On the 30th of December, I was ready to leave the facility. I talked to the psychiatrist and the social workers. They wished me good luck saying that I seem to be very strong (am I?). I had to fill out some paperwork then they gave me back my belongings. It was funny because I had to pack in the hallway so I couldn't share anything with someone else. I sat on the floor. My new friends tried to help and they constantly giggled. When H. arrived I got way too excited...and sad. I kept hugging the entire group one by one. I admit that half of my soul did not want to leave at all...can you imagine? I got used to the environment, the rules, and the strict schedule. I still make schedules in my daily life to discipline myself. Yep, I enjoy it.
By this time, H. had a new job and our new apartment was almost ready to take us in. In the meantime H.'s AA friend and his cute dog let us to stay in his house. Blessings.
My mind was spinning as we left the hospital. I was unable to decide whether I should be happy or melancholic. Maybe I can afford both feelings. I was free but deep inside I was scared of the reality. The program did focus on recovery and the possibilities of the future. However, we did not have a lot of stimuli from the real world. What if I will fail...slip. What if I cannot adapt again? What if I cannot take responsibility? What if I will want to drink again?
I knew that I should not think about anything but the "now". So I started chatting with H. on the way to his friend's house. I admired the snowy trees and the dirty roads. We stopped at a store to buy groceries and I looked around in awe as if I was a child. At one point, I just laughed hysterically (not in the store though). Probably I had a hypomanic episode.
I remained a bit confused and could not find sleep that night. I missed the light from the hallway for heaven's sake. I even missed the checks. Ridiculous, isn't it? But I did not want to drink.
Insomnia remained a concerning issue for several days. I
stopped caring and I focused on the days. The activities and group meetings were
awesome. I learned to love rehab in no time. I especially loved coloring and
yoga. I started coloring about three years ago. It was relaxing. Of course I
gave it up just like everything else. Drinking won the „relax contest”. Yoga
was my friend for a while as well. Unfortunately, it joined the group of losers
of my alcoholic life. We also watched movies once in a while and gained knowledge
about different cognitive behavioral therapies. As I mentioned, the people in
the group were friendly, understanding, and protective. They got my back no
matter what. Crying and laughing together was liberating.
On the third day, the nurses smiled at me and announced that
I am going to move into another room where a roommate was waiting for me. Wow. I immediately
threw a little tantrum deep inside. I complained but it didn’t help. My evil
cheerleader – who appeared on my left shoulder right after I was born – whispered
in my ear: “You do not want a roommate. You will not be able to handle her. You
will fail to fall asleep again.” My dangerous imagination screened awful movies of
fear in my head. All the joy I experienced behind the hospital walls faded
away. Until the evening. My roommate did not feel good. She arrived on the same
day I did; she slept for two days. The only thing I knew about her was her name
and her choice of poison which was alcohol. I tried to feed my inner night owl
in order to avoid sleeping. At one point, I had to give up. I crawled into bed
and looked at her. Her face was troubled and her side of the room was messy because she did not have time or energy to put her stuff away. I actually felt calm. It surprised me. I had to admit that having another human being next to me was quite nice.
I could sleep!
Next day we started talking. She was honest and shared her
thoughts and feelings with me. I did the same. We became friends…forever.
I became an alcoholic in the last couple of years. Wait a
minute that statement is wrong. I became an alcoholic long time ago. I had
cravings and I acted on them. Still, it was all right in my opinion. After my
wild years I finally settled down. I met my awesome soulmate. It did not bother
me that he drank too. We had a marvelous wedding then we moved the other side
of the globe. Oops, we drank every single night. Who cares? I was vulnerable.
The new country, the new culture, and the new traditions made me excited and
stressed me out. Great reasons to immerse myself in alcohol. My husband (H.
from now on) was my drinking buddy. I loved him for it.
I found a job and I created new plans. I had a lot of fun. It
did not matter that I often called in sick by using ridiculous excuses so I
could sleep more. It did not matter that I stopped remembering how and when I
went to sleep. As a result of consuming a bottle of vodka or whiskey together, we
had random fights with H. Ah but life was good. Although we had financial
difficulties from the beginning, we managed to furnish and decorate our place
especially for the first Christmas. We took road trips and hikes. I was also
eager to start my own alternative therapy business. It never happened.
We soon had to move for several reasons. Alcohol was not one
of them. We ended up living with family members who first helped us out. They
did not know that we were alcoholics. I did not know either. We blamed
everything else for not finding jobs and friends. Our only entertainment was
sitting on the couch watching movies. Obviously with a big box of wine. We
needed more and more financial assistance. We always had enough to buy more
alcohol.
God gave us another chance. H. found a job and we moved into
a nice apartment. I started studying. Thankfully, I never neglected studying
and I was proud of myself when I graduated. The fights between me and H. continued though.
They were mostly about money that kept disappearing. Finally, we had to give up our apartment; we
moved back to the house where my mom-in-law lived. The relationships at home
got infected. We could not communicate anymore. We were angry all the time.
Doors were slammed and the police was involved in some cases. We did not
socialize anymore. If we visited a nice place I could not enjoy it. Damn, I only
took photos to show them off on Facebook. I believed that my side of the family
and friends who lived on another continent did not suspect the reality. Of
course they could sense it, they were not stupid. I fought them too. When H’s
sisters decided that we needed to be kicked out of the house, we fell apart. H.
went to rehab which was the best decision he could make. Now leaving the home was
absolutely the right thing to do but the way they threw us out was extremely
cruel. They made promises that were sugar coated by fake empathy. We agreed
that we had this terrible disease of addiction. Interestingly, they simply
changed their minds and ripped the promises apart. By the time H. left the
rehab center we had to face the idea of homelessness.
For many years I believed that my bad childhood experiences
caused my addiction. Nah. My experiences did form my personality including my
imagination, my thought processes, and my attachment style. They had nothing to
do with drinking and other bad habits. I was born with an addicted mind.
Addiction does not refer to substance abuse only. My little harmless obsessions
in daily life were part of. I didn’t know it.
I still remember my first drink. I was 14 when
we went on a 2 day field trip with my class. We spent the night in a tiny
hostel. Someone pulled out a small bottle of vodka when the teachers were not
present. We mixed it with orange juice. I had 2 sips and all of a sudden I felt
a buzz. So I kept looking for that buzz. Of course smoking cigarettes, smoking
a little pot, and drinking alcohol seemed to be a cool thing. However, it
stopped being cool when I started drinking by myself. But…but…it is not bad or
sad, right? It all looked absolutely normal through my pink sunglasses. It was
just my way to stretch my mind and relax. That’s what I thought. I did not
realize that my shiny road slowly turned into a slide of mud. I drank at family
events (excuse me, everybody else did too). I loved every occasion that
involved alcohol. I even drank on dates when I felt bored or I had to pretend
that I was in love. I have no clue why I did it. I was not concerned at all and
I did not see the warning signs.
It all began in childhood. What else is new? So I was born
and raised in a European country (details are not important). I was an only
child spoiled by my parents and relatives. My dad tried to challenge me from
time to time. He had a great sense of humor; people loved it. So did I. My mom
always protected me from whatever she thought was dangerous for me. Her love
overflowed and I bathed in it even when she fought depression. We spent long
vacations with my parents’ friends and families at a nice big lake. I remember
how popular I was among adults. Yep, I see a pattern. Adults.
I did not have
friends at all. Okay, that’s a lie. I had one friend; however, I only saw her
twice a year during summer. Anyhow, I was alone most of the times. I was lonely
as well. I played with imaginary friends to whom I gave personalities and
voices. They were fun. I could hide behind them especially when my classmates started
bullying me. The emotional and verbal abuse set me up to further develop my
imagination. Then my imagination turned against me (a little). My mind exaggerated
daily events in horrible ways. My mind had a magic wand. My nightmares were
realistic to me. They were unrealistic to my parents…and to my psychologists.
But soon I was “cured”. The nightmares passed and I learned to handle my
bullies. How? I simply watched MY adults.
By the time I was
eleven, I was surrounded by buddies. Some of them became my best friends. It is
funny because – surprise! - they
were my bullies from the past. I rose from my ashes. During the following years
I became kind of famous in my small society. I wrote poems. I gained the
interest of people. I got good grades. I had faith. As a teenager and young
adult I saw a shiny road that the Universe laid down in front of me. I easily
finished high school and enrolled in a university program (no need for bachelor’s
degree in my country of origin). I became very hungry. I tried everything I
could from witchcraft to wild parties. I enslaved boys. I thought I was
extremely complicated and smart… I was an arrogant bitch behind the mask of the
emphatic, sensitive person. And holly hell, I drank too.
