It’s everywhere you go isn’t it? Alcohol. Everyone on the planet seems to be able to handle a drink or two except you. How many times have you bargained with yourself while out with friends? I used to tell my best friend W that I was “only” going to have 2 beers and 2 shots and then she needed to cut me off. She would always say “OK”. She was taller but I outweighed her by a 100 pounds at the time and could get mean when I drank. She knew this, I knew this. We both knew she wasn’t going to stop me. She would try to make sure I didn’t hurt myself but that’s all she could do.
I can’t tell how many people tried to blame her for my problems over the years. Why didn’t she stop me? Why didn’t she tell my family? It wasn’t her job. And she was the ONLY ONE WHO SAW THE PAIN INSIDE OF ME. No one else did. She knew pretty much all of the things I had been through the last 20 years. She loves me and cares about me but it’s difficult to know someone is destroying themselves but to also know the agony they carry inside.
The first 10 years of my alcoholism were brutal. It isn’t easy hanging around mostly men that are ex-cons and either alcoholics, drug addicts or both. The first guy I was ever with was 6’3″, tan complexion (he was French and Italian), and had 2 teardrop tattoos under his eye. I was 17 and an idiot. He had spent 6 years inside a Florida prison. Yes he was very attractive, no he had no job or money. The first time we were together he played a Metallica song and lit Black candles. I should’ve run immediately. He taught me a lot though. How to get out of a dumpster on my own, how to punch a guy in the jaw and knock out his tooth (him), how to give a false alibi, and how to deal with extreme humiliation. Not to mention he had an ex-wife and a toddler who I paid child support for once or twice.
He wasn’t even the worst of them. But most of you know that story. They were hard years. I drank everyday. I would be driving home at 3 a.m. puking into my sweatshirt. Then wake up at 6 a.m. to be at work for 7 a.m. During this time period my behavior grew worse while I was drinking and I would cut myself or swallow a bottle of pills. Off to the hospital you go! They don’t fix you or help you, they babysit you. After several more years of this my brain decided “You’re not very good at this killing yourself thing so instead your going to date (f*ck) every asshole you meet in the hope he’ll do it for you”. That almost worked on several occasions. Some I don’t remember. Some I thought I could handle and fight back a little bit. I didn’t know how vulnerable I had become. I didn’t realize how empty I was.
I have to say that I had good parents and I love both of them very much. I was born with something wrong inside of me. I felt it at an early age. The loneliness in a room filled with people, an aching feeling in my chest I couldn’t name, a feeling like I didn’t belong here. When I say “here” I mean on this Planet. I’m a twin and I often felt that I was a mistake. My mother didn’t know she was having twins. I still feel I wasn’t meant to be here.
My mother’s death and getting a DUI helped me to seek the resources I needed. I knew there was something more going on than drinking. With the family history of Mental Illness and Alcoholism how could there not be? It took a year to get a diagnosis of Bipolar Disorder. Then I was sent to other specialists because my cognitive skills were questionable. I had just spent the last 20 years pickling my brain I’m not sure what they expected. My liver was also enlarged and towards the end of my drinking I was vomiting blood. One idiot who did the cognitive testing said to me “Congratulations. You have the brain of an 82 alcoholic man.” Why a man? I had no idea. Which he just proved.
The DUI was something I was pissed at. I hadn’t been driving the car. It was stalled in the middle of the road from earlier, the keys weren’t in the ignition, and me being me was trying to push it while it was still in Park. I know driving while under the influence is wrong. That’s why the car was stuck there. I had gotten to the end of W’s street, decided I was too drunk to drive, went to do a U-Turn when the car stalled. The Officer on the scene was not helpful. I’m not saying he should’ve been nice. It was right after my mom had passed away, I was crying outside the vehicle when he pulled up. He patted me down. I’m pretty sure I wasn’t carrying anything in my bra or vagina in one of the richest areas in my state. Took my shoes, coat, and blazer from me so all I had on was a sheer tank top and black jeans. Took the tiny pillow and the toilet paper out of their one cell and sat down to watch me all night. No female officers, no other male officers, just him to watch me pee and shiver in my see through tank top.
When the judge read the report and my lawyer pointed out that I hadn’t been driving, the keys were not in the ignition, and the officer had given me an PARKING TICKET ON TOP OF EVERYTHING he immediately dismissed it. The state had me sign a waiver saying I wouldn’t sue. How can you give someone a Parking Ticket and DUI at the same time? You can’t Park and Drive. The judge didn’t like some of the other things he had heard either.
The one thing the Judge was concerned about was my Breathalyzer Test. I blew a .30 a few hours after the arrest. The judge knew that these were not the numbers of someone who has an occasional drink. He told my lawyer to get me help or therapy because if he saw me again it wouldn’t be the same outcome. I didn’t go to a program. I cut ties with the people I drank with. I only spoke to W on the phone or we went for lunch or the mall. Mostly I stayed home or spent time with my dad and sister.
The Bipolar Diagnosis is harder. There is no cure. You can’t just ignore one thing to make it better. I never know how I will be until I wake up. I still have that aching hole in my soul that never gets better. I am always in a constant state of grief and sorrow. Losing my mom made it worse. When I would get like this she would hold my face in her hands and tell me she loved me. No one does that now. No one touches me at all now.
This is why the Doctors worry anesthesia. When I’m under all that pain is gone and maybe I even see my mom. Who knows? All I know is that my brain doesn’t want to leave where it is. And yet I have to continue to go under anesthesia every 4 to 5 months for the rest of my life. Sometimes I look forward to it. I don’t know where I belong and I don’t where I’ll go if something happens to my dad. I’ve talked myself into depression. lol It’s what I’m good at.
This is a drinking picture. I post it so you know. I was 270 pounds at the time I am 135 now. I also no longer have the blond hair. After that beer I’ll probably have 6 shots of Jager or Patron and a few more beers.