5/7/2018
The insanity
of alcohol abuse boggles the mind. My drinking is slowly destroying the trust
of everyone around me. I’ve created anxiety and resentment, worry, disgust and
dread in those I care about most, all while completely stripping raw any shred
of self-esteem I may have had left in me.
One recent week marked a new low.
My pattern has been drinking anywhere from 9-16
beers every other day. I’ve been trying to cut down the amount I drink each
‘drinking day’ but it rarely works. The times when I only have 8 or 9 beers in
house I usually end up taking a shot or 2 of straight vodka or—even worse—mix
whatever old crap we have in the house with soda to keep my buzz on. Last week
that took the form of brandy with orange soda—a disgusting combination however
way you look at it-- but a necessary evil when that insane drive to keep
drinking takes over your brain.
Sunday starts my drinking week, and on this
particular Sunday, my husband “Tom” and our older son left in the family car
for Costco at 3:30. Exactly 5 minutes later I hopped in Tom’s car, carefully
checking his tire alignment before pulling out so I could put it back
identically and he’d never suspect I’d left to get more beer. It worked like a
charm.
Monday morning came, and Tom couldn’t find his car
keys. “Do you know where they are”? he called to me. I was pretty sure in my
stealth I’d put them back on the key rack where he’d left them. “No. Why would
I”? I answered.
“I don’t know, did you take my car yesterday to
buy beer”? “NO”! I fired back immediately, feigning insult at the mere
suggestion. But of course I had done just that, so without him seeing I
casually peered into my pocketbook and DAMN IT—there was the carabiner clip to
his key ring! I palmed it and went over to the key rack in the kitchen. His
keys were indeed there but he hadn’t recognized them without the blue clip
attached. Ever so slickly I grabbed them and put the clip back on at the same
time.
“Here they are”! I said, and he bought it. He
hadn’t seen me put the clip back on it and had no idea I had lied about taking
his car to cover up yet another beer run.
It’s hard to understand how low lying and
cheating about drinking can take your psyche over time. Because just when you
think you’ve reached your bottom you manage to dig yourself a little deeper
into despair as you continue to lie to the people who mean the most to you.
Monday was of course a “day after, and full of
regrets” day. As always I needed a long nap in the morning to recover from
alcohol-fueled restless sleep. And I told myself I would not drink again until
Friday. How hard could that possibly be?
Tuesday came around and I was still feeling
strong by early afternoon. But sometime after 2 the beast began calling me. Tom
had an event to go to straight from work and wouldn’t be home until at least
9pm. Even though the days of when the kids were little and blissfully unaware
of my drinking were long gone, knowing Tom would be home late and I wouldn’t
have to pull off a “family dinner” was still a huge trigger for me, and just
like that I resigned myself to be slave to the beast once again.
After taking my younger son for his doctor’s
appointment on Tuesday afternoon I dropped him home and went straight to Target
for “food”. Of course my main reason for going was beer.
I was thrilled to come home and discover that
both of my teenage sons were taking naps. I quickly unloaded my Miller Lite
bottles into the fridge, keeping two in hand to retreat to my favorite drinking
place: In front of the computer where I could lose myself in social media and
music while drowning my brain in alcohol.
To my shock and horror my older son “James” woke
up merely 2 beers into my binge and asked if I could drop him at the school to
play soccer at 5:30. It was barely 4 o’clock.
He saw I was drinking but I had to play it cool.
I’d stop drinking now, I told him, and by 5:30 I’d be fine to drive him. “Ok
fine,” he said. “As long as you blow under the limit. He was referring to the
keychain BAC device my husband had bought on Amazon. Sadly, my kids can rattle
off all of our State’s DWI BAC limits without skipping a beat. They know the
drill.
“Of course”! I said, smiling. But inside I was
dying, screaming, and --most of all-- plotting.
Two beers marks just about the time the euphoria
kicks in and the frenzy of not wanting to stop begins. Now my plans had come to
a screeching halt and my booze brain didn’t like, not one little bit. Ideas on
how I could pull off the act and still get drunk immediately flooded my mind.
I clearly would have to stop drinking until
5:30. But that left plenty of time to get back to my party-of-one, hide the
empties and sober up a tiny bit before Tom returned! “Can you get a ride home”?
I asked my son.
“Why? So you can keep drinking?”
“What? No! It’s a beautiful day today, if you
can’t get a ride home can you walk”?
The idea that he would buy my ruse, even for a
second, was an insult to his intelligence.
James has always been the more perceptive of my
two sons, and when it came to my drinking he had developed the sleuthing skills
of a pro. He could hear the “Psst” of a beer bottle opening through earbuds and
could smell even a sip of booze on my breath. He could easily tell the
difference between “Buzzed Mommy” and “Drunk Mommy” by mentally calculating the
level of droop in my eyelids and the slur in my voice. And he knows ALL the
tricks in my book.
“Okay fine,” I said. “I’ll pick you up”.
His expression told me he was skeptical but it
resolved the debate for the moment and I had plenty of time to figure out a
Plan C (C, for Continue drinking). Had he counted the remaining beers in the
fridge? I wondered. Would he count them again when he came home? Probably. What
if I filled my empties with water and reattached the caps? I thought that could
work. Would he make me show my BAC when I picked him up? I had an answer for that
too—I would sabatoge the BAC keychain and say it broke.
It seemed there was no limit to my creativity
when it came to finding new ways to lie to my family about my drinking.
5:30 finally came around and annoyingly my BAC
had gone UP from the.02 it showed 20 minutes earlier to .03. “Still under the
limit though, its fine” James resolved, as we headed off to the high school. I
figured he’d be done in an hour or so and I could get 3 or 4 more beers down in
that time. Since my first 2 beers had pretty much worn off I knew that I could
pull off sober 4 beers in as long as I wore sunglasses, and it was plenty sunny
outside. Yes! The beast was happy.
Barely an hour had passed and I’d just finished
my 4th beer (my 6th beer actually, but the 4th since the re-start) when James
texted that he was done. “On my way”! I texted back, and blew into the BAC
machine for my own knowledge. It said .16. I knew my real BAC was much less, as
these BAC readers are inaccurate unless at least 10 minutes pass after
swallowing alcohol. I was more likely at .10 or .11. Both of which are legally
drunk. I donned my big blue sunglasses, popped a piece of Trident spearmint gum
in my mouth, got into the car and picked up my son.
As soon as I got home I resumed drinking again,
knowing that if James asked me to blow for a BAC I could blame it on the
inaccuracy of having just freshly swallowed. But he never asked. My plan worked.
Later that evening he told me he was glad I was
able to stick to my word to not drink while he was playing soccer. And with
that, another little of piece of me died inside—killed by the beast in my brain
that puts altering my mood with booze above truth and trust and everything else
I value most in life.
My James, my sweet, smart, sensitive boy who,
because of my behavior, felt obligated to become my supervisor. He worried
about my drinking and what it was doing to my health and to us as a family. And
now I had managed to pull off a night of drinking without him suspecting I’d
broken his “rules”. Betraying his trust without him knowing somehow felt even
worse than if he’d caught me red handed.
I had all day Wednesday to let the reality of my
guilt stew in my soul.
Thursday became a repeat of Tuesday. Drinking
wasn’t an option, I told myself, and there was no reason I couldn’t hold off
until Saturday, when Tom and the boys would be gone all day long at an
amusement park out of state. I could even day drink on Saturday, and maybe
sleep it off a bit before they came home.
My life had become an endless cycle of planning
how to pull off my next binge while upsetting my family the least, and the only
way to accomplish that always involved sneaking, hiding, and lying.
Of course by Thursday afternoon I was drinking
again.