How do I feel about sharing publicly that I became addicted to alcohol? Relaxed. Ahhh… No more hiding. What peace has come from telling the truth.
I will attend a yearly event soon at which, in the past, I drank heavily. I attended the event last year only five months sober. Unlimited bottles of wine at the open bars, open glasses at my seat at the banquet table awaiting pouring. One glass of wine, just to belong? What could it hurt? But I can no longer have only one glass. Involuntarily, I will drink glass after glass, luxuriating in that growing feeling of exquisite separation from exhaustion, strain and anguish.
The longing for the wine, the feeling of isolation from everyone else, being the only one at my table not drinking, turning my wine glasses down while the server poured glass after glass for my table companions – it was almost unbearable. I followed suggestions to keep a non-alcoholic drink in my hand, to get a fresh drink if I put mine down in case I were to pick up an alcoholic drink by mistake. To be energy efficient and to enjoy their company, I traveled in a car with others, not following the suggestion to take my own car so I could leave when okayness morphed to difficulty to potential tragedy. Imprisoned by alcohol and my own lack of self-care, I suffered.
The hardest part was hiding my suffering from friends and colleagues who might have helped, even excluding myself from the possibility of the kindness of strangers. I texted people in recovery all night.
This year, I don’t expect to suffer. My sobriety is pretty solid, solid enough to risk relapse from having publicly disclosed that I now need to abstain completely from alcohol. Will the attendees have read my little blog post on my little blog? Nah. Of the hundreds in attendance, maybe a few. But it’s not a secret anymore. I can say to anyone I want to, “Whew, I just had the thought that I want to join you in that glass of wine you’re having. But I abstain! You can help me. Tell me something exciting that’s going on in your company.” I can text people in recovery. But if I’m feeling isolated and separate, I can go stand by friends and colleagues who now know. And care. I’ll be able to feel the vibes of their hope for me.
At this event two years ago, I had had too much to drink to remember what was said to me. Last year, I was so focused on keeping myself sober I can’t remember a single word uttered to me. This year? I might actually get to focus on people, really listen, and remember what they tell me.
And this year, I will take my own car.
Peace, Anne. It’s going to be all right.
Photograph of the sky I took a few days after my mother died on August 27, 2011.
