Remembering how I used to wake up every morning with a sense of abject failure because I had let myself down — again — by drinking waaaaay more than I’d intended to — again — and couldn’t stop. After just 2 weeks, I’m waking up refreshed, clear and without recrimination, after a deep, sound sleep, including NOT waking up in a cold sweat at 4:00 a.m. with my heart pounding in my ears.
I think about alcohol every day. At first there were no urges, no cravings, no arguments with myself. Then the voices of self-sabotage gradually started in on me — the slimy little voices of the parts of me that are NOT on my side have been coming at me with ridiculous things like, well, now that you’re not addicted anymore, I bet you could do harm reduction after all (I know, this makes no sense, I’m just reporting the conversation in my head). I’m sure it would be okay if you just had ONE drink once in a while with a nice meal in a restaurant, you know, a civilized kind of drink. I’m not giving these voices the time of day — lalalalalala can’t hear you I have beans in my ears — but still, I think about alcohol every day, and every day I seriously consider the question of whether I might have a drink today.
So far, every day, I’ve been able to say that it’s not an option. I’ve been able to recognize the voices of despair and desperation for what they are — self-sabotage and misfiring synapses. I’m thinking of them as coming from the opioid receptors or something, as if the receptors had individual sentience and personality and they’re being starved out and complaining bitterly about it. I figure they’ll say anything to get their fix, and I’m not about to give it to them.
So far, every day, I’ve been acknowledging that the urge is there, consciously aware of the internal dialogue that used to win me over day after day after day, and I’ve been saying no, I don’t think so, not today, not now. I actually think sometimes about how it would feel to have a drink. I don’t really think I’d like it very much at this point.
So far, every day, I’ve been focusing on how good, how clear, how joyful I feel, not only in the mornings but on into the evenings, when I never ever used to do much of anything but drink in front of the TV (or maybe out in the yard). I’m feeling unclouded by doubt, worry, or alcohol, for the first time in many years. Feeling much better than I have in years.
The Spousal Unit commented last night about how he admires my resolve in this. I accepted the comment in the spirit in which it was given, but I was uncomfortable with it, in that it suggests there’s a choice in the matter — I could be resolved and steady or I could be losing my resolve — and I can’t go down that road again. I need to be in a place where that is NOT NOT NOT an option. Ever. Where it’s not a matter of resolve, it’s just the way it is. Where it’s not a matter of making a choice every day, all day, till I finally give in and have a drink. There are no choices to be made. No decisions. The decision has already been made. All I have to do is hold up my end of the bargain, which is that I. Do. Not. Drink. The End.
The decision to quit altogether came about because of reading Memoirs of an Addicted Brain (Marc Lewis) and the related blog (http://www.memoirsofanaddictedbrain.com/). The book explains very clearly the mechanisms involved, which really helped me to realize why I needed to quit altogether (deep ruts are formed in the brain when the same chemicals follow the same pathways over and over and over again), and what I needed to do to support that. There was a blog entry that explained why meditating is good for changing addictive patterns, which caused an aha! moment that’s been resonating ever since. So I’ve been meditating, and doing an awareness practice “retreat” through an email class focused on actually changing behaviour. It’s led by Cheri Huber (http://www.cherihuber.com/), the Zen monk who has written a good number of books about ending the suffering we all put ourselves through by meditating and by focusing awareness on how we keep ourselves suffering (with titles like There Is Nothing Wrong with You, Suffering Is Optional, and, most recently, What You Practice Is What You Have). These two people saved my life with their work. I’ve wanted to die so many times, and now I really feel like I’m living again. I’m so grateful.
Driving my own bus 
Wonderful post. I can relate to so much of what you wrote and feel. I quit drinking for 5 years during a time in my life that I was meditating daily and going to retreats a few times each year. Slowly, with the advent of a family and meditation taking a back seat, alcohol slipped back into my life. Most would say my drinking is under control but I know it’s not. When I drink with friends I don’t know when (or maybe how) to stop. The next day I’m full of guilt. It’s hard with kids to linger in that state of mind but it’s there, lurking about. Do I want this when I’m in my 40s 50s and even 60s? Clearly not. So if I don’t quit now what’s to say I’ll be able to later in life? I truly appreciate you writing about your experience. It’s helping me realize I’m not the only one with these thoughts and that quitting isn’t so crazy.
Thank you.
Thank you for your comment. I hear you loud and clear. I can offer this encouragement: quitting is NOT crazy, and I think you’re absolutely right that if you don’t quit now it may be much harder later in life. I’m 56. The process that brought me to this day has been a very long and painful one, and I wouldn’t wish it on anyone. It’s not the first time I’ve quit — I was sober for nearly 2 years and started again — but it’s been harder this time. Patterns more ingrained, harder to change, resistance is louder. I’m determined to make it stick this time. I don’t EVER want to go back to the dark, nasty place I was in again.
Drinking too much when you’re with friends is a real toughie, isn’t it? You’ve got the social factor on top of everything else. If I had to name a time when I started drinking heavily and it started to become a problem, it would be grad school, when I made some wonderful friends who would get together for big meals and everybody would have too much — way too much — to drink. How can you say no to a glass of wine when you’re sharing a fabulous meal with friends/ It’s part of our culture, it’s expected, it’s ingrained. But for me, it was the thin edge of the wedge, and it was all downhill from there. I needed to say no, but couldn’t — didn’t think I had a problem until later on, in hindsight.
A final encouragement: you can do it. I have faith that if you’re asking the questions and you’re acknowledging the guilt and the darkness and how it’s affecting your life with your kids, you can do this. You’ve done it before, you can do it again! Sending you hugs and strength.
I am so struck by your post that I can’t say much. So why fill in a comment box? Just to connect, for now.
I guess I can say this much. I went through everything you’re going through with narcotics, years ago, as you know from my book. And life changed so completely when I stopped. As with you, crushing depression changed to….ongoing contentment, even happiness. Even joy! What a shock.
Well, I still drink, and I don’t like it. My drinking is controlled. Usually. But with the 2-3 drinks I allow myself most nights, there is no improvement in my state of mind….in fact I feel more stunned and stupid. Booze is just a neutralizing downer, unless you really get trashed. In which case the next day (beginning at 4 AM — exactly!) is so much worse. But the feeling of wanting, craving, which you and I know so well, just doesn’t care about what comes next.
I guess it’s my turn to be inspired by you.
Research shows that addicts will peak on dopamine (which is very much connected to the opioid system) even when they correctly predict that taking the drug or drink will make them feel worse. But dopamine drops back to normal if the goal simply remains out of reach.
We’re such simple creatures. But we have to be so clever to outsmart that simplicity.
More soon.
Oooh, that’s an interesting new piece of information about dopamine dropping back to normal — so that’s why I’m not really craving it when there’s no booze in the house! It makes so much sense!
Sounds like alcohol is really small potatoes for you after all you’ve been through. I do wonder, though, whether we just transfer the addictive tendency to some other aspect of our lives — work, TV, food, exercise, whatever — and if so, is there anyone who is “normal”, i.e., ISN’T addicted to something or driven by some compulsion or another?
May we all continue to inspire each other! In company, there is strength.
It’s true, alcohol was a way of transferring my addictive tendency from something that was killing me to something I could control. And it is small potatoes for me…though it uses up precious time and clarity, and sometimes I get quite mad at myself for that. (or I just quit drinking for a few days). When I quit narcotics 30 years ago, alcohol filled a space and provided structure. But it just never turned me on enough to exert the same kind of pull as drugs. For you, it’s big potatoes, so you have to provide your structure and fill your empty spaces in other ways.
Indeed, craving goes down with availability…all other things being equal. It’s a simple and smart strategy…. Keep it up!
YES!!
You okay?
YES! Just thinking. 🙂 Thank you for caring!
I am interested in the “social aspect” with respect to alcohol use. It is difficult to be an abstainer if your partner wishes to continue using and does not see a problem in getting lit up regularly.
Similarly every “event” seems to carry pressure to drink alcohol.
Sure, you can elect to be the “stranger” but even if this is tolerated it is not comfortable to watch a group of adults with responsibilities at home and at work gradually become intoxicated and
progressively uninhibited.
Alcoholic, alcohol dependent, I am still unsure.
“It is difficult to be an abstainer if your partner wishes to continue using and does not see a problem in getting lit up regularly.” Yikes, yes, it sure is. (See Marc’s comment about how the dopamine subsides when there’s no fix available, otherwise it’s just raw craving that doesn’t care about consequences.) You’re up against a much tougher challenge when your partner isn’t on board. Yet my encouragement is to not let that stop you. It may be that if you stop, she or he will be influenced. That has been my experience. When my husband quit smoking and I was still drinking, I stood in awe of his accomplishment, and his struggle and his success pushed me to take baby steps to quit myself.
Yes, events do seem to pressure everyone to drink. Again, my encouragement is to not let that stop you. Next time you’re at the pub, have a look around and see how many people are actually NOT drinking. My addiction counsellor does this regularly (occupational hazard) and reports that you’d be surprised at how many people are drinking coffee or whatever. Some strategies that have worked for me: 1. Being the DD. Socially acceptable — nay, socially responsible — reason not to drink. 2. Telling people that alcohol disagrees with me (god’s honest truth). 3. For those who are close enough or rude enough to press you further, lie if you have to. (I mean it.) “I’m allergic” (which is actually technically true). “I’m way better when I don’t have any yeast” (that one usually launches you into a discussion of the horrors of no-yeast diets and moves the focus right off your not drinking). “I’m on medication that I really shouldn’t have alcohol with” (also technically true … I’ve just been ignoring that for years). Other people I know have used things like “it disagrees with my stomach,” “I’m getting an ulcer,” … you get the idea. 4. Try the truth: “I’ve been drinking too much lately, so I’m just kinda easing back on it.” Most people will leave you alone when you say something like that.
As for the discomfort in watching others … I hear ya. And I ask: is it actually any better when you’re one of the adults doing the same thing? …
You may actually find that when you stop drinking and your friends see that it’s for real, you’ll lose some friends. This may seem like a bad thing at the time. But if you reframe it, you can see it as getting to see who your friends really are and who was just a drinking buddy.
And finally … those pesky labels. I personally find them unhelpful. Either way, any way, the problem behaviour is the same. Does it matter what we call it? I struggled with this one for a long time, and I see in hindsight (20-20 of course) that it was an excuse to keep doing what I was doing. After all, I wasn’t a true “alcoholic” because I hadn’t hit rock bottom, and I could still function — kind of — during the day. Once I let go of the label, it became clearer that I needed to do something before it actually killed me.
Good luck my friend — keep in touch!
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