Here’s my current working outline:
- Chapter I. What happened before I started drinking heavily.
- Chapter II. What happened as I began to drink heavily.
- Chapter III. When I stopped drinking.
- Chapter IV. What it’s like to stay stopped.
- Chapter V. How it’s better to have stopped.
At 18 months abstinent from alcohol, I’m living and writing Chapter IV.
As a writer who observed silence during her first 16 months of sobriety, I am catching up and writing in and around Chapters I-III.
As someone who discovered that 5 years and 10 months of floating with relief while drinking was really falling down into the deep wet hole of addiction, after 1 year and 6 months of not drinking and straining and despairing of ever climbing out of that hole, I cannot see light above me.
I function well. Our company just published a new app.
When asked if he stands by the stories he wrote while on crack, [Ruben] Castaneda replies, “It’s hard to tell how much better I might have been as a reporter, as a journalist, if I hadn’t been using crack, if I hadn’t been drinking large amounts of alcohol. But I tried really hard, and I worked really hard as a journalist. And I think I did some good work, until I couldn’t.” – NPR interview 7/4/14
My life is not better without alcohol.
Chapter V, how it’s better to have stopped drinking? I can’t even pen the first sentence in that chapter.
That’s the problem with writing this story. As I’ve shared before, addiction memoirs are written after many years of sobriety. The person has time to make it to Chapter V, to discover and live awhile then report from the clean and sober, happy ending.
So far, with not even 2 years of sobriety, my story is the same as most who have fallen: distress before and distress after, with no end in sight.
I’ve been asked why I’m writing my story, why I’m choosing to share so personally and vulnerably about it, why it has to be miserable after miserable episode, why I’m choosing to write now, during year 2, during one of the riskiest years for relapse.
I am a writer. I write.
Writing helps keep me sober. Or, more specifically, not writing makes me want to drink. Keeping silent, not writing, makes me crazy. When I drink, I don’t feel crazy. Better to write.
And I want people to know some things.
The nicest people can become addicts. Even well-educated Miss White Bread Goody Two Shoes – with her coiffured hair, Clinique make-up, Chamber of Commerce membership, and regular check-ups paid for by her health insurance plan – can go down. I’m appalled that I became addicted to alcohol. Do you know I earned a master’s degree in counseling, focusing on addictions, before I began drinking? I knew better, should have been able to do better, and yet…
If you’re starting to have a daily drink or two or three, or are finding yourself taking an extra Lortab or two or three, or something like that… O, if my story could help spare you any moment of what might be ahead!
I did not spontaneously combust into alcoholism. I believe there are reasons. I will share.
I feel terrible about myself. Addicts and alcoholics in early recovery feel terrible themselves. I have the ability to articulate that. I wish for those with addicts and alcoholics in their lives, or for those who are treating them for addiction, to know this. In relating to me, in working with me, in treating me for this substance use disorder, it’s the place to begin.
Abstinence does not equal happiness. I, like most addicts, have other problems that alcohol and drugs make better. Without alcohol, my other problems aren’t made better. In fact, they now howl, open-jawed, full force into my face. A part of my mind thinks not drinking is insane. Why have I put myself in such pain when just a few glasses of wine would quiet the beast, provide a relief, a respite, a break? What, I have to fight the power of the addiction, the urge to drink, and I have to fight the power of my other problems, all at the same time? It’s too much.
Addictions recovery has no poster children. Going down is suffering. Pulling oneself up is suffering. A huge percentage (40-60%) relapse. My story is laughable compared to most and I’m struggling, writhing, thrashing. I will never get a celebrity endorsement. “Buy Product X and you can be like Anne!” Now that’s laughable.
Silence: Part One. If I worked for a corporation, I would not be writing my story. My bosses and co-workers would think that I was weak and flawed to become addicted to alcohol and they would think having me around would reflect negatively on them and on the company. The stigma is that great. We’re all very open-minded about addiction until it might impact the bottom line. And though I run companies and manage projects, some of the posts in my story sound like I’m about to shatter. Capitalism and fragility? Too risky. I’ve cobbled together enough financial support that I can write pretty much with impunity. If I were just starting a career or had a family to feed? No way.
And what’s the worst thing that could happen from me sharing my story? It’s already happened: my mind used to be free to think about truth and love and beauty. Now much, sometimes most, of my mind is incarcerated with thoughts of drinking or of thinking how now to drink. My mind is no longer my own.
I’ve only been writing my story since April 28. I have countless emails and messages from people like I am who hear their stories in mine and feel less alone.
“please keep it up”
Count on it.
Silence: Part Two. If I make it to Chapter V, if I have some tolerably persistent happiness, I will become political. Silence enrages me. Something happened in this town. Something is happening to women in this country. Something is happening nationally and globally. If I make it, I will have something to say.
You didn’t know, did you? I drank at home at 5:00 PM. If you saw me drink in public, you saw me have 2-4 glasses. In our small town, you may have thought it was just one of my quirks to get a cab the few miles from my house to and from an event. You thought I was just fine, didn’t you?
The nicest people can become addicts.
That you didn’t know was my fault. I didn’t tell you and I didn’t ask you for help. I kept silent.
No more silence.
Thanks. Your story is inspiring my own, quiet battle. After reading your addiction story, my “one glass” that turned into 4 shared bottles of wine, screamed at me that I, too, was halfway down the slippery slope. I’m using your app and avoiding that one glass. Thank you. Please continue to write about your journey, for me and others like me, but more importantly, stay on your journey, for you.
It’s all well and good for people to write about their addictions when it’s “safe” to. But to someone who is in the grips of addiction much more dangerous writing is needed. Thank you for being courageous enough to share your journey now, just as those who need this transparency are struggling now.