Hello, I am Roadside.
I am an alcoholic and suffer from immense anxiety and depression. I am stubborn and determined, faithful to a fault and act without thinking a lot of the time.
When I married, I was an occasional drinker but my spouse was overly engrossed with my drinking. I didn't understand it. He made me feel ashamed about my alcohol consumption but I still had a beer or two, about once a month or every other month; he insulted my family's 'wine choice' one thanksgiving. He talked about the wine he had drank with his previous lovers (Riunite Lambrusco) and apparently those were fond memories but off limits to share with me. He never told me he was trying hard not to drink; he never told me his mother was an alcoholic and an embarrassment to him. He never, ever explained why. There were times when I was humiliated by him; he once poured an entire bottle of wine on me in a stupid fight we had.
Not until he came home from deployment #1, did he crack open a beer and made it acceptable to drink every once in a while. I don't give a shit about the deployment, that is one big excuse, I have military background and in my opinion, the deployment was not a reason for his beginning to drink. What it was, though, was a trigger. It was a trigger of things old and inevitable redundancy in life kicked in. His new wife (me) was no longer exciting, our new duty station and new home was no longer exciting, he lowered his own standards and started with beer. With beer every weekend. With beer every night.
So, we move duty stations. New, exciting things, a new routine, new house to personalize, but then things got old, fast. Second deployment, he comes home, immediately, at least five beers a night. I'd get so mad because he'd leave them stacked up by the bedside, half empty and I got tired of cleaning it up. Of course, an old nagging wife does not provide incentive not to drink. "I'm not an alcoholic, beer, that doesn't make me an alcoholic". Well, beer turned into wine, turned into vodka because apparently vodka can't be smelled by most people and can be mixed in with sodas and no one suspects. An encounter with my one year old knocking over the half empty beer cans on the bedside happened right before the breaking point of our marriage.
But he's still not an alcoholic. However, that is not for me to decide. What was for me to decide was whether it was worth it to stay where I was at, in that toxic environment, raise two kids and survive. So I don't stay in that environment. I get the hell out because I have resources; I have a family to fall back on. I have lots and lots of people back home that are willing to help me with my children.
I move back home, process as much of the break-up as I can (while I was pregnant, which compounded the emotional turmoil because I was off my meds), come to an understanding that he is a sociopath, an abuser and I would have never won, no matter how many love, years and effort I had put into it. I could not change him, I could not make him want to change. I come to an understanding and am at a place of rational, reasonable communication for the children (although I get angry at my family sometimes when I feel they treat him as an 'old pal', facebooking and messaging him) - once again, that is not for me to control.
I get through my pregnancy, through the first couple of months, get back on my damn feet because that is what my various mentors have expected of me. I get my own damn house (through HUD) because I refuse to pay rent, answer to anyone about what pets I can have, etc. Mention, I didn't get this house by myself or made it liveable by myself. My family and mentors provided me with resources to get started.
But after giving birth to my second child, after moving into my own house, the lonely nights followed. I filled them with . . . guess what . . . alcohol! Now I am no perfect person; I have suffered from anxiety my entire life and I swear I was ADHD when I was a kid, it just wasn't diagnosed back then. I was hyper, impulsive, my teachers complained about me, I was in trouble for things I didn't understand . . . My father was anxious and an alcoholic, his father and many cousins were alcoholics. Although alcoholism does not run on my mother's side, depression does. So my cocktail is alcoholism, anxiety and depression all stirred together.
I think alcohol has long been an elixir for anxiety and quite frankly it does a pretty good job of relieving it, considering all factors: cost, accessibility, effectiveness. The problem with it being used for anxiety is dose control. No one thinks, "I am going to take 2 tbsps at 4 PM because that is when my symptoms start" and "1 tbsp at 10 AM will get me through the tough part of the day. They just take the whole damn bottle and keep on because it feels so good, they are afraid the feel good feeling will diminish.
So I started consuming alcohol, on a larger scale than 'occasional' say, around October 2012. And the beer turned into wine because it didn't fill me up so much. Then the wine turned into margaritas because I could make them cheaper than wine. And I was embarrassed, ashamed, because this is exactly what my former spouse was - a drinker, an alcoholic. I craved it driving home from work. Then it became no big deal to crack open a beer while still in the car WITH MY KIDS IN THE CAR.
I don't want to be that person.
I drink to feel the empty void. I drink to feel good at night rather than being anxious of the day's events or what is expected tomorrow. I drink because I get myself so damn wound up about what I want to be, what I want to have and what I am.
I have had problems holding steady employment for the past two years and I was recently let go from my temporary sub job. My problems for not keeping employment are not punctuality, integrity or drinking on the job. My problems arise from my inability to PC my thoughts before I open my mouth and perform my actions. I get overwhelmed, wound up so tight because such and such is not perfect and I am trying my damndest to make it perfect, I say things that are true (to me, in my head) but harsh. I exhibit frustration with other people because in my opinion they play the damn game of 'covering their ass' rather than being efficient or productive. Now that I am supporting myself by myself for truly the first time in life, I am finding money truly does make society go round. I could get into any college I wanted, any training program I wanted, do anything and be accepted anywhere I wanted so long as I could pay for it. Now, that I need a job so I can acquire the money necessary to live on, I am all of a sudden unqualified. I don't understand it. I have the education, but it's the wrong type of education. I have the experience, but the experience is to little, too long ago.
In light of my recent loss(es) (temp job and friend that committed suicide), I am trying very hard to not make excuses to go buy that six pack or four pack (because a four pack is one night's decision; if I bought a twelve pack, that would be three nights' decision and that is a delusional rationale I make to myself; it is only tonight, tomorrow will be AF. 3 out of 5 times the very next night is another four pack.) I don't want to waste my precious money on something that is harmful to myself and my children. I don't want my childrens' memories to be clouded by the neglectful night experienced with mommy. I can change that. I must, there is no other choice. I will put one foot in front of the other, lean forward and march. I just wish I could learn a more charismatic way of marching because my marching is slinging unintended mud. Instead of 'the squeaky wheel' that gets the grease, I am the 'quacking duck' that gets shot. Over and over I quack, I get shot. Tired of getting shot here, but I will still continue to march.
So tonight I celebrate 5 days AF. I celebrate telling my story in supposedly an appropriate place (Our Personal Journals). I celebrate being here on earth with my two wonderful kids, two wonderful dogs, two wonderful sisters, wonderful mother, uncle, aunts; my wonderful house that has been refinished with love from not only me but all those that kindly spent their time helping. I celebrate the continued life of my chaplain and thank God he is here to provide some type of male role model for me; better late than never. I celebrate my drill tomorrow and my guard community. I celebrate anyone here at MWO that is making improvements; backslides are ok and sometimes necessary. May the Goddess of Mercy, Boddhisatva Svarta be with you. :heartbeat: the pain living brings is an acceptable trade for the joy living brings.
I am an alcoholic and suffer from immense anxiety and depression. I am stubborn and determined, faithful to a fault and act without thinking a lot of the time.
When I married, I was an occasional drinker but my spouse was overly engrossed with my drinking. I didn't understand it. He made me feel ashamed about my alcohol consumption but I still had a beer or two, about once a month or every other month; he insulted my family's 'wine choice' one thanksgiving. He talked about the wine he had drank with his previous lovers (Riunite Lambrusco) and apparently those were fond memories but off limits to share with me. He never told me he was trying hard not to drink; he never told me his mother was an alcoholic and an embarrassment to him. He never, ever explained why. There were times when I was humiliated by him; he once poured an entire bottle of wine on me in a stupid fight we had.
Not until he came home from deployment #1, did he crack open a beer and made it acceptable to drink every once in a while. I don't give a shit about the deployment, that is one big excuse, I have military background and in my opinion, the deployment was not a reason for his beginning to drink. What it was, though, was a trigger. It was a trigger of things old and inevitable redundancy in life kicked in. His new wife (me) was no longer exciting, our new duty station and new home was no longer exciting, he lowered his own standards and started with beer. With beer every weekend. With beer every night.
So, we move duty stations. New, exciting things, a new routine, new house to personalize, but then things got old, fast. Second deployment, he comes home, immediately, at least five beers a night. I'd get so mad because he'd leave them stacked up by the bedside, half empty and I got tired of cleaning it up. Of course, an old nagging wife does not provide incentive not to drink. "I'm not an alcoholic, beer, that doesn't make me an alcoholic". Well, beer turned into wine, turned into vodka because apparently vodka can't be smelled by most people and can be mixed in with sodas and no one suspects. An encounter with my one year old knocking over the half empty beer cans on the bedside happened right before the breaking point of our marriage.
But he's still not an alcoholic. However, that is not for me to decide. What was for me to decide was whether it was worth it to stay where I was at, in that toxic environment, raise two kids and survive. So I don't stay in that environment. I get the hell out because I have resources; I have a family to fall back on. I have lots and lots of people back home that are willing to help me with my children.
I move back home, process as much of the break-up as I can (while I was pregnant, which compounded the emotional turmoil because I was off my meds), come to an understanding that he is a sociopath, an abuser and I would have never won, no matter how many love, years and effort I had put into it. I could not change him, I could not make him want to change. I come to an understanding and am at a place of rational, reasonable communication for the children (although I get angry at my family sometimes when I feel they treat him as an 'old pal', facebooking and messaging him) - once again, that is not for me to control.
I get through my pregnancy, through the first couple of months, get back on my damn feet because that is what my various mentors have expected of me. I get my own damn house (through HUD) because I refuse to pay rent, answer to anyone about what pets I can have, etc. Mention, I didn't get this house by myself or made it liveable by myself. My family and mentors provided me with resources to get started.
But after giving birth to my second child, after moving into my own house, the lonely nights followed. I filled them with . . . guess what . . . alcohol! Now I am no perfect person; I have suffered from anxiety my entire life and I swear I was ADHD when I was a kid, it just wasn't diagnosed back then. I was hyper, impulsive, my teachers complained about me, I was in trouble for things I didn't understand . . . My father was anxious and an alcoholic, his father and many cousins were alcoholics. Although alcoholism does not run on my mother's side, depression does. So my cocktail is alcoholism, anxiety and depression all stirred together.
I think alcohol has long been an elixir for anxiety and quite frankly it does a pretty good job of relieving it, considering all factors: cost, accessibility, effectiveness. The problem with it being used for anxiety is dose control. No one thinks, "I am going to take 2 tbsps at 4 PM because that is when my symptoms start" and "1 tbsp at 10 AM will get me through the tough part of the day. They just take the whole damn bottle and keep on because it feels so good, they are afraid the feel good feeling will diminish.
So I started consuming alcohol, on a larger scale than 'occasional' say, around October 2012. And the beer turned into wine because it didn't fill me up so much. Then the wine turned into margaritas because I could make them cheaper than wine. And I was embarrassed, ashamed, because this is exactly what my former spouse was - a drinker, an alcoholic. I craved it driving home from work. Then it became no big deal to crack open a beer while still in the car WITH MY KIDS IN THE CAR.
I don't want to be that person.
I drink to feel the empty void. I drink to feel good at night rather than being anxious of the day's events or what is expected tomorrow. I drink because I get myself so damn wound up about what I want to be, what I want to have and what I am.
I have had problems holding steady employment for the past two years and I was recently let go from my temporary sub job. My problems for not keeping employment are not punctuality, integrity or drinking on the job. My problems arise from my inability to PC my thoughts before I open my mouth and perform my actions. I get overwhelmed, wound up so tight because such and such is not perfect and I am trying my damndest to make it perfect, I say things that are true (to me, in my head) but harsh. I exhibit frustration with other people because in my opinion they play the damn game of 'covering their ass' rather than being efficient or productive. Now that I am supporting myself by myself for truly the first time in life, I am finding money truly does make society go round. I could get into any college I wanted, any training program I wanted, do anything and be accepted anywhere I wanted so long as I could pay for it. Now, that I need a job so I can acquire the money necessary to live on, I am all of a sudden unqualified. I don't understand it. I have the education, but it's the wrong type of education. I have the experience, but the experience is to little, too long ago.
In light of my recent loss(es) (temp job and friend that committed suicide), I am trying very hard to not make excuses to go buy that six pack or four pack (because a four pack is one night's decision; if I bought a twelve pack, that would be three nights' decision and that is a delusional rationale I make to myself; it is only tonight, tomorrow will be AF. 3 out of 5 times the very next night is another four pack.) I don't want to waste my precious money on something that is harmful to myself and my children. I don't want my childrens' memories to be clouded by the neglectful night experienced with mommy. I can change that. I must, there is no other choice. I will put one foot in front of the other, lean forward and march. I just wish I could learn a more charismatic way of marching because my marching is slinging unintended mud. Instead of 'the squeaky wheel' that gets the grease, I am the 'quacking duck' that gets shot. Over and over I quack, I get shot. Tired of getting shot here, but I will still continue to march.
So tonight I celebrate 5 days AF. I celebrate telling my story in supposedly an appropriate place (Our Personal Journals). I celebrate being here on earth with my two wonderful kids, two wonderful dogs, two wonderful sisters, wonderful mother, uncle, aunts; my wonderful house that has been refinished with love from not only me but all those that kindly spent their time helping. I celebrate the continued life of my chaplain and thank God he is here to provide some type of male role model for me; better late than never. I celebrate my drill tomorrow and my guard community. I celebrate anyone here at MWO that is making improvements; backslides are ok and sometimes necessary. May the Goddess of Mercy, Boddhisatva Svarta be with you. :heartbeat: the pain living brings is an acceptable trade for the joy living brings.
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