I think every alcoholic must have their own set of repeated lies we tell ourselves in order to keep drinking. I have a list I wanted to share:
*I'm old, it doesn't matter if I drink. If I was young, had my whole life ahead, I wouldn't drink (actually I didn't drink in my younger years).
*I've earned it! Spent most of my life worrying about this, that or the other. Could NEVER stop worrying, and now that I'm older, a widow with no children, I have a right to drink because it stops me from "inventing" things to worry about.
*I have back & knee problems; the drinking relieves those pains.
*It helps me sleep.
*I think more clearly when I have a couple drinks.
*I'm more social, not anxious around people if I have a drink.
*I'll cut back if I get out of control.
*When I did get out of control: Well, it doesn't matter. I'm alone most of the time anyway, and I never drive drunk. I'll just stay home, drink, and then lie in bed if I get too wasted to function.
*I've never had a blackout so I must be in control.
*I've never had a hang-over so I must be in control.
***And lately, almost 2 months sober: I probably need to keep a bottle of vodka just in case the Apocalypse happens this month. (NO, I don't believe it will.) Or if we have a freakish weather event. I won't drink it, just have it here in case.***
That last one, I have not acted on. But honestly, that thought has run through my mind lately. I guess it'll never stop, and I'll occasionally have to reign in such fantasies by recalling the eventual outcome of "just one more drink."
My summer journal ended with the entry yesterday. The following two weeks are a bit of a blur, though I do remember specific things.
One Sunday afternoon I decided to watch a movie in my bedroom. I had some vodka nearby, a mixed drink, but a big bottle behind the bed. I don't remember the end of the movie; on Monday...vaguely I recall hearing the phone ringing, but I didn't answer it. A couple times I must have staggered to the bathroom, fed the dogs. They had access to outdoors via the doggie door.
On Tuesday morning, I picked up my cellphone (it had been nearby in the bed all that time)...and my sister was frantic. They hadn't been able to get in touch with me Monday. They were debating coming inside my house, but kept hoping they'd get in touch with me.
I had sobered up a bit, but had lost an entire day, Monday. I even thought it was Monday when she called. I must have had the dreaded blackout, and that scared me to death! But apparently I was not frightened enough. My sister said she was on the way down (she lives 60 miles away), and would send my brother-in-law, who lives nearby, over immediately.
What did I do? Drank some more, and dozed off. When he arrived, he brought breakfast, coffee, and orange juice. He had to answer his cell phone due to work, went in the other room, and I added some vodka to the orange juice. And so it went, the entire day; I stayed in bed mostly...and kept drinking steadily (sneaking it after my sister arrived from a stash in the closet), until she caught me with the bottle, got it and poured it out.
She stayed while I sobered up, with me continuing to say I'd be okay, just had a "bad spell," etc. At last I convinced her, and she went home.
I went to get another bottle of vodka, my drug of choice. It could be mixed with something and I could hardly taste it, since I didn't particularly like the taste of liquor.
I didn't get as drunk as that blackout, but I kept drinking because I'd already been through detox twice and didn't want to go through it again. I didn't think my body could survive another detox if I tried it alone. So I had to keep drinking.
And two weeks later, I ended up in a secure, lock-down facility. I had been prepared to die, because I couldn't quit drinking -- and I nearly accomplished my mission. I was able to write about what happened that led to the facility the day after I was admitted.
That will be my next blog post, with continuing journal entries during my two-week stay.
Back during the summer, I had several bad falls (while drinking). I banged up one of my knees; it looked like a baseball, but I wouldn't go to the doctor (he might detect I was drinking, maybe I had liver damage, etc).
I fell out the door of my cats' porch, and hit my head, temporarily blacking out. When I came to, I was standing on one of the steps, feeding the cats, only recalled starting to fall but nothing else (getting up, moving to the steps to feed the cats). When I looked in the bathroom mirror, I had a huge knot on the left side of my forehead, and the beginning of a black eye. I think I had a mild concussion, but again, wouldn't go to the doctor.
With the bizarre luck of a drunk, I survived those falls and a couple of others, never breaking a bone. Disgusting behavior, shameful.