#excessivedrinking

“I WENT OUT???” 

This ridiculous question is exactly what I said to Cheryl when I called her on a Sunday morning after an especially long morning, afternoon, and apparently evening of debauchery.   I had no idea that I had even left the house.   

I’ve been there too many times.  Crawling out of bed (peeling myself off the floor) with the sick sensation of fear, wondering what I did to myself (or anyone else) the night before.  The questions.  The phone calls.  The apologies.  The dread.  The embarrassment.  The shame.

I was no stranger to blackouts.  I had them more often than not.  One cannot ingest an entire bottle of whiskey and half a dozen other beverages and not expect to lose some memory of the evening.  I lost entire evenings, days, even weekends that could only be pieced together with stories from friends or from angry, hurt words from someone I love.  

I recently read a book (Girl on the Train by Paula Hawkins, JUST READ IT, it’s SO FRICKIN’ GOOD). The narrator was a raging alcoholic and frequently woke up with almost no recollection of the evenings events.  While I’ve never been in a blackout amidst a heinous crime (LOL, or have I??), I can still relate.  Checking sent messages, reading the 20 FB posts to make sure you haven’t said anything TOO offensive, checking my redial, checking my texts, etc.  It’s scary.

I did horrible things, though.  PLENTY.  

The sketchy part about blacking out is that you might seem completely coherent, perhaps a little tipsy, but you can still speak, walk, dance, and consent to things you would never do if you were sober.  I was not uncommon to find myself “coming to” in a sexual embrace, in a kiss with a stranger, or next to a man (or woman) who wasn’t who I was suppose to be with; wondering what happened.  Did I have sex?  Did I beg for sex?  Did I do something insane?  How did I get here?  It’s scary shit.  Entire evenings that I can’t get back.  They became blackholes in my mind; they consumed so much of my time, energy, and feelings.  They were the hairshirt that I wore.  They made me feel useless, vulnerable, and broken.  Some of my most serious and darkest moments followed blackouts.  My blackouts destroyed my first marriage.  I can blame all sorts of things, but it came down to my behaviors.  I may not have been entirely responsible for what I was doing while I was in a blackout, but I was certainly responsible for taking that first drink that would inevitably lead to the blackout.  

My last blackout on record was the last time I drank.  I woke up with a GINORMOUS hangover.  I was in the place I was suppose to be, but not where I was suppose to be.  I went to find my husband, and he told me to get lost.  Why was he so mad?  What did I do?  I spent the better part of the morning vomiting, trying to not die, and chasing him around, begging him to tell me why he was so mad.  Then he told me what I had done; I wished he hadn’t told me.  I deserved whatever he needed to do to help himself get over it, or if he couldn’t get over it, I deserved getting tossed out on my ear.  I fucked up.  

That last blackout turned out to be the absolute worst and most necessary blackout of my drinking career.  It nearly  destroyed my marriage, but it also saved it.  That was the last time I took a drink.  

Despite all of this nonsense, I still get cravings.  That’s why I write.  I honestly believe that there is nothing that can make me feel as awful as I did after that last bender.   We managed to heal and grow from the experience.  We revisit it and discuss it sometimes; not to punish me, but to remind me.  I’m usually the one who brings it up, I need to remember that feeling and more importantly, remind myself of what can and WILL happen if I drink.  I can’t control my alcohol intake.  Once I get started, I can’t stop until I’m out of booze or passed out on the floor.  I’m going on two years of sobriety (WOOT) and I remember everything that I’ve done, good, bad, fun, silly, loving, etc.  No more blackholes.

In my recovery, I think daily about forgiveness.  I forgive myself for drinking to excess and blacking out.  I forgive myself for behaving horribly.  I acknowledge my mistakes, learn from them, and move on.  I can’t alter the past; but I can learn from it.  I wouldn’t be here sharing my adventure, possibly writing something that might resonate with someone who may need to hear it.  I am full of love and acceptance and am so thankful that I can be here with my clear, sober mind, experiencing my beautiful life.  The universe will take care of me.