As part of my Parts Work I've been curious about which part is the alcoholic. No answer popped into my head, so why not blog about it? WTF else am I going to to during lock-down besides eat too much and perseverate about shit that makes me feel anxious, and miserable?
So, let's go back to the beginning. Like most kids I grew up with, when I was a pre-schooler my dad was giving me sips of his beer (and I've been told by others hard liquor, which I don't remember personally) whenever mom wasn't looking. I remember I loved sucking the foam off of his freshly cracked Budweiser cans, I remember my mom commenting that I was "staggering just like her dad", but I don't remember feeling drunk til much. I liked the experience of sharing a beer, I liked the taste, but I wasn't seeking to get drunk.
Right around 7 or 8 is when I associated drinking with feeling better; get drunk=solve your problems. I have a clear memory of the late winter day, in which in a state of desperation and despair I searched the ranch for dad's stash. I had remembered days before seeing a schnapps bottle in a snow drift beside the quoncet, but it was gone when I went in search of it. I knew he often kept cans of beer hidden in piles of grain, or under boxes inside of the quoncet, but again my search yielded no treasure, and no relief.
It was yet another kick in my ass; any other day I would stumble across dad's booze stashes, but when I so desperately needed it, I couldn't find a single drop. And alcohol was the only coping skill I was familiar with, and fortunately suicide hadn't yet occurred to me because I think that day might have ended quite differently. Needless to say, I survived the day, but there would be many more like it.
As I got older I had more access to alcohol, and I continued to apply it liberally to try to cope with my internal and external landscapes. And of course it never made anything better, and in fact it being a depressant and all, made my depression and suicidality worse. Eventually I got sober, and learned different ways to cope (See "25 Years" for more details on sobriety).
So, who was this child who so desperately needed alcohol to cope? I know she was struggling with hopelessness, I know that she felt completely alone. I know she had no support from her immediate family, I know she was dealing with a shit-ton of unpleasantries and could only think of one solution.
But who is she? Is she the kid who believes her value is in being the care-taker of the dysfunctional adults in her life and knows there is no room for her needs? Is it the kid who has stuffed all of the horrors into a Pandora's box (steamer trunk), trying desperately to hold the lid shut to protect everyone from what is inside, and utterly exhausted from carrying this trunk alone? Or is she/he their own Part, a Part that said, "hey, there's too much shit too juggle, we just need to get wasted so we can all put our loads down for a while?
I'm not sure what the answer is right at the moment, so I'll change the subject. The title of this blog is something I hear almost every time I go to a 12-step meeting and someone asks me how old I was when I got sober. And I always want to punch them in the nuts (regardless of whether they physically have them or not, cuz it takes balls to make assumptions about someone's life, right?) because they assume I didn't "hit a bottom" because of my age, or didn't drink for that long. In point of fact I abused alcohol as long as anyone well into their 30's who started drinking at legal age did, and trust me, I hit some bottoms. And, anyone who manages long-term sobriety is lucky as hell, but more importantly, they put a shit-ton of work into it. Here's what makes me lucky: I didn't kill myself before I found recovery, I had someone guide me into therapy which led me to AA, I had a few people early on who supported me and supported my recovery, I was afraid to die, I was so afraid of going to jail that I didn't drink and drive (and wind up killing myself or someone else), long-term I've made better choices about the people I surround myself with and they are a bunch of awesome mutha fuckers.
So, let's go back to the beginning. Like most kids I grew up with, when I was a pre-schooler my dad was giving me sips of his beer (and I've been told by others hard liquor, which I don't remember personally) whenever mom wasn't looking. I remember I loved sucking the foam off of his freshly cracked Budweiser cans, I remember my mom commenting that I was "staggering just like her dad", but I don't remember feeling drunk til much. I liked the experience of sharing a beer, I liked the taste, but I wasn't seeking to get drunk.
Right around 7 or 8 is when I associated drinking with feeling better; get drunk=solve your problems. I have a clear memory of the late winter day, in which in a state of desperation and despair I searched the ranch for dad's stash. I had remembered days before seeing a schnapps bottle in a snow drift beside the quoncet, but it was gone when I went in search of it. I knew he often kept cans of beer hidden in piles of grain, or under boxes inside of the quoncet, but again my search yielded no treasure, and no relief.
It was yet another kick in my ass; any other day I would stumble across dad's booze stashes, but when I so desperately needed it, I couldn't find a single drop. And alcohol was the only coping skill I was familiar with, and fortunately suicide hadn't yet occurred to me because I think that day might have ended quite differently. Needless to say, I survived the day, but there would be many more like it.
As I got older I had more access to alcohol, and I continued to apply it liberally to try to cope with my internal and external landscapes. And of course it never made anything better, and in fact it being a depressant and all, made my depression and suicidality worse. Eventually I got sober, and learned different ways to cope (See "25 Years" for more details on sobriety).
So, who was this child who so desperately needed alcohol to cope? I know she was struggling with hopelessness, I know that she felt completely alone. I know she had no support from her immediate family, I know she was dealing with a shit-ton of unpleasantries and could only think of one solution.
But who is she? Is she the kid who believes her value is in being the care-taker of the dysfunctional adults in her life and knows there is no room for her needs? Is it the kid who has stuffed all of the horrors into a Pandora's box (steamer trunk), trying desperately to hold the lid shut to protect everyone from what is inside, and utterly exhausted from carrying this trunk alone? Or is she/he their own Part, a Part that said, "hey, there's too much shit too juggle, we just need to get wasted so we can all put our loads down for a while?
I'm not sure what the answer is right at the moment, so I'll change the subject. The title of this blog is something I hear almost every time I go to a 12-step meeting and someone asks me how old I was when I got sober. And I always want to punch them in the nuts (regardless of whether they physically have them or not, cuz it takes balls to make assumptions about someone's life, right?) because they assume I didn't "hit a bottom" because of my age, or didn't drink for that long. In point of fact I abused alcohol as long as anyone well into their 30's who started drinking at legal age did, and trust me, I hit some bottoms. And, anyone who manages long-term sobriety is lucky as hell, but more importantly, they put a shit-ton of work into it. Here's what makes me lucky: I didn't kill myself before I found recovery, I had someone guide me into therapy which led me to AA, I had a few people early on who supported me and supported my recovery, I was afraid to die, I was so afraid of going to jail that I didn't drink and drive (and wind up killing myself or someone else), long-term I've made better choices about the people I surround myself with and they are a bunch of awesome mutha fuckers.
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