What I was like

“How does someone like you become an alcoholic?”

Growing up I was warned about the dangers of alcohol, but I also believed the lies of addiction.  Alcoholics were supposedly weak, unintelligent, and lazy people. Those words didn’t describe me, so I thought it could never happen to me.

How Alcoholism Begins

The first time I drank, I did it to stop people from calling me a “goody-two-shoes”.  The drink was a Southern Comfort and Cola mix. I wasn’t impressed, but drank it anyway and didn’t get drunk.

After a few parties I realized how wonderful alcohol was. It relaxed me, making me feel socially invincible.  I relished the unfamiliar sensation of confidence and casually sought drinks at every opportunity.

From the beginning alcohol caused me to act out of character and I often had regrets. Yet it never occurred to me that I could just not drink. I always thought, “I’ll do better next time.” It would be years before someone would tell me that mindset is a trademark characteristic of alcoholics… “Insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results.”

What Alcoholism Feels Like

Have you ever gone on a roller coaster and instantly regretted it? You change your mind just as the ride begins and it cannot be stopped.

That’s what my drinking was like.

I drank to manage stress. I drank to manipulate others.  I drank to change my personality.  I drank to get drunk.  I drank to forget. I drank. I drank. I drank. My alcoholism was characteristic of my environment.  An officer in the U.S. Coast Guard, I embodied the stereotypical sailor: drunk in port, hung-over at sea, and cursing in between. Binge drinking and blackouts were my motto, and if you couldn’t keep pace with me, I didn’t want to hang with you.

Not all alcoholics are binge drinkers, just like not all musical instruments are made of brass. We have different habits, favorite watering holes, family baggage, and psychiatric conditions. But we do have one thing in common. We are powerless over our drinking once it starts… just like the terrified roller coaster passenger.

The Desperation to Get Sober

As any therapist or addiction specialist will tell you, and addict has to want to get sober in order for treatment to do them any immediate good. If they're not desperate for change, the information gets tucked away in the back of their mind - and saved for a truly desperate moment.

At the end of my drinking, I didn’t want to get sober but I didn’t want to keep living either. When I was awake I wanted to die, and when I was drunk I was out of control. The combination terrified me. I couldn’t understand my feelings because I knew deep down that I didn’t want to die.

My life was saved because I voiced these feelings. The Coast Guard placed me in psychiatric care. My mother and sisters flew 3,000 miles … Dad would check on me a few months later. 

While in the hospital being treated for depression, a therapist interviewed me. She asked if I was willing to do anything it took to change the way I felt. I said yes. She prober further adding, “Even if that means not taking another drink for the rest of your life?”

And I said, “Yes.”

The Missing Piece of my Heart

For as long as I can remember, I have struggled with the notion of love.  

For reasons unbeknownst to me, I always thought that it had to be earned. So when my parents said, "We're so proud of you - you did a great job," or, "I love you, honey," I didn't believe them. More often than not, my response was "You have to say that, you're my parents."

It breaks my heart today to imagine how that must have hurt them. And in truth, it hurt me too.  I rejected their love and attention because I didn't feel that I deserved it and consequently reinforced my low self-esteem.

As a teenager, this lack of self-love manifested itself in many ways:

1. social anxiety
2. fear of flirting or dating
3. self-deprecating thoughts and words
4. depression
5. suicidal ideations
6. lack of genuine or heart-felt relationships
7. fierce independence
8. stubbornness
9. determination
10. judgement - of myself and others
11. isolation
12. diminished spirituality
13. anger and hate
14. impatience
15. restlessness

I was missing a piece of my heart...the piece that showed showed me how to love, appreciate, and accept myself.

When I started drinking, I forgot about the piece of my heart that was missing. Suddenly, I was cool, funny, happy, and relaxed. I didn't care what other people thought of me and I felt liberated.

But it didn't last long.

After a short while, I began to binge drink. Drinking any amount lowers your inhibitions, and binge consumption lowers them even more. I started to say and do things I'd never do sober. First, it was just minor stuff like swearing or ranting angrily about various issues. Then, as my tolerance grew and I drank more, my actions became more unpredictable. I drove drunk. I physically attacked people. I slept around. I ignored rules left and right and gave myself excuses.  

Nights out were immediately and invariably followed by emotionally painful days. They were so painful that I often drank to forget the things I did. 

And so the vicious cycle began:

I drank to forget the hole in my heart.  

The more I drank, the bigger hole became.

The bigger the hole, the more I had to drink to fill it up.

By the time I got into rehab, the hole felt like a canyon...a seemingly endless crevice in my soul that could never be made whole again.

A counselor at the treatment center tasked me with journaling for 5 minutes a day on something that I loved about myself. After day 1, all of my topics came from the suggestions of other clients. It took a long time, but this exercise started to change the way I saw myself. 

What helped me the most was actually a process very similar to a Catholic confession. I was open and honest with another (sober) person about what happened while I was drinking. I told her specific stories and we looked for times when I was being selfish or self-seeking. 

You might think that this process would only make me hate myself more. Yes, I hated the things I had done. I was ashamed and embarrassed, but that was only a temporary pain. Talking with a trusted friend actually normalized my drunken and careless behavior. She reminded me that I was not the only person to have said or done that "horrible awful no-good very bad thing" that I was so afraid to admit. 

She helped me to accept my flaws and mistakes as part of life. 

She showed me acceptance and forgiveness. 

She taught me that my past shaped the person I was becoming, but it did not define my quality of character.

She showed me how to love myself.

And the hole filled up. My heart became whole.

Through this process I learned that love is an omnipresent energy; it is everywhere. 

I'm perfectly imperfect, and that's perfectly okay.

My mind is split in two: me and my addict.  They both reside in that grey matter between my ears and they both give me advice.  It’s like the angel and demon over each shoulder, or the story about how you have to choose between feeding one of two wolves that live inside you.  Lately I’ve been seeing a lot more of the devilish, angry, addict side of my brain which is miserable and incorrigible.  I have been hungry, angry, lonely, and tired.  There is very little anyone can say or do to improve my mood when I am in that state of mind. 

On my way home from work this evening I thought about doing something to help myself fight the alcoholic mindset.  I thought about going to talk to other people suffering from the same condition.

"Oh, it's 5:28, I could make it to the 5:30."

"You'll be late."

"There's always that other place that starts at 5:45."

“No, don’t go. It’s time for dinner.”

“But I’m not really all that hungry. Plus I have a banana and a salad

 with me so I could eat those if I get hungry enough.”

"You don't have a fork."

"I can use my fingers."

“But you don’t want salad for dinner. You want steak. 

Go home and cook something substantial.”

“I really don’t want to cook tonight. Besides, 

the salad will go bad if I don’t eat it tonight.”

“You ought to go home and work on your book, 

or finish that TV episode you started watching during the carpool.”

“I can’t work my recovery in around my life. 

I have to work my life around my recovery.”

And with that last thought, I turned left instead of right and went to talk with a bunch of sober alcoholics about recovery for a little while.  During the discussion I flashed back to that internal debate in my car and realized that I was really glad I didn’t go home. It reminded me of all the “reasons” my addict mindset has used to lure me towards drinking again. 

So, for your entertainment value, welcome to the insane part of my mind which gives me…

10 (Not Really) Justifiable Reasons My Alcoholic Mind Wants Me to Drink

1) You should just try to have a glass of red wine. It’ll taste so good.

2) Some people think you’re not really an alcoholic. You should go out and relapse just to PROVE IT to them!

3) Since you never went to jail, had your stomach pumped, or got nabbed for a DUI, you really ought to go back out drinking.  No one is going to take your book seriously without those experiences.

4) You don’t want to write a book about alcoholism without having relapsed, do you?  I mean, what alcoholic hasn’t relapsed?

5) To really recover from being a perfectionist, you should intentionally screw up your sobriety.  For no reason.  Just go and have a drink.

6) You’ll feel better.  All this stress you’re carrying around will be lifted once you have a gin and tonic.

7) You’ve already been sober as long as you drank, surely you’ll be fine. 

8) You’re bound to screw this whole sobriety thing up eventually anyway…I mean, statistically how long can you possibly stay sober?  Why not just beat it to the punch?

9) The wine the priest serves during Holy Communion is totally okay because as soon as he blesses it, it transforms metaphorically into blood.  So… you’re not really drinking wine.  You should at least drink the wine at communion.  

10) The Coast Guard doesn’t control your life anymore.  You won’t lose your job if you go out drinking one night. 


I think my alcoholism might have a point on the last one. I might not lose my job today after one night...but I know myself and I have heard other peoples' stories of relapses. One night will become just the first of many many more.  It might take days, weeks, months, or even years to lose my job as a result of my drinking. Who knows? But it would only be a matter of time. 

Who knows if I would ever get sober again? 

I stand to gain nothing as a result of quitting "the sobriety thing" intentionally. 
I cannot overcome my fear of failure or obsession with perfectionism by giving up the very thing I'm afraid of failing.  
I have no power over whether other people will find credence in my self-proclamation of being an alcoholic. Therefore, I should certainly not try to prove it to them or "improve my credentials" by drinking more. 

Yeah, I may not do this sobriety thing perfectly, and I may not stay sober for the rest of my life, but that's no reason to stop trying.