DaMomma and One Crafty Mother are writing a tandem post. It is a story about alcoholism and denial, about the protection of children and the meaning of friendship. The story begins here, with Liz, Part One, then continues with my perspective, below.
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Karin surprised me with her call. I didn't remember the conversation we had the night before. If I had, I wouldn't have picked up the phone. I knew she was testing the waters, trying to figure out how much, if anything, I remembered of our conversation the previous night.
I tried to make light of it, laugh my way through. She didn’t buy it. "You were pretty drunk last night," she said.
I mumbled some responses - mini-apologies, loose explanations: things are just hard right now, I'm adjusting to the new job, I'm not sleeping, I haven't been feeling well, I'm going to go to meetings. She was silent, and before she could respond I concocted an excuse and hung up.
I remember that I felt unburdened. The worst had happened - my good friend called me on my drinking - and I got through it. I admitted drinking is a problem and that I'm doing something about it. I could no longer distinguish truth from lies, because I believed what I told myself: I just need to do this my way. I know drinking is a problem, and I'll get a handle on it. I will control my drinking so I don't have to stop completely. I believed that I would be okay, that I would learn to drink like a normal person. I had to believe this, because the thought of life without drinking was too terrifying to contemplate. I thought I just needed more time.
I resolved to be more careful. No more phone calls after I've been drinking, I told myself. I came up with a plan to admit a little bit, feed people just enough information to get them off my back.
I tried not to answer the phone. On the odd occasion I would connect with someone, I pretended I was busy, when in fact I was alternating trips to the liquor store with naps. Steve was doing the drop-offs and pick-ups for the kids each day, part of my new work from home schedule. I spent my days scrabbling to hold things together - getting the kids up and ready for school, doing just enough to squeak by on my job, and then tucking the kids into bed at night. I thought I was doing a pretty good job. I was never exactly sober, but I tried not to get too drunk. I was pleased to be left to my own resources during the day - no kids to look after - so I could maintain my drinking.
Then things start to change, slip. I realized that once I had one drink I couldn't predict what would happen. Some nights I would only have a few drinks and I would get drunk. Other nights I drank and drank and couldn't get to the point of sweet oblivion I so craved. I broke my promise and called people at night, embarrassed myself. More and more I couldn't remember things from the night before. I started scrawling down reminders to myself: remember Michelle called, you talked for an hour. Just chatted, nothing serious. Sometimes I couldn't read my drunken handwriting the next day.
I felt a vague sense of panic, but not about my drinking. I was terrified that I wasn't hiding it well enough.
There are lots of conversations I don't remember well, or at all. But one conversation stands out in my mind. It was after a particularly bad fight with Steve. He had found yet another hidden bottle, knew I had been drinking, and left with the kids. I called Liz, sobbing, my hands shaking.
I was desperate for friendship, sympathy, a human connection. I told her I thought Steve and I weren't going to make it. I told her we were fighting more and more. "You have some tough choices to make," she said. I remember thinking: tell her. Just tell her. Tell her Steve left because you can't stop drinking.
I was too afraid. I knew she would tell me I had to stop, so instead I told little bits of the truth, enough to feel validation, love. It was one of those rare moments when I saw myself as I really was: drunk, addicted and scared. But not scared enough to tell the truth.
The fear of life without alcohol trumped everything.
For Part Two of the Tandem Posts, click here.
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