Once upon a time in a land far, far, away there lived a beautiful princess. Fair, much like Snow White, but a fake redhead with more attitude, cats, and there were many more men, and women. There was Michael, Aaron, Justin and Gordy, Nicholas, Ian, Ben and two Drews. Michael, Michael, Michael and Michael. Jacob, Ryan, Stephen and Paul. Jackie, Taylor, Alex and of course, Bradley. Those were just the ones who I “loved”, not the ones intertwined in my alcoholic sex fantasies and mishaps. There are several things that I could be described as “addicted” to. But what is addiction?
(source article)
“Addiction is compulsive need for and use of a habit-forming substance. It is accepted as a mental illness in the diagnostic nomenclature and results in substantial health, social and economic problems.”
My group of friends in adolescence were not likely to be voted for much in the yearbook. We were mostly unseen and my inability to remain in the background is what drew me towards the obscenity scene. Getting a rise out of getting a rise out of people became its own area needing CBT. I still remember my first coming-to from Blackout Uno. V’s birthday party was fun, I think, maybe, probably not because virgin bleeding girls are mean, but I awoke to an unusually hot April sun beating the blacktop around my poisoned body. How did I get there?
“How did I get there?” became an overused rhetorical question I would often shame myself with the morning after. Who, what, where, when, why, how much did I spend? Consequences of my polysubstance dependence may appear mild to some, but not caring about making it back to reality really just made me a walking zombie with a debit card. Don’t get bit. Moral of the story, like most, I was the last to know about my toxic relationship with alcohol.
My first recollection of being immersed into alcohol culture was as young as my oldest memories. Having a modest Irish bar in my Gramma’s den didn’t feel hostile back then. The jar of candy on top was like a maraschino cherry on top of a sundae. It was always staring at me as if to say, “are you ready yet, kid?” I looked forward to seeing if the worms trapped in her tequila bottles had found a way out yet. The answer was always, “No”. I walked by that well stocked social trap everytime I wanted to watch VHS, play with lincoln logs, or sleep on the rickety pull-out sofa. Alcohol is everywhere.
I sipped unattended beer cans from the floor as young as my daughter is now. I would take partial cans and dump them into another can in G-Ma’s bathroom closet upstairs then throw one back by myself during holidays or behind the shed during Bills games. I mean, it was the 90’s, but why was I so obsessed with the stuff? Simple answer: when the adults around me consumed alcohol they seemed to like each other more (until they didn’t) and I saw it enough that I felt like it was safe for me too. By twelve, my big sister or any of my mother’s alcoholic boyfriends were being blamed for deficits in my mother’s stash. I had my portions of all her booze stored in bottles on the 2×4 above my closet door. Since Y2K, I’d quietly open the freezer and take a swig of the Captain or Sky she kept nestled in there. My favorite color has been blue for many years and as I write this, I realize my favorite shade is Sky Vodka Bottle Blue. My least favorite color is green.
Joining the Army changed the trajectory of my life. I experienced war and like many other veterans, alcohol was the band-aid. I was diagnosed with PTSD while I was still in the Army but I was ailed by more than being a killer. When I first arrived in Afghanistan, someone who I called my cousin died tragically. I couldn’t go home and I definitely couldn’t drink that problem into a smiley face emoji overseas. After a shoelace confiscation situation, a new problem emerged when I began abusing my prescribed benzodiazepines. This evolved into eating and insufflating pretty much anything. Alcohol was my gateway drug, cannabis is my exit drug.
The Army gave me stability and security that I didn’t have back home. Even while deployed and suffering, I felt respected and appreciated by my camo family. A few months after deployment my friend was involuntarily murdered by a bunch of people who we trusted most. My faith in humanity died, again. Lush Luke laid lifeless outside of a bar during a relapse. I was honored and horrified to attend the trial but glad he doesn’t suffer anymore. I hope if angels fly he sees me sharing his name and face still. Never forgotten, none of them are. Like most, alcohol was a problem for me in or out of the Army but the Army was the first time anyone intervened. At 21yrs old I was ordered into the Army Substance Abuse Program: AA and abstinence were the requirements but I couldn’t stop.
I have been privileged with being a pioneer for many programs and experiences in my life and Army rehab at Fort Gordon was no exception. If you are reading this from rehab, hating your current situation, trust me when I say, Army Rehab Sucks! I mean that with all the grace and gratitude possible but people detoxing don’t need to be doing PT at 0600 and using rank structure like we weren’t all fuck ups sitting in the same circle. Regardless, their attempt to make us whole again was a needed stepping stone towards my recovery. On the 28th day my boss personally drove four hours and presented me with a 30 day medallion in what was an emotional exchange. I felt like he really believed in me that day, and I did too. That same weekend I traded the chip for a free drink at my favorite sport’s bar. I am sorry SGM for making your job so much harder but thank you for your empathy and planting the seed.
I rode out the rest of my active duty contract being a manipulative scumbag and was swiftly released to the National Guard. I had no intention of being a part-time Soldier but I needed the money after being demoted and fined half of my pay for two months before getting out. Night one, I gave half of the Guard soldiers alcohol poisoning before their annual picnic. They must have been onto me because my paperwork magically got lost and I wasn’t asked to return to duty the following month. Being homeless in North Carolina led me back to NY fall of 2010, the beauteous time of year to heal some ugly shit.
I spent the next few trips around the sun doing the AA Shuffle, aka, enough meetings to get some clarity then get mad at something stupid someone said and not go back. Relapse, Rebound, Repeat. I had several homegroups and attended many sober social events such as dances and AA-athons. I connected with these people. They listened to my five minute baggage and some even *gasps* helped me. The lesson, “blessing”, AA gave me was the gift of love. But in between my 12 Step half-measures the gaping soul hole of addiction grew.
My goal of drinking was always to blackout or pass out. Blackouts aren’t generally great for your brain functionality and surely I wasn’t drinking to just sit on the couch all night. I got lost, a lot. I have partied and passed out in many places that are not safe. A doctor once told me, “you have an angel sitting on your shoulder”. Mid-Buffalo-winter, I passed out on a snow hill in the middle of a dark park just a block from my house with no coat on (this was actually a random St. Patrick’s Day relapse so Happy Holidays! Drink one for me, Normies!) I have smashed my face, smashed my skull, fallen down stairs, punched/kicked/stabbed/body-slammed/set ablaze many nouns, broken many people, lost many jobs, lost good friends, lost my mind, lost it all again. I have never been arrested but I traded my hope every time I drank.
What made recovery so hard in the beginning was my age and lack of having a record. How can a 21 year old that has never had a DUI be an alcoholic? I am here to tell you that I believe, as do many professionals, that I was just as much an alcoholic then as I was at 28. I drank compulsively and it caused me health, social and economic problems. The formal diagnosis was like being told that I have a new skin mole. Okayyyyyy….. But then it ends up being malignant and needs to be removed from my body. See where this is going? The past seven years still have ugly scars, I am human, but it is more manageable without the alcohol problem. V asked me today if I am struggling to stay sober lately, I smiled softly, “Easy peazy”, I said, and I meant it.
So do I just have an addictive personality? This is a term broadly used as a way to describe someone who is at high risk for developing unhealthy obsessive behaviors. There is no medical diagnosis for “addictive personality”, with one neuroscientist saying this concept is a “heaping pile of bullshit”. (High Times Article – Addictive Personality). When it comes to alcoholism there are generally two agreed upon contributing factors: genetics and social development (or trauma). I grew up in an environment that normalized alcohol so much that my own family made fun of me for going to AA. My friend V and I talked about neglect years ago and she mentioned her mom’s accusatory scolding about childhood attention seeking behavior. V said, “Yes, I was seeking attention. I just needed my mom.”
The Ted Talk, “Everything You Think You Know About Addiction is Wrong” is referenced by me often. The concept that people can live successfully surrounded by addictive and destructive substances was baffling to me until I found myself aligned with people who weren’t addicts. Most people don’t have sex with the urinalysis guy to save their government job, go figure. The longer I remain in a healthy, stable and nurturing environment the more resilient I become against maladaptive behaviors. Today, I am accountable for the parts I played in my own chaos and I am responsible for healing it before the next generation inherits my scars.
People of AA, medical professionals, peers, teachers, fallen angels who raised me up to my potential, thank you for loving me until I learned how to love myself.
To those who stole my joy, kiss my white cat lady ass. (:
Justine!!!! I’m reading through your blog and I’m loving it! You are doing a fantastic job! You’re raw and open. Way to go girly! 🥰😘🖤