Recipe For Disaster

It’s time to share some demons. I can’t sit here and tell you how great everything in my life is without telling you some of the things I’ve gone through, or even still go through, that contributed to me getting to this point. 

At times, I indulge in alcohol. Not as much recently, but there was a point and time when I was making choices that were impacting and damaging every facet of my life, from my mental, emotional and physical health to my finances and relationships with family and friends.

I was on a steep path to hitting the point of no return; self-destructing at a rapid pace. The doctor asked me about my drinking and I said I was a “social” drinker…until she pointed out that meant maybe 3 drinks or so every week or so.

My “social” drinking to me meant that I was only drinking when I was out socializing. That just happened to be 6 or 7 nights a week and typically included a minimum of 5 heavily poured drinks. The lifestyle was literally killing me.

I was making reckless decisions. Drinking and riding. Staying out late to the point of not wanting to work during the day. (Not to mention physically recovering from the heavy alcohol intake.) I was eating poorly.

Part of this came from my belief that I would die at 45. (I’m nearing that age.) Another part was simply a lack of self care. I thought I deserved to be punished and mistreated. These things came from some deep-rooted traumas and pains and kept resurfacing.

Some of my lonelier drunk nights would result in hooking up with someone, typically not someone I’d ever actually consider involving myself with in that way. I just needed to feel so badly. And I wanted to feel desired, loved, appreciated…something.

The morning after typically felt worse. That’s when the regret, self-loathing, and berating myself happened. Not to mention the physical discomforts of a hangover.

My worst nights involved alcohol-induced blackouts. Apparently, I can be more than a handful when this cocktail for disaster happened to come together. I would get to a boiling point within myself, without acknowledging or realizing it. I tried to shove my emotions down and numb myself, but they would build until they had to escape.

I eventually figured out that on my worst nights all of the following circumstances were present:

*I hadn’t ate

*I was at my boiling point emotionally

*I was dehydrated

*I drank way too much, way too fast

*Someone or something triggered me

Then all hell would break loose. It typically resulted in me cussing people out. Especially when they tried to take my keys. Then I would cry, yell, pout, beg, plead, and act out in the most unappealing ways. Sober me realizes they were looking out for me and my safety, as well as those around me. 

Drunk me didn’t care. I felt handled, alone, cornered, out of control, and so much more. The more people tried to “help” me, the worse it got. Then I felt like I needed to prove myself and the only shred of dignity and independence I felt I had left was being able to leave on my own.

After those nights, I’d wake up miserable. Depleted. Defeated. Once I could gather myself, I’d call a trusted source and ask one simple question. “How bad was it?” 

Sometimes I could remember bits and pieces. Other times, there were huge gaps in my memory. It was humiliating. Not only my actions, but having to take other peoples’ word for it. There were times when people lied to me and told me certain things happened, which I later found out were untrue.

Several people in my peer group assumed it was one thing or another, but none of them really knew all that was going on inside of me. Even the couple of people I shared a lot with didn’t realize the depth of the pain and issues swirling inside of me. It would be easy to assume the entire episode was set off by me feeling a certain way about an individual or something I saw, but there was so much more to each of my episodes.

I had to step away from everyone and everything. I was dying. Not because I’m cursed. (My belief that I would die at 45 is due to my grandmother and father both passing at that age of the same thing. I do have a lot of similar medical issues to them.)

I realized that my choices were pushing me towards my early death, not something written in stone. I stepped away from socializing and drinking. I worked. I worked hard. I was typically driving 80+ hours per week. I started eating healthier. I limited my interactions with others and rarely scrolled through social media.

I went to the doctor for the first time in a long time. I’m supposed to get my brain scanned every so often due to the chronic migraines and heavy brain cancer in my family history. I knew about my kidney tumors, but those are supposed to be checked every so often as well. By that time, I was prediabetic and having respiratory, circulation, cardiac, arthritis, and more. I found out I also had liver lesions. 

I stopped drinking. I started eating healthy. I was celibute for a few months. I was making better financial decisions, slowly crawling out of the bleak hole I had dug for myself. I barely talked to anyone outside of my immediate family members and two close friends. I spent quite a few nights working through some difficult mental and emotional traumas.

Getting clear on quite a bit in my life, I realized that I love myself and I wanted to live. Making those choices, and choosing to love myself through my actions and self care changed my life in a lot of ways.

I got clear on my goals and started taking steps to make things happen. This was a long and tumultuous process. I still have setbacks. I still find myself in old patterns at times, particularly when I’m in certain environments or around people who I deemed hurt me or created issues for me.

I still mess up. However, my priorities are clearer. My actions support them. (Usually.) The relationships I have with my children, my mother, my brother, and several friends have drastically improved.

I let go of a lot of negativity and judgment. I no longer feel like anyone owes me anything. I don’t care about karma coming around to get those who intentionally caused me harm.I don’t want to fight – internally or externally.

I desire peace and balance. Most of the time, I feel closer to that than ever before. I set boundaries, and stick to them. Occasionally, when I relapse, I talk it out with myself or a trusted friend.

The most important (and probably hardest) thing I did was get really clear and honest with myself about everything – from who I was, to who I am, who I want to be, my core values, and my priorities. I’m at the point where I can acknowledge a lot, but haven’t quite come to accept it.

Finding and feeling peace within yourself is dangerous. Once you get a taste of it, you crave it. You want more of it. At least I do. I’m hoping that by sharing this, it may help someone else who feels like they’re drowning and alone. I promise people care. I promise you can pull yourself out of it. Get help! The other side of it is worth all the hard nights. You are not alone.