In which I indulge in shameless autobiography in an effort to suggest to those whose suffering comes from inside themselves that I used to suffer a lot, and now suffer less.

“When the brain is diseased, the functions that become pathological are the person’s emotional life, thought processes, and behavior. And thus creates the addict’s central dilemma: if recovery is to occur, the brain, the impaired organ of decision making, needs to initiate its own healing process.” – Gabor Mate, In the Realm of Hungry Ghosts 

Every addiction support group includes people sharing their stories of addiction, and we remember together what a varied yet identical hell we lived in as drug addicts and alcoholics. Here is some of my story. 

I was a binge drinker starting in college, and no one was concerned. Then in my late 20s and early 30s, when I was working two jobs, I’d finish my morning shift, drink and eat until I passed out, then go work the night shift. If anyone was concerned, no one said so. In my 30s, I’d finish my day and eat junk food and take down half a box of wine a night. I was 300+ pounds, and handled my liquor well – it was rare even that I was hung over, and I generally didn’t worry about embarrassing myself or think my physical safety was jeopardized. When I turned 40 and started keto, I understood that alcohol would keep me from my weight loss goals (I also understood incorrectly that all alcohol was high-carb). I quit drinking overnight, and it wasn’t even hard. 

Everything changed when I hit my weight loss goals and started drinking again. Instead of a slowly accumulating warming glow, I went from happily drinking to blackout drunk in a matter of minutes. Without the additional 200 pounds to regulate my blood alcohol level, I lost all sense of how to drink without endangering myself. Added to this was a behavioral escalation that I still don’t know how to explain, except to say that my addicted brain had decided that drinking was the only thing I enjoyed doing any more. I would clock out at work, and start drinking hard. On weekends, I would drink from the time I woke up, until about noon when I would pass out. Upon waking, I would drink again until I passed out again in the evening. It was all I wanted to do. It was a small, sad life. 

Intervention

And never mind that my sweet Daniel, who was a few years into his recovery, asked me not to get drunk around him. I had asked him when we resumed our relationship in 2015 what the rules were, and he said he didn’t mind seeing me have a drink or two, but anything over that was too much. I readily agreed to this reasonable rule, and kept it for a long time. I blew this on a couple of occasions. But then he didn’t complain, so I thought I got away with it. One of the most hilarious features of drunk people is that they are perpetually convincing themselves others don’t know they’re drunk.

Then. One day, I started drinking while with Dan, and Did. Not. Stop. I blew right past his two-drink limit, on to something like 6-8 drinks total, and it upset him a great deal. Afterward, I knew he would confront me about it, and I came to the conversation prepared to make an apology speech and promise to do better. But he didn’t accuse, and didn’t point fingers. He asked a simple question – “What’s going on with you, Stef?” – and my every darkest and unspoken anxiety and shame came tumbling out. 

I resolved in that conversation to change my drinking (although I didn’t have in mind exactly what that would be yet). I said I wanted to try to start by myself, and if I couldn’t do it, I would reach out for help, which in my mind consisted of counseling and support groups. Well, I couldn’t do it on my own, but I did follow through on those commitments. I’m sober 2 years continuously, and sober most of the last 3 years. 

Life After Alcohol

The thing I remember most about quitting drinking in August of 2018 was how long and empty the hours and days and weeks seemed.  Everything felt so…boring…without alcohol. What on earth would I do with all that time? It was far and away the hardest thing about quitting for me. It’s one of the reasons people in early recovery go to support groups – a lot. It’s something to do with your time. 

I was utterly powerless over my drinking. The only line I didn’t cross was drinking at work. My efforts to control my substance abuse always failed, to the extent that I even tried. “I’ll drink a glass of water between every drink.” “No more than one drink an hour.” “I’ll only drink when I’m with other people – where are some other people right now?” “I’ll only drink on holidays.” My substance use was absolutely undermining my value system. Wanting to be a good daughter, partner, employee – all of that was imperiled by my drinking. I hadn’t experienced big losses here, but I was well on my way. Had I known when I quit drinking how much better I would be in each of these areas, I would have quit a long time ago. 

My whole adult life, I was always fun, always ready to party. Fun Stef.  Being a loadie was kind of an important part of my identity, and walking away from that meant losing a part of who I thought I was. But after my weight loss, drinking changed for me. It wasn’t the social drinking of a witty bon vivant, but the addicted, compulsive, joyless drinking of the alcoholic. Every time. I will go one better and say that rather than enhancing the quality of the experience, it’s made many of life’s most memorable moments pass by in an alcoholic haze. When I’m drinking, I’m not present; I’m obsessing about my next drink. If I’m honest about sobriety, I’m less fun and hilarious, and more earnest and serious, than I used to be. No, the nights are not epic in ways I used to enjoy. But also, my life is not ruined in ways I did not enjoy. 

I still marvel at what a failure of imagination all that day drinking was. Did I really not think that there were other things to do in life besides drink? In sobriety, I saw life become more textured and interesting. That’s a far cry from the life I had before, where all I thought about was killing time to get through life as quickly and painlessly as possible. The choice was stark – addict Stef, or everything else Stef? Addiction is enslavement – your only choice is to drink. Drinking is the choice that forces you to give up all the other choices. When I quit, it seemed like I was depriving myself of one of my favorite things (for my brain, it was probably my absolute favorite thing). What I found were a million new favorite things.