I know I should be cool like Jay Z, with the ability to brush my shoulder off to the people who look at me strangely when I talk about my alcoholism. I don’t need to prove to them that I am alcoholic. But at the same time, I do. It’s like they just don’t believe me. Like I’m exaggerating. Like they want to say, “So when will this all be over so we can go out for a drink?” I haven’t been giving them the satisfaction. I haven’t told them about the two mornings that I brought a sippy cup filled with a bit of vodka with me to work. I stopped at Wawa and picked up a Spicy Hot V8 – instant Bloody Mary. Or the times I drank whatever wine was leftover from the night before on my way out the door. Or about the countless times that Jim and I went to daytime parties or gatherings and I snuck a beer or captain & diet for the car ride. My bridal shower is one event that stands out. Another low was when I got drunk at my niece’s third birthday party. (hi, sister) As I left, I took a beer from the the refridgerator in her garage. I wanted to drink it on the way home. I don’t know how I thought I was going to get that past my parents who had taken the ride with me. I thought my brother in law spotted me taking it and I was so ashamed the next morning.
I could go back, way back. To my college days. But then they would just say, “Oh it was college, everyone was drunk.” Sure everyone drove to work still drunk. Everyone put a sign on the door of the eye doctor’s office they ran that read “be back in 20 minutes” just so they could take a nap and try to shake the hangover. Everyone got kicked out of the same bar – 5 times. Everyone carried on a relationship with someone for nearly a year before realizing they had green eyes, not brown. That’s what happens when you’re plastered by the time you get together.
I spent most of my adult life in a fog. No, I was never arrested – but I certainly could have been. No I never missed work because I was hungover, but I left a few times after getting sick in the bathroom. I spent hours of paid time with my head in my hands, wishing the day would hurry up. I never lost anyone that I loved because of my drinking. But three months ago, my husband packed a bag and returned to his parents home. My text that read “I want to get help” along with a plea from his parents to go home and work things out, is the only thing that kept me from that.
So, while I haven’t given them the satisfaction of these tales, I guess I just gave it to you. Then again, none of you needed it.
Thank you for reading and for your support.
I wrote this a few days back and I wasn’t sure if I’d actually publish it. Then I started reading Mary Pipher’s Writing to Change the World. Clearly, I have no intentions of saving the world here, but her introduction alone forced me to come back here and finish this post. She talks about writing to coax readers to expand their references, writing to connect and to influence. She talks about the kind of writing that I believe Stefanie Wilder Taylor is doing right now and the kind of writing she shares with us every (Don’t Get Drunk) Friday. If I could change one person’s opinion about alcoholism, then sharing personal, embarrassing tales that I’d otherwise keep to myself, is so, so worth it. No I am not a smelly bum or a broken down old lady. I’m not even a mom or a dad or a troubled teen. I’m a late-twenty-something with a pretty blog, who hangs out in coffee shops and eats organic eggs. I have a passion for style and a cool freelance career. I’m also an alcoholic.
Writing to change minds…kind of makes you think differently about your own little blog space, doesn’t it?
