I've been through the STEPS program before, and graduated. I kept my paper.
So here's about me:
I was introduced to alcohol very young. While my mother always was a social drinker, my father would weave in and out of sobriety and promises. During my father's episodes, my mother would lock the two of us in their bedroom and hold me to prevent me from seeing the obnoxious destruction and havoc my father was creating. My half brother John (Johnny to me) from my mother's first marriage, who was eleven years my senior, could take off at will while I had to remain trapped at home. He couldn't stand the painful environment while he was going through many personal demons of his own.
We stayed in my childhood home in MA., where I took up runway modeling very young. I enjoyed the competition and feeling of confidence trophies and attention brought me. At home, however, I disliked being forced to walk around with books on my head to learn perfect posture (by my father, my mother wanted me to just have fun). Academically, I excelled with little effort. School came easily to me, and despite the occasional crisis at home, I was a very happy, well-adjusted pretty little girl.
My world began crashing down at about age seven. My best friend's brother and his friend molested both my best friend and myself in their treehouse in their yard. I knew I had been warned against going in there, I did anyway. They sometimes didn't use anything but their hands, other times I remember they stuck leaves and sticks inside me. I don't remember if I wanted or enjoyed the attention of the older boys, but I know it was more than once and I was a little smug I had such a secret. I somehow eventually told my mother, or was caught, because I was punished and grounded. The events never were discussed further after that.
Next, my maternal grandfather, who I just adored, died from falling down a flight of stairs after heavy drinking and broke his neck. I remember my mother pouring vodka down the drain of his apartment when we visited, but I didn't know what it was and didn't understand why my mother was so angry at the man I adored. He survived the fall but was determined not to have any brain activity. He lived a long, tense month after they discontinued his feeding tube.
Shortly thereafter, Johnny died from a non-suicidal accident involving his VW bug and carbon monoxide poisoning. They didn't tell me until days later, and I was absolutely devastated. I had no other siblings, and only a handful of cousins. My family sent me to school instead of going to the funeral. They claim now that I said that is what I wanted, however, I continue to have a difficult time that they didn't explain to me the importance of closure and let me grieve.
Because of the losses and memories in that home, my parents decided it was best to move. We moved to Connecticut. My smiles were rare by then. I was so paralyzed with the recent events: the loss of two people I loved very much, my unresolved shame about allowing the boys to explore my body, being ripped from modeling school, and being enrolled in a school system where cliques had long been formed. The kids didn't know how to respond to me. One year I was happy and confident, organizing the school newspaper from scratch, getting accepted into a wonderful honors program for academically gifted children and the next year I was tearful, inert, and isolated. My grades dropped dramatically for seemingly no reason and I was terrified of going. I lost many friends.
The depression lasted throughout my adolescence into my twenties. I had endured extremely painful brake-ups, was sexually active younger than most of my peers and didn't try in school. I knew I had the potential to be successful, but I didn't know where to start. The exception was music. I played the clarinet, piano, and sang very well. I started to compete again, this time with music, and traveled a bit. After high school, I went to work at a small elevator company as a telemarketing assistant. I went to college at night. After graduating from a local community college with good grades, I got married to my high school sweetheart.
I still didn't drink. I had a toast at the wedding, and that was about it. After a whirl-wind honeymoon in Saint Tropez, France, and eventually both of us earning great incomes, we built a beautiful house in Sturbridge, MA. My drinking started to get heavier when our marriage began to fall apart. I couldn't stand the pain of the loss, and eventually got a DUI. We had worked very hard to get where we where, but after three years of a very rocky marriage, I got involved with my current husband Ryan. My ex and I soon parted ways and sold the house.
Ryan and I drank every time we were together, which was often. Five years ago, we got married and bought a house in Manchester. We had talked about starting a family, but it just wasn't happening. After about a year, I finally got pregnant. I was startled to find that I couldn't stop drinking. I always in my heart thought as "soon as I knew" I was pregnant, I "of course" would stop. That's what I told myself and everyone around me when they expressed concern over my behavior at the last party or a late night phone call that I made that I no recollection of at all. The truth was, even when I finally got pregnant, I found it impossible to stop completely.
When Joshua was born in April of 2004, he had a birth defect known as Hirschpraung's disease. It is a disease where the nerves are absent in the lower intestine (about a foot or so of intestine is affected from the anus up). Josh could not have a bowel movement on his own. He had emergency surgery that went no where and was in the NICU for more than a month. It was necessary to give him enemas three times a day until he had a second surgery to correct the condition six months later. Although it is genetic, I do not know if my alcohol consumption during my pregnancy had anything to do with it. I was devastated, and I kept it a secret. I was in the ICU from the emergency c-section because my organs had started shutting down when I went into labor and didn't have the strength to deal with the issue at that time. They gave me dilaudid through my IV for pain. I quickly became addicted, and I knew it. But I knew once I left the hospital I wouldn't be able to get it, so I enjoyed it while I could and asked for it often.
I was able to stop drinking when I got pregnant with Katherine when Joshua was only 10 months old. I was still reeling from my guilt over Joshua's health. Although Katie was born healthy, and I felt good, I returned to drinking very shortly after I stopped breastfeeding. I had stopped working because daycare for two children under a year was just about my salary and I wanted to be alone, anyway.
It was like I picked up right where I left off. All the memories of the guilt and shameful moments I had when drinking where gone. If anything, the drinking was worse. I was diagnosed bi-polar, and a doctor had prescribed Xanax for my ever-increasing anxiety, mania and depression. The combination of drugs and alcohol curbed my appetite as well. My hair fell out, the whites of my eyes were yellow, and I became very thin and covered in bruises.
I saw a new primary care physician for a physical, and he was shocked at my appearance. Shortly after routine blood tests, he told me that I needed to get a liver biopsy right away. The biopsy revealed liver damage and signs of cirrhosis. I needed to stop drinking immediately and stop the Xanax use. Since my pharmacy had caught on that I was filling my prescription consistently early, they refused to fill it. I was frantic that I didn't have my crutch for anxiety and my drinking increased.
I was drinking more than I ever had been at that point. I had long substituted quantity for quality, and was drinking 2 to 3 liters of wine a day. One particularly weak day, I noticed I didn't ration properly to have enough alcohol to last me the evening and the next morning. The children were sleeping. I started getting an adrenaline rush just planning the little trip. If I could just drive a couple miles here and back and spend the $ 10.52 for the cheapest box of wine until payday, I would be back home in no time before they even woke up and no one would know.
When I got home, Ryan was there. It extremely unusual circumstances, he decided to come home early that day and surprise me. He found me with an open box of wine in the car (I couldn't wait the ride home) and empty car seats. With very little to say I was driven to Manchester Hospital. They were out of room in their detox unit, and I was transported to Saint Francis by ambulance. I spent about two and a half weeks in detox, and started the outpatient Steps program in Manchester.
I stayed sober a few weeks. I do not remember what prompted me to begin drinking again. I was caught, and I eventually entered Stonington Institute inpatient housing and rehabilitation in February 2007.
Fortunately, the program was what I needed. Far away enough that I had space from my family yet with the freedom to enjoy a non-hospital setting was what I needed. The doctors re-evaluated and paired down the bag of medication I was on, and I attended daily rehab education classes. I stayed there for nearly six weeks and found it difficult to leave my new friends. Although living with a large group of women, many with addictions to multiple substances, was trying at times, it got my head out of my ass. I needed it. I "graduated" from Stonington and returned to the Steps program to complete my outpatient treatment.
After two months of sobriety, my relationship with my family is healing. My children are happy and enjoying their new "mommy." I now have my energy back, and I have the strength to play with them. My health is improving, and recent blood work revealed my liver function is much better. My marriage is taking longer to heal, but at least we are talking through issues out soberly, and if it doesn't work out, it would be for issues more than just the drinking.
-----------------------------
Update: I stayed sober for about 4 more months before slowly drinking again. I'm not where I was, but I am not living the sober life I promised I would, either.
So here's about me:
I was introduced to alcohol very young. While my mother always was a social drinker, my father would weave in and out of sobriety and promises. During my father's episodes, my mother would lock the two of us in their bedroom and hold me to prevent me from seeing the obnoxious destruction and havoc my father was creating. My half brother John (Johnny to me) from my mother's first marriage, who was eleven years my senior, could take off at will while I had to remain trapped at home. He couldn't stand the painful environment while he was going through many personal demons of his own.
We stayed in my childhood home in MA., where I took up runway modeling very young. I enjoyed the competition and feeling of confidence trophies and attention brought me. At home, however, I disliked being forced to walk around with books on my head to learn perfect posture (by my father, my mother wanted me to just have fun). Academically, I excelled with little effort. School came easily to me, and despite the occasional crisis at home, I was a very happy, well-adjusted pretty little girl.
My world began crashing down at about age seven. My best friend's brother and his friend molested both my best friend and myself in their treehouse in their yard. I knew I had been warned against going in there, I did anyway. They sometimes didn't use anything but their hands, other times I remember they stuck leaves and sticks inside me. I don't remember if I wanted or enjoyed the attention of the older boys, but I know it was more than once and I was a little smug I had such a secret. I somehow eventually told my mother, or was caught, because I was punished and grounded. The events never were discussed further after that.
Next, my maternal grandfather, who I just adored, died from falling down a flight of stairs after heavy drinking and broke his neck. I remember my mother pouring vodka down the drain of his apartment when we visited, but I didn't know what it was and didn't understand why my mother was so angry at the man I adored. He survived the fall but was determined not to have any brain activity. He lived a long, tense month after they discontinued his feeding tube.
Shortly thereafter, Johnny died from a non-suicidal accident involving his VW bug and carbon monoxide poisoning. They didn't tell me until days later, and I was absolutely devastated. I had no other siblings, and only a handful of cousins. My family sent me to school instead of going to the funeral. They claim now that I said that is what I wanted, however, I continue to have a difficult time that they didn't explain to me the importance of closure and let me grieve.
Because of the losses and memories in that home, my parents decided it was best to move. We moved to Connecticut. My smiles were rare by then. I was so paralyzed with the recent events: the loss of two people I loved very much, my unresolved shame about allowing the boys to explore my body, being ripped from modeling school, and being enrolled in a school system where cliques had long been formed. The kids didn't know how to respond to me. One year I was happy and confident, organizing the school newspaper from scratch, getting accepted into a wonderful honors program for academically gifted children and the next year I was tearful, inert, and isolated. My grades dropped dramatically for seemingly no reason and I was terrified of going. I lost many friends.
The depression lasted throughout my adolescence into my twenties. I had endured extremely painful brake-ups, was sexually active younger than most of my peers and didn't try in school. I knew I had the potential to be successful, but I didn't know where to start. The exception was music. I played the clarinet, piano, and sang very well. I started to compete again, this time with music, and traveled a bit. After high school, I went to work at a small elevator company as a telemarketing assistant. I went to college at night. After graduating from a local community college with good grades, I got married to my high school sweetheart.
I still didn't drink. I had a toast at the wedding, and that was about it. After a whirl-wind honeymoon in Saint Tropez, France, and eventually both of us earning great incomes, we built a beautiful house in Sturbridge, MA. My drinking started to get heavier when our marriage began to fall apart. I couldn't stand the pain of the loss, and eventually got a DUI. We had worked very hard to get where we where, but after three years of a very rocky marriage, I got involved with my current husband Ryan. My ex and I soon parted ways and sold the house.
Ryan and I drank every time we were together, which was often. Five years ago, we got married and bought a house in Manchester. We had talked about starting a family, but it just wasn't happening. After about a year, I finally got pregnant. I was startled to find that I couldn't stop drinking. I always in my heart thought as "soon as I knew" I was pregnant, I "of course" would stop. That's what I told myself and everyone around me when they expressed concern over my behavior at the last party or a late night phone call that I made that I no recollection of at all. The truth was, even when I finally got pregnant, I found it impossible to stop completely.
When Joshua was born in April of 2004, he had a birth defect known as Hirschpraung's disease. It is a disease where the nerves are absent in the lower intestine (about a foot or so of intestine is affected from the anus up). Josh could not have a bowel movement on his own. He had emergency surgery that went no where and was in the NICU for more than a month. It was necessary to give him enemas three times a day until he had a second surgery to correct the condition six months later. Although it is genetic, I do not know if my alcohol consumption during my pregnancy had anything to do with it. I was devastated, and I kept it a secret. I was in the ICU from the emergency c-section because my organs had started shutting down when I went into labor and didn't have the strength to deal with the issue at that time. They gave me dilaudid through my IV for pain. I quickly became addicted, and I knew it. But I knew once I left the hospital I wouldn't be able to get it, so I enjoyed it while I could and asked for it often.
I was able to stop drinking when I got pregnant with Katherine when Joshua was only 10 months old. I was still reeling from my guilt over Joshua's health. Although Katie was born healthy, and I felt good, I returned to drinking very shortly after I stopped breastfeeding. I had stopped working because daycare for two children under a year was just about my salary and I wanted to be alone, anyway.
It was like I picked up right where I left off. All the memories of the guilt and shameful moments I had when drinking where gone. If anything, the drinking was worse. I was diagnosed bi-polar, and a doctor had prescribed Xanax for my ever-increasing anxiety, mania and depression. The combination of drugs and alcohol curbed my appetite as well. My hair fell out, the whites of my eyes were yellow, and I became very thin and covered in bruises.
I saw a new primary care physician for a physical, and he was shocked at my appearance. Shortly after routine blood tests, he told me that I needed to get a liver biopsy right away. The biopsy revealed liver damage and signs of cirrhosis. I needed to stop drinking immediately and stop the Xanax use. Since my pharmacy had caught on that I was filling my prescription consistently early, they refused to fill it. I was frantic that I didn't have my crutch for anxiety and my drinking increased.
I was drinking more than I ever had been at that point. I had long substituted quantity for quality, and was drinking 2 to 3 liters of wine a day. One particularly weak day, I noticed I didn't ration properly to have enough alcohol to last me the evening and the next morning. The children were sleeping. I started getting an adrenaline rush just planning the little trip. If I could just drive a couple miles here and back and spend the $ 10.52 for the cheapest box of wine until payday, I would be back home in no time before they even woke up and no one would know.
When I got home, Ryan was there. It extremely unusual circumstances, he decided to come home early that day and surprise me. He found me with an open box of wine in the car (I couldn't wait the ride home) and empty car seats. With very little to say I was driven to Manchester Hospital. They were out of room in their detox unit, and I was transported to Saint Francis by ambulance. I spent about two and a half weeks in detox, and started the outpatient Steps program in Manchester.
I stayed sober a few weeks. I do not remember what prompted me to begin drinking again. I was caught, and I eventually entered Stonington Institute inpatient housing and rehabilitation in February 2007.
Fortunately, the program was what I needed. Far away enough that I had space from my family yet with the freedom to enjoy a non-hospital setting was what I needed. The doctors re-evaluated and paired down the bag of medication I was on, and I attended daily rehab education classes. I stayed there for nearly six weeks and found it difficult to leave my new friends. Although living with a large group of women, many with addictions to multiple substances, was trying at times, it got my head out of my ass. I needed it. I "graduated" from Stonington and returned to the Steps program to complete my outpatient treatment.
After two months of sobriety, my relationship with my family is healing. My children are happy and enjoying their new "mommy." I now have my energy back, and I have the strength to play with them. My health is improving, and recent blood work revealed my liver function is much better. My marriage is taking longer to heal, but at least we are talking through issues out soberly, and if it doesn't work out, it would be for issues more than just the drinking.
-----------------------------
Update: I stayed sober for about 4 more months before slowly drinking again. I'm not where I was, but I am not living the sober life I promised I would, either.
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