FIN

The End

How it Was

April 11, 2006 I was sitting in a fancy Italian restaurant with my husband. I was horribly hungover from the night before. I had probably put away about two and a half bottles of Chardonnay by myself, then got up and went to work the next morning at 8:00am. I may have been still drunk technically as I drove to work, then the hangover would set in around noon and I would scrape through the rest of the day.

We were sitting in this fancy restaurant for dinner and the idea was to have a romantic evening. There was nothing romantic about my wan complexion, my puffy face and red nose, the deadness in my eyes and my churning stomach. I didn't want to be there, I wanted to be home in bed so I could try again the next day to string together two or three days where I didn't drink myself into a blackout or unconsciousness. Every time I started to recover from a hangover, I wanted to be drunk again, dead drunk. It was the only place I had any peace and quiet.

My husband broached the subject of my stress at work. Long hours, busy days. He was settling into a new position at his job and making decent money and suggested that maybe I quit working for awhile. He could see what it was doing to me. The stress of my job was making me miserable, and I was drinking more and more. He was offering to shoulder the financial load so I could make art for awhile, maybe a year or so.

He thought that work was making me miserable, that work was making me drink. He didn't know what I knew right then. That the drinking was making me drink, and the drinking was making me miserable, and that not working wasn't going to make me quit drinking. I had a sudden vision of my non-working days before me. All-nighters with a paintbrush and a bottle. All day nursing a hangover only to do it again, and again, and again. I saw wine bottles turning into vodka bottles and I saw myself growing sicker and sicker. I saw my life fall apart, I saw my friends and family disgusted with what I would become. I saw my husband leaving me, alone in a big house full of messy paintings and booze. I had my moment of clarity.

That is when my journey truly started. I started this blog over a year after that day. I spent a year going to therapy, going to WFS (Women for Sobriety) meetings and a few AA meetings, having a relapse here at there at the beginning. One time I was reading the Big Book with a glass of wine in my hand! How horrible is that?!

I realized when I got sober that my problems were not the booze alone. That was terrifying. I had thought that if I removed the drinking everything else would fall into place, not so. I believe that is what causes the most relapses, becoming aware that even sober, we still have problems. I got sober, and other problems presented themselves. I tackled the ones I could work on, I had to temporarily ignore the ones I couldn't change.

Also, it me aware that since booze was not the only problem for me, perhaps it wasn't the biggest problem. I started drinking again, carefully and moderately, and continued therapy.

Alcoholism may be black and white for some people. I know for certain I have used and abused alcohol in my life over and over again. Physically, I do not believe I am an alcoholic. I don't think that genetic code is there on my DNA. Psychologically, I have struggled with learning to deal with life. Early on (as a teen) alcohol was my savior and I stuck with it even when it wasn't "working" anymore as an adult.

I believe the term "alcoholic" has a grey area. I put the label on myself for a year, tried it out, and it didn't feel like it fit after awhile. At first the stories I heard sounded familiar and I could nod my head and think, "yes, yes, me too", but after a time those stories sounded less and less like me. As my head cleared I identified less with the people around me who were supposed to be my peers. I didn't "get" the woman who looked at the bottle of mouthwash and thought about drinking it. I didn't "get" the guy who went out for a beer and then woke up three days later at home with no clothes on. Those stories didn't make any sense to me....and I started to question everything all over again.

I had a bad habit. I needed options. I found quite a few options. Over the past three years I've changed my way of doing things, and also changed my outlook on life and what I am doing here on this earth. Even when I go though old journal entries, or entries here on this blog I can read the difference in my voice. There is a calmness there that never existed before. There is a quiet place in my head I never knew I could go to without alcohol. The fact that I can choose to drink or not drink is the biggest step for me. I am not left without a choice anymore.

I hated thinking I had no choice. When I was drinking heavily I had no choice, I couldn't stop myself. When I was 100% abstinent I had no choice, and that was what I needed for a time, but then that pissed me off too. I guess I'm just as stubborn as a mule. I wanted to have my sobriety and my clear head, and drink my beer too.

I was warned, you "go back out" and it will be worse than before. I've been waiting for that, since 2007. I've had other problems pop up, and life is not always a bed of roses, and I quit going to therapy and then found myself back again a year later, for other reasons, and still I am not drinking two and a half bottles of white wine in a sitting. Still I am using other coping skills and learning how to swim in this life, how to Swim in Clear Water. I will be learning and practicing for the rest of my days.

My decision to end this blog is mostly because I'm tried of the subject. It doesn't consume me anymore. Last summer I veered off and had months of posts revolving around other problems in my life that I could never go into much detail about. It was hard because I wanted to write about it, but it would have been revealing too much about the inner workings of my marriage, it would have been half my husbands story, which is not mine to tell, and none of it had anything to do with alcoholism or recovery.

Let me say he and I would not have been able to get where we are today if I had not addressed my drinking problem starting back in 2006. We may not have even made it to 2007. Had I continued on that path I would be a very sick woman right now. I could not have kept up that kind of behavior. Had we tried to address the more recent issues with all the drinking going on, we would have gotten nowhere.

I feel fortunate that I am where I am in this life. I am glad I stumbled upon the blog format, and found other bloggers over the past three and a half years to commiserate with, to sometimes disagree with. To read and enjoy all your stories, your wit and wisdom, to appreciate your comments publicly here and privately via email. I will keep my blogger profile so I can still comment on your blogs. I will keep my swimmingclear (at) gmail (dot) com email active so you can say hello if you like. I may even start a new blog at some point. Maybe a blog about painting, about trying to be an artist. Maybe I'll start a blog about being 40. Maybe I'll write about being childless by choice. Maybe when I hit menopause I'll need to write about that. I'm sure something will come up to consume me eventually.

I'm getting more and more intrigued by this make-your-own-book

I'm getting more and more intrigued by this make-your-own-book thing. I told hubby about it and he thought it sounded like a good idea. I'd been wondering how I could keep all the writing I've done here on a disc or as a file on my computer, while being able to dismantle it afterwards.

Some people may think, why not just leave it up? I can't see myself doing that. If I'm going to stop writing here I'm just going to just take the blog down all together. I hate it when I stumble across a blog that seems interesting only to realize it hasn't been updated in a year or more. It seems like something just left dangling in the wind. Stagnant. I guess I just feel like if my business is finished, and you were not here for the ride when it was happening, then you don't get to jump on later.

Meanwhile, back here at the ranch, hubby and I talked a little bit this morning about how we're doing in marriage counseling. I'm thinking we are close to done. Not immediately, but maybe by this summer we can say goodbye to couples counseling. We are certainly more connected now than we have been in years, in a good way, not a co-dependent way. I don't feel like I have to hide thoughts from him anymore, and I don't think he's hiding anything from me anymore.

We are gentle with each other and we are expressing our needs to one another without fear. We have talked about some past resentments and have moved on with forgiveness and understanding. I think we're in the clear on a few subjects that have been touchy for years. When I hug him now I often think, "god Anybeth, you almost left him, you wanted to leave him for another man, what the hell?! That would have been the biggest mistake of your life".

It's funny how "crazy" can just sneak up on a person. I guess in reality it didn't sneak up on me, it had been building and building. Like the alcohol abuse over the years. It didn't happen overnight, it took years of ebb and flow to get really bad. It took years of work and healing and determination to be where I am now.

My marriage didn't get rocky and disconnected overnight. It took years of distance and autonomy and drinking and isolating to get where we were. I can actually look at Pirate Boy now and think, he's very charming and very good looking, but what else?

Would he rub my back when I'm gasping for breath having an asthma attack? Would he support me when I'm having difficulties with family issues? Would he laugh when I fart in bed? Would he take the dog out in the rain and dark on a winter night because I'm already in my pajamas? Would he bring me coffee in bed on a gloomy Sunday morning? Would he build me a new computer? Would he have gone to marriage counseling with me if we needed it? Would he have put up with me falling in love with another man, right before his very eyes? Would he have stuck by me for 15 years of drinking problems, job changes, pet emergencies, arguments, financial difficulties, remodeling projects, weight changes, and occasional depression and mania?

Maybe, but I wouldn't count on it.

I think my next post will detail my journey with alcohol up to now. It's time to revisit that old theme and do some compare and contrast. Then, I think I'm done.

Right now it's a lovely and sunny Spring morning here in the Northwest. Time to hit the gym and get my day moving. I have some paintings to frame, a dog that needs a bath, and some grocery shopping to do. Life is good.

ch-ch-ch-ch-changes.

It looks like there's a rash of bloggers hanging up their hats. I have to confess I'm starting to feel it too. Perhaps there's a desire to just retire this blog and start another. I've strayed so far from my original subject matter, this blog hasn't been about alcohol for quite some time. I'm glad that is the case, there's nothing worse than singing the same old song over and over, with nothing new. Change is good. In my case, change has been amazing.

I haven't felt like writing much. I haven't even been writing in my regular journal. True to form, when I'm content and happy I have nothing to say. I still have ups and downs of course, but for the most part things are very good in my life right now.

I can still look back to April of 2006, when I decided I had a serious alcohol problem and took steps to address that. April of 2009 had me starting an emotional affair with a co-worker, completely upside down in my head. Here it is almost April 2010 and hubby and I are still working on our relationship but we've made such huge strides in the right direction I can't even believe I almost left him. That would have been a horrible mistake, and again, somehow we made it through to the other side of things.

I found a website where you can download your blog into a book format and they will print and ship it to you for a fee. Viola! I can print my blog and then delete the whole thing. My "journal" has been left open on the Internet this whole time, it even has places you can comment on what you read. It feels like it's time to close up the journal and go live my life.

I may have a couple more posts in me. Maybe I can make it an even 600 posts. I think this April will find me in the midst of more changes, good ones.

Thoughts on a Saturday Morning

I was up early today. I mean eeeaaarrrly.
Woke up around 4:30am with itchy scratchy eyes from seasonal allergies. Couldn't really fall back asleep after that. Just said "to heck with it" and got up at 5:00am and started the coffee brewing. I may regret my early rise later when I'm trying to stay awake at a dinner party tonight.

So far I walked the dog, had coffee, went to the gym and the grocery store, and now here I sit. Hubby is still in bed, like a sane person on a Saturday.

When I walked the dog around 6:00am it was still pitch black. A dark Spring morning, about 50 degrees with the knowledge that later today it should creep up to 70. I wandered down the street with him and heard soft voices and bottles clinking. Realized a porch light was on and a neighbor must have been wrapping up a Friday night party. About three people sitting on the porch, talking quietly and drinking. I could see the cherry tip of lit cigarettes. They weren't bothering anyone or making any ruckus, but they most certainly had not been to bed yet. I was laughing to myself as we walked by. I remember doing that, it's been a long time, but I know I've done it. Pulled the all-nighter and then slept all the next day. They are going to miss a lovely day today. Sunny and warm with everything in bloom.

I'm going to miss part of it too. I have to go to work today. Bah-humbug. At least I'll walk to work and get some fresh air. Hubby will meet me at 4:00pm and walk me home. We have plans tonight that include corned beef and cabbage, a late St.Patricks Day party. Somehow I'm just not all that bummed about working today. My heart and mind are easy today. Happy Weekend.

Home

I went on my trip to see my family, and now I am home.

I've been home for two days now. I still don't know what to say about it. It was a discovery of sorts. I discovered a little bit about myself, and that is always a good thing, even if at the time it feels like a bad thing.

I missed my husband terribly, but I knew that would happen. Funny thing it's kind of the first time in a long time I've really truly missed him. I felt his absence and would go to bed at night trying to imagine his arms around me. We constantly emailed and texted each other. I called almost every day, sometimes crying and needing to be talked down. He was there for me in every way except physically, and I never before relied on him so much.

Going to see my family does not feel like going home. I told my therapist when I envision visiting them I see a dark cloud over everything. I know it's horrible, because these people love me very much, but it's the truth. This time, there actually were dark clouds. It rained cats and dogs the entire time I was there. When I needed to get out and walk and clear my head I had to bundle up and bring an umbrella and brave the wind. I dodged puddles and mud and the wind blowing in my phone made it hard to have conversations with hubby.

I discovered that I don't feel a part of this family. I am an "other". I don't know why I feel this way, I just do. I don't belong, and the longer I live away the more that is true. I used to be able to bounce back and forth when I was younger, wait, that's not true. I used to just fight with my mother all the time. Now I step back and just internally shake my head. I refuse to engage in an argument. But I don't belong. I am not cut from the same cloth. If I ever was cut from the same cloth I have changed so far from it you would think it the difference between a silk dress and a suit of armor.

I discovered that when I stay in their home I revert back to a child, or rather, emotionally I relive the feelings I had as a child. Gone is the 40 year old woman who is a manager, a wife, a homeowner, a good friend, a good conversationalist, full of life and laughter and opinions.

In her place is a 10 year old. A 10 year old who is excruciatingly shy, unsure of herself, frightened, quiet, sad, awkward, and angry. A 10 year old that just wants to be alone, wants to go away.

I wanted to drink every-single-minute I was in that house. No. I wanted to get drunk every minute I was in that house. Triggers everywhere. I gave in a little bit here and there. Two glasses of wine while out with a friend, so I could come back a little buzzed. A beer with another friend, so I could come back and go to sleep. I didn't touch the whiskey that was in the basement next to the bed I was sleeping on. I looked at it, but I didn't go there.

I haven't had a drink since I got back. Surprise! I should have been knocking back drinks the entire flight home, but I didn't. I did the best I could on this trip. I went out with friends here and there and got myself back. I would leave the house and run down the driveway like I did as a teenager, into a car with a waiting friend. It felt like, "Quick! Hit the gas and go before they decide I can't leave".

I would go to a tea house with Johnny and be me again. I went to Nikki's house and hung out with her and her kids, and I was me again. I would soothe my soul in tiny bursts, find my adult self, and then try to hang on to her as I re-entered the vortex. I would talk to my husband on the phone, and remember who I am now, and remember I have a home 3000 miles a way and a life that I love, and it kept me hanging on by my fingernails until that flight back.

It's so good to be home.

Better Changes

I think I've made it clear in the past that my husbands snoring made me crazy. Like, I was going to smother-him-with-a-pillow crazy. I was unable to make clear to him how his snoring affected me. I was unable to explain to him that it drove me to tears, extreme anger, and fear. That's right, fear.

Over the past several months with marriage counseling the snoring finally came up as a resentment. I was able to articulate that it's more than just my lost sleep. It's more than an annoyance. It goes much deeper to being concerned about his health and well being. Concern over possible sleep apnea if the snoring goes unchecked. Concern over rapid weight gain, and finally a deep sadness that I could not sleep in the same bed with him. I was feeling a profound loss in having to sleep in a different room from him, away from his noisy breathing.

The snoring was all tied into the problems in our marriage. My drinking made it worse, because I would sleep in my studio if I had been drinking so as not to disturb his sleep. There was the catch. I didn't want to disturb his sleep, but I perceived he didn't give a shit about my sleep since he refused to do anything about the snoring.

He has been getting more exercise, and eating better. The snoring has gotten better. I am awakened only a little bit during the night, and I can ask him to roll over and it stops long enough for me to get back to sleep. I am not drinking to excess, I am not sleeping in my studio. I have not slept in my studio for almost three months now. So here's what we did.

Today, we finally put the futon in my studio back into "couch" position. It had been in "bed" position for well over a year. I had been sleeping in there three to five nights a week for a long, long time. Sometimes the whole night, sometimes half the night. All last Spring and Summer, into this Fall. It was confusing for me to go to bed in one place and move in the middle of the night to wake up in another room. I was tired all the time.

It felt symbolic to me to put it back. I don't need this bed anymore. I have a bed that I share with my spouse. Of course I will still do things in my studio. Paint or sew or write or read. I don't want to have my own home within my home, away, anymore. This futon, it's going to stay a couch now, I swear.

Ready, Steady, Go

Well the cherry tree is blossoming. It's got to be at least 65 degrees in the sun today. Just took a long walk with hubby. I'm not at work. Life is good.

Positive news from my friend up North. I got some counseling referrals and emailed them to her. She responded positively with thanking me for my caring and concern. I'm not the only friend of hers that has suggested therapy and she is seriously considering it now. I hope she goes for it, but I have done what I can do and can only sit back and be supportive.

I am readying myself for a trip to visit family next week. I'm not going because I want to, but out of a sense of obligation. My mother is having health issues that are simply related to old age, and I feel it necessary to "check up on" them. I would rather be going to have fun with friends or have a vacation. This feels more like work, and I'm struggling with it. I don't know what I'll be doing when I get there. There might be snow. It's bound to be colder than here. I'm trying to achieve a calm attitude...and really...it's only five days. It just never feels like it's the right time to leave.

I hate to leave my husband for five days right now, when we are getting along so well and enjoying each other so much. He doesn't want me to go either, but he understands my need to do this right now. There is no better time. I'm hardly working right now, I may as well take advantage. The stress I'm feeling over this trip is immensely disproportionate to reality. I have aging parents and that's a fact of life I cannot change, but for some reason it overwhelms me. I take it to my therapist, and we talk about the little kid in my head that keeps screaming I don't wanna go! We are going to nurture that little kid and make it OK, at least that's what she tells me.

I've turned this into a gloomy Saturday post and that was not my intention. I'm giving the rest of this day over to relaxing. I have a book, a dog, and sun streaming in the windows. Hubby and I have no plans tonight other than to make dinner together and hang out. The grunty pug dog is staring at me right now, waiting for a snuggle. For today, life is good. I will worry about tomorrow, tomorrow.

Why I Didn't Drink Last night

The power of suggestion is strong.

I had three, count 'em three, therapy session this week. Monday with my hubby to visit his therapist, Tuesday with my own, and Wednesday with our marriage counselor.

Monday and Tuesday were rough, and Tuesday night my husband was "talking me down off the ledge" so to speak. By Wednesday I had my head straighter and we eased up on any tough stuff and just had a mellow session, because that was about all I could take.

My therapist, on Tuesday, asked me what I was going to do to reward myself after three days of serious introspection. She suggested I do something to honor myself Wednesday. She said, what are you going to do besides get loaded?

Damnit! The thing is....I wasn't even thinking about drinking until she said it. Then I couldn't get it out of my head all day yesterday!

It is a reward system for me. I used drinking that way for many years. Exams over? Have a drink. End of the work day? Drink. Did I clean the whole house? Do laundry and dishes? Drink. Yard work? Remodeling project? Have a drink. Relax. You did a lot of stuff, you deserve it.

Having three days of intense therapy sessions is NOT a good reason to drink. In fact it would undo everything that had been done, correct? Unravel it?

I went about my day yesterday after therapy with a small voice in the back of my head: stay sober. I was good to myself by finally starting a project that is long overdue. I started framing some paintings, a chore that stumps me over and over again. I got down in that dank basement and cleaned up a bit and just got to work. I am going to commit to working on these things every Wednesday until they are all framed, now that it's not 39 degrees in the basement any longer.

I was good to myself by taking a walk with hubby to the bookstore and getting some new books. I was good to myself by eating a fine dinner prepared by someone else and brought home in a box. I was good to myself by taking my vitamins and settling down in front of the TV to watch basketball, without a drink in my hand. I took a long hot shower during halftime and was in bed with a new book by 9:30pm.

My reward was staying sober. For today, I am up early and feeling refreshed and ready to face another day.

Home

Whew, a whirlwind tour up in Seattle. Plenty of eating out and shopping. A little bit of drinking, but I'm happy with how I moderated. I didn't overdo it.

My friend is not happy. There were certainly a few bursts of tears here and there. This place reminded her of him. That place was where they had their first date. This other place was their last date. I tried, I really tried, to just listen and be there. I tried to talk in a soft voice and encourage her to be brave.

Here are some things I discovered about myself. I love my friend, the way you must love a sister, but sometimes I don't like her. I can imagine if we met for the first time in our lives now I would find her shallow and a little annoying. I know she's not shallow because I know so much of her history. I know she has to have a lot of pain inside from past situations that I was witness to in her life. If I didn't know these things about her I would find her as deep as a puddle. That's what she is showing the rest of the world, a perfect surface smooth as glass. She is full of smiles and is so generous to everyone, but I don't think she lets very many people see any damage or pain she has in there.

Here is something else I know about myself, sometimes my timing is impeccable. When I arrived I realized my friend had been at work all day and had not been home yet. Therefore she was as sober as she was going to be for the rest of the weekend. I took that opportunity to tell her, gently, that sometimes when she smokes too much she gets a little hard to be around. I told her the truth, that she gets totally manic when she's really high, and I don't know what to do with her when she's like that. So I gently asked her to remember that over the weekend and try to keep the pot smoking down a bit. I reminded her that I don't smoke, and I wasn't going to be drinking very much either. I think she heard me. I mean, she didn't NOT smoke, but she appeared to be trying to keep it minimal. I'm hoping I planted a seed at least.

We also talked about therapy. This was later in the weekend. I told her how therapy saved my life four years ago. I told her how therapy saved my marriage more recently. I told her how I can quiet the chatter in my head now, without alcohol. I told her quite a few stories about recent events in my life, and how hubby and I would have imploded if it had not been for therapy and learning how to communicate. I told her I never could have gotten over Pirate Boy without help. I couldn't do any of it alone.

I hope this may have planted another seed.

I see so many things in her that are the way I used to be. I see her clinging to the past. I see her burying her feelings in marijuana (and she drinks a bit too, but never as bad as me). I see her unhappy with herself...weight, hair, skin, even though she's absolutely lovely. She's thin and pretty and has huge blue eyes and long long eyelashes. Perfect teeth and a tiny waist and ample breasts, a gorgeous smile, she even has a dimple in her cheek.

She asks "what's wrong with me?" when it comes to men, relationships. I don't have an answer for her. I could hazard a few guesses, but I'm no therapist. Maybe it's the pot that makes her inaccessible. Maybe she's looking for the wrong kind of guy. Maybe she's dismissing a whole bunch of potential suitors based on looks and affluence. Maybe, maybe, maybe.

I'd love for her to see a therapist and dig around in there for herself, pull apart the hurt from the past and begin something new. I'd love for her to put down the bong and just stand up and be the woman she was meant to be. Those are the things I want for her. A full life, a quiet mind, love in her heart.

Man, it took me three days to write this post.