The Whiskey Diaries: Entry V

Its now gotten to the point where I wonder what I need to control more; my emotions, or my drinking. Because it’s painfully clear to me now that they both directly affect one another.

I’m so sick of waking up with a feeling of such anxiety – that eventually causes an immense feeling of fear – that I have to drink or take drugs to feel better. That shouldn’t be the way anyone lives their life. And no one else should have to live with someone like me either. It’s just not fair.

As much as it hurts to type this and admit this, a huge source of my issues stem from my own mother. I’ve known it deep down for years, but I guess saying it out-loud and announcing it or sure still hurts. I turned 32 three days ago, and my biggest birthday present from her came in the form of a magnificent lie. After finally feeling good about myself and getting my drinking under control, I let myself sink back down into my so called “rabbit hole” and drank more than I usually do. And I blame her, even though I know I should only blame myself – I mean, it’s not like she held a gun to my head… not physically anyways.

At this point in time I’m not even entirely sure what to say, for her or myself. I am a product of my upbringing, and she is the exact reason I have always stated I do not want children of my own. I am terrified of that idea. I have nightmares about it at times.

I can say I would have never became an alcoholic if she didn’t have a bottle of vodka sitting on our kitchen counter when I was a teenager, always ready for when she had a bad day or a bad moment – I mean, what do you think that teaches a child? Her way of dealing with her anger was either taking it out on me physically or drinking herself to sleep. I can blame her, sure. But I am my own person, I am in control of myself (for the most part) so I can’t blame anyone but myself.

I feel it took me finally waking up one day and realizing this on my own – for she is the reason I don’t like other people trying to convince me of anything.

Not to say she hasn’t tried, I’m not trying to make her out as this evil, cold-hearted person. But I can’t help it that the bad stands out more than the good. I was never taught or shown a good way of dealing with bad emotions. I was never shown another way other than complete and full release of anger. I was never informed that there was another way to go about things than emotional and physical destruction. And I promise, to myself and the person I love more than anything, I will never allow myself to instill that into anyone, ever.

When you have had something told to you for over two decades of your life, only to see it a different way for yourself, it causes an explosion of thoughts and emotions. That explosion only causes irreparable damage. I refuse to allow that to be who I am any longer. This is my wake up call.

And just like any drug addiction, I need to quit her.

I want to be a better person, I really do. And I am lucky to have the opportunity to do so, the mentality to tell me so, and the drive to do so.

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The Whiskey Diaries: Entry IV

Last week I managed to reduce my alcohol intake significantly and each day I woke up feeling a little better. Last week I also took a trip to California to see friends and family before starting Image.pngwork here in Nevada. Upon coming home, it was the weekend and just being generally happy to be back home and back where I am starting to feel comfortable, I decided to let myself drink more, and harder alcohol (I have been weening myself slowly with lower and lower alcohol content in what I drink) telling myself it was just for the weekend and I deserved it. Then came Monday, when I had to drop my Fiance off at the airport for a work trip and prepare to – yet again – spend time alone and isolated.

So what did I do? I drank, of course. Now it’s Wednesday and I’m back to feeling that anxiety in the morning, not being able to take a deep breath without my chest feeling funny, and my hands shaking slightly. Needless to say, I’ve only had a few bites of food today and I feel like shit.

Today is a no Whiskey day. I used to be happy holding a bottle of Jameson in my hand at the store, happy to be able to get home and have a few drinks, relax, do the usual around the house. Now every time I reach for a bottle on the shelf and carry it to the check-out, I feel slightly disgusted with myself, almost ashamed, the whole time saying in my head “Fuck, here we go again…” I’m still struggling to get my weight over 105 pounds. I turn 32 in two months and refuse to let this take over another year of my life.

I originally started drinking to forget things, anything that hurt me emotionally as I have a higher physical pain tolerance than most. Now the drinking makes me overthink, makes me lazy and careless, and at times incredibly mean. Who wants to live like that? I know that I don’t, not anymore. It’s opened the doors to too many things, none of which have been good or healthy.

Honestly, I’ll be pretty disappointed in myself if I venture out later and pick up a bottle, but sometimes even the disappointment isn’t enough to stop me. Fingers crossed, I sit here writing and looking at my projects and crafts I work on, realizing I have barely touched them in weeks. Hopefully, if all goes well, I start work in three weeks and will get back to some sort or normalcy and independence. I have to admit, twelve-hour work days are not going to give me enough time to drink, and I’m looking forward to that.

The Whiskey Diaries: Entry III

The initial morning anxiety seems to be happening less and less lately, I’ve had more frequent mornings of waking up and feeling motivated to do something for the day.

The house is finally almost completely unpacked, and now the issue is finding out what to do with all of the extra space that we now have in the new house. I finally got back into doing some of my hobbies that I enjoy, which is also helping to feel more normal than I have been the last few months. The photography gets me out of the house and makes me explore the area, so instead of feeling stuck in the house all day I can actually see some interesting sites and get some air. The pyrography gets me to be creative and put some skills to work, it also keeps me calm and from drinking too much since I can’t really be “drunk” to do those projects.

The drinking is still there, a bottle of Jameson currently sits at home in my pantry. I had a few upsetting phone calls with the rehab agencies; either wanted to send me 800 miles or 1000 miles further away that what I already feel from “home.” When I explained half of my current issue was already feeling isolated and being as far away from all my familiar surroundings, I was told I was being unreasonable… Fuck it, maybe to them I was. But I’m not going to do anything I’m not initially comfortable with. But something changed in me that day, something flipped that angry “Fuck You” switch and that has always been my biggest motivator. It’s been since that day that I have been forcing myself to drink less and do more. LIZ

I’ve always had an issue with not feeling in control of my own life or destiny – I promised myself the minute I was on my own and away from the laws of a parent that I would take control. Which I did, and at times all it did was allow me to be self indulgent and push things too far. At other times, it’s allowed me to push through situations without even a whimper, finding myself slightly surprised when people ask me “how did you get through that?” Sometimes, you just have to “Destroy What Destroys You” and move on. And right now I just refuse to let anything destroy me. I know this feeling won’t forever, the BPD I have will not allow it, so, I’m just going to revel in this while I can.

The Whiskey Diaries: Entry II

I hate that I wake up every morning with this incredible feeling of anxiety and worry.

I hate it even more that it doesn’t subside until I take a single shot of alcohol. Then… 15 minutes later, I’m fine. I can do what I need to do for the day and get on with life.

Currently, I am prepping a beef stew from scratch to put in the slow-cooker for the day. There are things I need to do to further my progress here if any is going to happen at all. (I had no idea getting a copy of my birth certificate due to the state and county I was born in would be so god damned difficult). Getting out of the house will definitely help. Yesterday I chose to dive around after grocery shopping to photograph some of the new sites around me which I plan on posting later.

I have currently been in contact with two different rehab agencies, and am waiting on the health care to get straightened out before I am placed/can pick a detox location. I am choosing in-patient recovery, and yes, I have chosen to do this on my own free will. I want to go. I know I have a problem, that is now beyond my control and causing damage I may never be able to repair.

Currently, it seems the heavy withdrawal days are far and few between – but then what do I know if I can only stand to be awake a couple of hours before feeling like I’m going to burst with anxiety and take a drink? I think the anxiety is my worst fear – which technically speaking is a double-edged sword; I have anxiety DUE to fear, but my anxiety causes me to be afraid and paranoid. I can deal with the sickness; the sweats, shakes, puking, freezing cold shivers, all of that. It’s the anxiety, the fear – I have always preferred physical pain over mental.

I’m just glad that the last few days, I have been able to get through life and see a positive light at the end of this tunnel, whatever it may be. I have a positive outlook, and for now that is all I can hold onto when it comes to this. That, is all.

The Whiskey Diaries: Entry I

I’d hoped to start these entries off on a high note, documenting the progress of overcoming an incredible alcohol addiction. But instead, this first entry will document the sickening withdrawals and intense anxiety.

Today, just like two days ago, I woke up already feeling the shakes coming on. This usually happens early in the morning, around seven or eight a.m. and the minute I feel it I start to panic a little; “You mean, I have to feel like this the whole day, knowing it will only get worse later?” The only real comfort I feel is when I take a long shower, but that includes spending half of it bent over, heaving, trying to take sips of the bottle of water I usually bring in with me. I tend to use up all of the hot water, making for a very cold exit, which I already know – but do it anyway – will make me feel like shit all over again.

I spend hours pacing back and forth in my house – in between the stomach cramps and puking – trying to concentrate on my breathing so I don’t hyperventilate from the anxiety and genuine fear. My poor dog just sits on the couch watching me, looking like she wants to cry, and sometimes does.

Looking up the actual symptoms of sever alcohol withdrawal does NOT help the situation. It only scares me more. I look at myself in the mirror and wonder what happened to my nice skin, my womanly shape, my teeth… What happened to my hair and my social life? What have I done to people I care about that I often can’t even remember why they are mad at me – usually because I was so drunk the night before that once I fell asleep my brain hit a reset switch.

My head is pounding, I keep clenching my jaw from the anxiety, I know I should eat but just can’t even put food in my mouth right now, I’m so thirsty but can’t drink too much water at a time. I also discovered orange juice – thinking to put something healthy in my body – is a no-go on these days, and tastes wretched coming back up.

There’s a part of me that just wants to scream, run outside and as far as I can – but the thought of leaving the house on these days is scary. What if I have an episode in public? When I’m not pacing the house, I’m stuck on the couch, curled up in a ball, looking at the closed blinds of the room I’m in, with the sun shining behind them, knowing I’ve wasted so much of my life having days like this.

The sad part is, it’s not like I just got some sort of virus one day that afflicted me to get like this – I know I did it to myself. That’s my sad truth. I did this.

Unanswered

seatedI know everything in life happens for a reason, but what bothers me is I don’t know those reasons most of the time. For once I find myself so upside down and inside out that I can’t even think straight. I wish there was a way I could communicate without words. I wish there was a way for me to explain myself to myself so I know who I am.

I let too many things scare me. I let my insecurities and fears blind me and I don’t see things about myself that others tell me. I only seem to see this person that I have never truly been happy with. Almost like a mirror that never tells you the truth. I run from things and avoid things because its the only way I know how I react. If I don’t feel, then I don’t have to think. If I don’t have to think, then I can be happy and relaxed. What kind of life is that? Who does that?

My alcoholism has affected so many things in my life, and none for the better. I was never able to express myself correctly or without aggression and over emphasized emotions, now I just compacted the issues and put up a wall. My health has been affected to the point of losing weight so rapidly I look physically sick and my clothes don’t fit right. I try to eat and nothing tastes good. I don’t think I’ve eaten a full meal in months. I overindulge on things that aren’t healthy for me. I also tell myself every day that this will be the day that everything changes, that I change things for the better, that I start to get healthy, mentally as well as physically. Each of those days I fail at keeping my promise to myself.

The past eighteen months have changed my life in so many ways. I was finally able to take the first step of getting mentally healthy by pulling myself off of something I had been stuck to for over half my life. Family relationships changed and my eyes opened to things I was blinding myself to in the past – or being blinded by others who should have never stepped in that place. A part of me grew for the better but a part of me has turned bitter and sour. A part of my heart has frozen over watching some of the changes. And now an even bigger change is going to take place, hopefully one that will allow me to finally pull myself out from under this cloud I’ve been carrying and finally work on myself – something I’ve been saying I’d do for years. I need to find out who I am.

 

So I Don’t Have To Feel

I usually drink so I don’t have to feel or think about anything. When you have an overactive mind with excruciating attention to detail like I do, things can become a bit too much on a daily basis. Normal things, like the noise of traffic or machinery running, the hum of the filter on my fish tank, the vibration of my phone when a notification happens, even just noticing minute differences in things that are not entirely symmetrical. I tend to overthink about things in my life like relationships and hobbies I have, projects I’ve started and never finished, friends and family members I closed myself off to because of one reason or another. I can seriously hold a grudge… even against myself.

The funny part is, I can give the greatest advice. I’m usually the one my friends come to when they need help with something or just need to talk and vent about their problems. And I’m usually very happy to oblige them. My generosity can extend pretty far, but there is no gray area; I’m either incredibly happy to do something – or I’m making up excuses as to why I’m too busy to deal with it at the time. I have no “in-between” the two feelings of wanting to be social and wanting my solitude.

My drinking, however, has very little to do – if at all – with those feelings. I’ve been this way my entire life. My addiction on the other hand? That’s a whole different story. I try to control my alcoholism the best I can. I tell myself I can’t be that bad because I still make my car payment on time, my rent on time, and other bills on time. I go to work, excel at my job, and still continue to throw myself into my hobbies and learn new crafts. But then I look at my bank account, the excessive amount of money I spend, the days I have stayed home from work because I drank until I was sick the night before, and the arguments I’ve’ had with loved ones while drunk that I can’t even remember the next day. It’s a double-edged sword, and I cut myself with it every day.

Maybe getting back to writing will help. Hell, I have piles of journals and binders full of writings from when I was younger and it was all I wanted to do. Ever since I was a child my mind has worked faster than my hands could write or type. My mind is filled with sentences and phrases and things I want to say but have no idea how to organize. It’s even worse when I drink. All I want to do is open myself up and pour all the words out on the floor like a game of pick-up-sticks so I can finally see them instead of think them.

Time will tell if this helps.