I have a story to tell.
And I'm going to tell it.
I don't have all the answers.
Not even close.
I'm taking it one day at a time.
Yesterday marked one year since the day that I made the conscious decision to stop drinking.
I meant to write about it yesterday but just got too busy living life and enjoying being as much of a regular person as I am capable of.
As I'm typing, I'm watching my oldest daughter's dog dig in the covers on our bed.
He's trying to get the covers exactly like he wants them.
They have to be just right...turned just the perfect way...just soft enough and scattered about so that he feels secure.
He's not the least bit shy about his kicking around either.
His name is Zeke and I'm a little like him.
I enjoy a good nap and I had one today...both dogs kept me company.
One of the things I've had to adjust to in sobriety is having so much more time on my hands.
Hangovers take up time...time you don't get back.
Mornings after used to make me so mad.
Especially towards the end.
I was drinking so much the night before that it would take the entire next day to recover.
The therapist that I started seeing this week was astonished that I managed to drink so much for so long without anybody knowing.
Apparently, I'm pretty good at hiding things.
She and the Dr. that I saw to adjust my anxiety and depression meds were both astonished that I had not had major consequences of my actions too.
No DUI, no lost marriage, no lost jobs, no "risky" behavior...etc.
I was also a very highly functioning alcoholic.
I didn't start drinking until everyone else went to bed.
Or at least until everyone was in for the night.
I drank in my closet mostly.
I generally kept my stash there.
I wasn't the mother with the wine glass after work.
I was the mother who hid.
My Dr., therapist, and I discussed some things I haven't thought about in a very long time.
I've been running from the past.
The first time I stopped drinking was in 1988.
I quit then because the man I had fallen in love with pointed out to me that I might have a problem.
I married him and didn't drink again for 12-13 years.
I then started to drink again socially
2005 was the year my drinking began to escalate.
I would buy the Jack Daniels necessary for the bourbon sauce for Thanksgiving Bread Pudding.
But instead of a very small bottle...I began to buy the medium sized bottle...and then the larger bottle.
And then I would enjoy the rest of it during the Thanksgiving break.
By the next year, I was refilling the bottle.
I would have an extra bottle on hand so that my husband wouldn't know how much I had been drinking.
If he looked at the Thanksgiving bottle, the amount looked the same.
Because I was refilling it from the extra bottle I kept on hand.
I'm shaking my head.
Jack Daniels was my go-to for a while.
I can smell it even as I'm sitting here in my chair, typing.
I poured it in water mostly and would sip on it through the night.
It took the edge off...my mind would calm down for a while.
It was much needed relief.
My mom thinks alcohol is evil.
She lost her father and both her brothers...and they were alcoholics.
What I've tried to explain to my mom, however, is that the alcohol is not my problem.
Don't hear me wrong here; I absolutely can't drink.
My untreated anxiety was my problem.
I was too scared to get help.
And probably in all honesty too scared to really know what I was scared of.
But, I'm not scared anymore.