How I Became an Alcoholic

The condensed version of how I came to Alcoholics Anonymous.

I will start with where I came from. I was raised by a sick, delusional, alcoholic mother, very good at showing compassion and love to others but no to her daughters. My childhood and young adulthood was not simply a horrific series of disturbing events. I have memories of happiness and there were many people in my life capable of showing me love. They just weren’t my mother, who was there every day. My mother was not a very good teacher, which I now understand was not her fault. She herself didn’t have a good teacher; her mother was also an alcoholic. I was not taught healthy social skills or self-worth and was repeatedly shown that love is abusive, violent and conditional. This lead me to live my life in constant fear. Fear of authority, you liking me or not liking me, not being good enough at anything, ever. This chaotic, abusive, and neglectful environment I found myself constantly a part of only exasperated my anxiety and depression.

When I was three years old I remember my emotions being so huge and not knowing how to express them. Not knowing the words to use and not having been shown how to express feelings, I would have panic attacks. I would be sobbing and hyperventilating, my body would feel so tense, and my head filled with strong thoughts, but no words ever came. Occasionally I would produce guttural noises, but never screaming because that would get me in more trouble.

The only way my mom knew how to help was to sit with me on her lap, drawing my knees to my chest. She would tightly wrap her arms around me and I would push against her, sobbing and hyperventilating. We would sit like this until I was so exhausted I couldn’t move. If my mom did not have the patience for this tactic, she would send me to my room where I would have fits of rage. I would tear my room apart, hitting and kicking things, screaming and crying. This too would tire me out and force me to calm down. I would put my room back together because I knew if I didn’t I would be hit.

The first time I remember wishing I could not feel anything, to numb out, was when I was fourteen. I used to obsessively take nuprin, hoping it would take away my emotional pain and not caring if I harmed myself physically. I had become rather withdrawn by this point in my life, and the outbursts I experienced in elementary school were redirected inward. The chatter inside my head was louder and meaner. I had the first feelings of hopelessness, powerlessness, and loneliness. I channeled all my energy into school work, since it required so much of my thinking and I so desperately wanted praise from my mother.

Out of fear I went to college. I had zero belief that I would be successful. I didn’t want to go, but my mom said I didn’t have a choice. There were very few times in my life before I moved out, that I had any choice of what my life was to look like. Much like middle and high school I was very shy and nervous at college. I had terrible anxiety but didn’t know that was what it was because my mom would say I worry too much or I over thought everything. I thought feeling anxious was my fault and I would get so frustrated that I couldn’t control it. My mom also instilled the belief that I had a great life, and should feel blessed to have so many people around me who love me. If I was ever unhappy with a situation, I would feel extreme guilt.

My sophomore year of college I met and fell in love with a guy named Allen. He introduced me to alcohol. Before this time I had never considered drinking. My step-father at the time was an alcoholic, as well as half my family on my mother’s side. I never wanted to be like them, so I had avoided any alcohol, except the half glass of wine my mother would give me at every Christmas dinner. I was also too afraid to break any rules because of my fear of authority and of being punished. I knew my mom would not approve of me drinking, especially since I was not of age. But Allen drank and I didn’t want there to be any reason for him not to like me.

One evening we were going to a show and he had a bottle of Bacardi Limon sitting on the dresser of his dorm room. While everyone else was gathering in the lobby, I snuck back to the room and took two swigs from the bottle. I ignored the burning feeling, and the way my stomach wretched. I wanted to fit in and feel a part of my new boyfriend’s life, and thought drinking would help me.

I went back to the lobby and announced what I had done, expecting Allen to declare his love for me. He just looked at me and kind of shrugged. It was not the reaction I was expecting, but I didn’t care because I felt strangely warm and calm.

I quickly began drinking every weekend, almost always blacking out. I did not let it interfere with school or work. I had it drilled into my head I could not fail, and did everything I could to ensure I wouldn’t. My mom had me convinced nobody would take care of me if I fell on my a*s, and I needed to learn to “use your resources” if there was a problem I needed help fixing. My mother was never one of those resources.

It was also around this time that I first sought out counseling per Allen’s urging. The pressure of balancing work, school, committees, and friends was too much for me. Allen reached a point where he could not take on anymore of my emotional drama. This was to be the start of thirteen years of therapy.

I graduated from college and had no idea what to do. I no longer had my mom trying to control me. She had cut me off financially at 17 and I realized it no longer matter what she thought I should be doing because she no longer had any power over me. I was unsure of how to get a job in my field and didn’t know who I could ask for help. Allen and I had broken up and he was the only person I ever felt comfortable asking for help. The next six years I spent working minimum wage customer service jobs, often needing two or three jobs to get by.

These jobs that were not challenging, and did not demand much of my attention, plus the friends I had chosen allowed me to live a party girl lifestyle. I was rather successful at this lifestyle, with few negative consequences. It wasn’t until the last year and a half of my drinking that I could no longer contain it to just weekends, and an occasional weeknight. It became 5-6 nights per week, going to work still drunk, drinking while driving, sleeping with men whose names I to this day cannot recall, fights in bars, being 86’ed from bars. It became out of control rather suddenly because after an awful break up I realized alcohol provided me a sense of peace, it would quiet my mean and busy mind.

This shift from fun to necessity created a drive in me to bring alcohol into any situation. I now relied on it to go to sleep, to meet people and to have fun. Without alcohol I hated my life and everyone in it, but with alcohol I didn’t care about a thing.

My last drunk was July 4^th, 2010. It was a pretty typical holiday for me, got day drunk and passed out around 4. When I was shaken awake hours later I was covered in my own vomit. My roommate at the time threw a towel at me and tried to get me to clean myself off before getting in her car. I don’t remember the drive home or climbing into my bed. I woke the next day to an empty house. I was very confused because my roommate and I were to go tubing down the river that day with a bunch of people from the previous day’s party. A quick text made me realize I had really crossed the line. It was the first time my behavior was not acceptable by the party lifestyle standards.

I spent the entire day feeling ashamed of what I had done, which I didn’t even know because I blacked out so early. I started obsessively planning my suicide. This continued on into the next day, and by that evening I was afraid of what I might do. I asked my roommate to take me to the emergency room. I was admitted to a psych ward for three days. During that time I took this lengthy evaluation administered by a pleasant older man, with a very white beard and soft demeanor. We were seated at the end of the long hallway, at a small table with two chairs. I hadn’t been given permission to wear my clothes yet, so I was still in the too big scrubs with no slip socks. At the end of the questioning he looked at me, and without any judgment, said I am an alcoholic. I nodded and replied that it made sense. When he suggested I do inpatient rehab I strongly opposed it, claiming I needed to take care of myself. We settled on me attending an outpatient program for four months.

It was in rehab that I was first introduced to AA. It was strongly suggested by the counselor that I work the steps and attend meetings. My first meeting was in the basement of a church, with three other old timers. They were all over the age of 60 and were reading straight from the big book. I sat with my hood up and arms crossed thinking, “What did I get myself into?”

The next 14months I went to 14 meetings, so I could convince myself and others that I was ok. My biggest deterrent was the God thing. I could not get past that part, and did not learn that AA taught you how to live life free of continual pain and fear, that it would bring me the peace I sought through drinking. Those 14months were worse than when I had drank because I no longer had my coping mechanism, and just sat in discomfort constantly.

Not surprisingly I drank again on September 24^th, 2011, making my new sobriety date September 25^th 2011. I only had two drinks when my phone was stolen and I almost got into a fight with three women. I was living in Texas at this time and told a woman I had met at 1313 that I drank. She suggested I finally work the steps, and when I asked her to help me find a sponsor she offered to be mine.

I was such a people pleaser that I worked those steps with diligence, finishing every writing assignment on time. Step one was easy, and I faked two and three. Steps four and five were terrifying. I did not think I could be totally honest with someone and I did not believe they wouldn’t judge m or tell me I was overreacting or realize I was messed up and would never talk to me again. But my experience was the exact opposite of all these fears. She was very kind and loving, and one of the few people that had ever listened to me with only acceptance and warned me to be gentle on myself.

Steps 6 and 7 were also faked; not believing I had a Higher Power makes it hard to fully complete them. Steps 8 and 9 were difficult, but I did feel relief often instantly after completing them. I did not have a daily routine for 10 and 11.

How I went through the steps provided me relief for a while and I started seeing some of the 9^th steps promises coming true. Then around 9 months sober I started to feel as bad as I did during my dry 14 months. I was very angry at AA because I felt like I had done everything that was asked of me and it was letting me down. I was in constant pain and discomfort. I would share this pain and anger and disappointment in meetings. I am glad I did because that is how I found my second sponsor.

We started working together, and she assumed I had 1, 2, and 3 down. As we were doing my fifth step she quickly realized I did not believe in any sort of Higher Power. I was blocked to this belief for two reasons; one is that I was a stubborn atheist and Two I did not understand that there was something that would love me unconditionally, without judgment and would never leave my side. This was so foreign to me; I had a hard time picturing what that looked like and trusting it was real. I was in so much pain that I was willing to do anything to find some relief. My sponsor gave me very specific instructions on how to pray and how to form a relationship with my Higher Power. This routine was to be done daily, with no exceptions for straying from these instructions.

Like any relationship forming a deep connection, level of trust and comfort, takes time. Unfortunately the pain became too intense for me, and the obsession of planning my suicide flooded back to me. I felt like it was that week in July 2010 and I had committed myself to a psych ward. So once again I paid a visit to the psych ward, and asked to be put in the wing for those detoxing. I wanted to see what my future could be like, and maybe others would see you can stay sober through rough times.

I was enrolled in an IOP that focused on DBT therapy, which has been the most effective form of therapy for me. I continued to attend meetings, work the steps in both AA and Alanon, and follow all instructions given to me by my sponsor.

Very slowly after months of following my 11^th step routine I started to do experiments and turn little things over to my Higher Power. I figured since I didn’t have much invested in the situation, it wouldn’t matter what happened. I was surprised and annoyed that it actually worked. I felt less pressure to do everything right, or to make everyone happy. Life seemed a little more seamless, and things fell into place.

One of my biggest accomplishments has been the way I show up in relationships, especially ones romantic in nature. I only had two types of relationships while drinking, and part of sobriety. They were either completely codependent, where my entire day, my entire life was based on what the other person wanted. I honestly thought that is what love looked like, and never realized I was being self-seeking, dishonest, and manipulating. I was certain being in a romantic relationship would only be successful if you changed all your values, beliefs, and goals to match your partners. If my relationships weren’t co-dependent then the pendulum would swing the complete opposite direction. I found myself in physically, emotionally, verbally and sexually abusive relationships. I would tolerate all these forms of abuse in order to avoid rejection.

Neither of those types of relationships is healthy, and I am by no means completely removed of this defect of character. This program has taught me how to create a sane and sound sex ideal, and how to be brave enough to stick to it. I now know how to show up in a relationship and how I want my partner to show up. Occasionally I slip up, and slide right back to one of two extremes. It is different today, because I do not spend years acting in my will, instead it may be a couple months or a couple days. I am able to walk away with grace, and the emotional aftermath is less damaging. My tolerance for chaos and pain is gradually decreasing, and my knowledge of how to live life on life’s terms is increasing.

Today I continue to work the steps, and have decided to work both programs with one sponsor. I also started a third 12 step program that has proven to be more difficult emotionally than anything I have done, but I am hopeful it will benefit me. I seek outside help, regularly seeing three therapists and on medication. I do an eleventh step every night, and tenth step all day. I am constantly turning things over when I am scared, lonely, confused, frustrated, or angry. If I am happy or grateful I thank God. I think about God’s will all day and do my best to align my actions with what His will would be for me. I do my best to live by the spiritual principles, and aim to surround myself with people that are doing the same. This program has taught me to believe in myself and to love myself. It has given me a voice so I can now tell you when you are hurting me and to tell you what I need. It has taught me that I am worth respect, kindness, and unconditional love. I finally have a life full of hope, gratitude, occasional serenity and lots of unconditional love.