strong, unstoppable eddy. I know I have to figure out how to correct it, but Jesus, I don't have a single clue as to how. Where's the handbook for that?

A New Way of Looking at Things

I am sort of scratching the surface of a new way of looking at the world. My world. I finished Caroline Knapp's, "Drinking, A Love Story" this morning. Toward the end, as she speaks about her recovery, she mentions that in life, there are two ways to look at your problems.

1. Alcoholically
2. Soberly

This is laughably simple, I realize. I will elaborate with an example. If you are struggling with something, whether it be a new situation or one that has plagued you for a long time, you are forced to figure out how you are going to cope with it. Let's just say it's something as basic as "My car is dying." The alcoholic brain might decide to accept the fact that the car is falling apart, shrug their shoulders and drink. Drink to avoid dealing with the faulty brakes, the bald tires, the poor exhaust system, the useless windshield wipers, the slipping gears. The alcoholic solution is: put it off by dissociating, by replacing the feeling of dread (the anticipation of spending money you don't have to either fix the problems or doing the math to see if it makes more sense to trade in the car and start payments on a better, newer, safer vehicle) with euphoria (drink, drink, drink). The sober solution is to lay all possible options on the table and work toward a positive goal, a way to solve the problem.

She stated that sometimes the answers to our problems can come by simply shifting our thinking a little. Example: My life is a mess because I drink instead of I drink because my life is a mess. Just moving that idea around a bit can create a whole new, clear perspective. Sometimes, it can be life changing.

Because of my chosen profession, my hands are in water a lot of the time. I don't have beautiful nails and going to get a manicure would be like throwing money right out the window. My nails aren't awful, just okay. Except my left thumb nail. That nail is awful. I take a lot of my anxiety out on that nail and on the cuticle. I pick at it without knowing it. It's now to the point where I have to cover the nail with a false nail just to hide the embarrassment I feel allowing it to be naked in public. I looked down at my thumb last night and thought about how much effort has gone into masking the less-than-attractive nail from the rest of the world. How much I wished I could stop picking at the nail and just leave it alone. But then, I looked at my thumb. It's a decent thumb, in good working order. My hands are strong and all of my fingers work together to get mundane things done and very creative things, too. I am proud of the work of these hands. The nail is insignificant. It doesn't factor into my life, my work or the general output of the hands. The thumb does the heavy lifting, all the things that actually matter. So, why couldn't I get beyond the nail? From now on, instead of feeling like a bad nail freak, I will celebrate the thumb as my nail heals. I will learn to love and respect the nail, too, but really give the credit to the digit. Because that's where it belongs. I realize that this is just one long, rambling metaphor, however, it is also a way of shifting. Of realizing that there are always several ways to look at a perceived problem.

My SMART meeting was good last night. Usually, we have a couple of NA type people in the meeting with us alcoholics, but last night, it was a drinkers only group. I am still the only woman present. It's funny, really, when we all get talking. One of the guys refers to social drinkers as, "earth people." I feel like we all speak a foreign language together and only when we can actually sit down and talk about the challenges of our collective weeks do we realize how much we all have in common. It's a relief.

It's Like Having Constant PMS

As I continue to live a sober life, I'm noticing that my moods aren't as easily contained as they once were. Patience, which used to come quite naturally to me, is in shorter and shorter supply. I feel like there is some inner lioness, always ready to lunge, that I am struggling to keep tame. Sometimes she lets out a loud roar before I can stop her, before I have time to even think about it, before it registers that she is snarling and angry. I think alcohol kept this part of me in check. The promise of a drink, many drinks, allowed the sleeping lioness to remain happily content in her liar.  Maybe I thought I had mastered patience, when in fact, I had simply hushed it with a bottle of wine every day.

Yesterday, my husband and I went to Newport. We took a long walk along a beach trail and then sat in the sand. Afterwards, we went strolling through downtown Newport, which, at this time of year is a-buzz with tourists and summer residents. All of the seasonal shops are open and bustling. Ice cream, frozen lemonade, souvenirs, surfing gear, yachts, trendy clothes, sunglasses and lots and lots of dewy wine glasses filled with chardonnay and freshly uncapped bottles of Corona with slivers of lime. There are liquor stores everywhere. I had never really noticed them all, I guess. Mostly because these are places are would rarely shop at, as the wine tends to be so-so and overpriced. But I noticed them yesterday. We had an early dinner at one of my favorite outdoor restaurants. Ordinarily, I would enjoy a nice alcoholic beverage and it would signal the end of a relaxing day. Seafood is so damn good with cold wine. Instead, I had two soda waters with lime. They were fine, but I was annoyed for a good part of the meal because everyone around was drinking and laughing and enjoying a summer buzz. Also, they sat us at the sunniest table, the only one without an umbrella it seems, and I was wearing a black sundress that was sucking in the heat from the sun at an alarming rate. We did eventually move when our food finally came, but I was somewhat unsatisfied. It was another "first." My first Newport sunshiney day without booze. Check the box.