I went to Hazelden in Minnesota for in-patient treatment a week after my last post. Things had gotten out of hand, to put it mildly. I needed help. I’ve been sober since the day I checked-in, in large part because I finally surrendered to alcohol – I waved the white flag and gave up. I can’t drink. I don’t think going to Hazelden has helped me stay sober. What has helped is the memory of how badly I felt at the end. I never want to go through the physical effects of alcohol addiction ever again. For the last two weeks of my drinking I had to drink around the clock to keep from going through withdrawal, which consisted of tremendous anxiety, sweating, an inability to sleep or even stay still, and constant shaking. I never want to forget how awful it was and how out-of-control I felt. Thank God I didn’t get into a car accident or do anything crazy. I just drank by myself in my room. My only companion was a bottle of Chardonnay, and then another, and then another. Each morning I would wait until the grocery store opened to go buy more wine. I only had the guts to buy one bottle, and I’d throw some doughnuts and other things in my basket hoping I would disguise the lush I had become. That bottle would last until noon, and then I would go out and get two more to last the rest of the day. I kept thinking I would stop – that I just needed one more bottle and then I would stop. Such irrational thinking, but that’s the nature of alcohol addiction.

I’m doing okay now. When I came home from treatment I was kind of in shock. I slept-walked through the days, just trying to re-build my life. I quit my old job before my short-term disability ran out and somehow managed to get hired by a new company doing work I’ve done before and that I’m good at. I slowly made amends to my two teenage children, whom I know were scared and worried about me. What my drinking did to them is my biggest, most painful regret. It all seems so surreal now. As if I have woken up from a long nightmare. I look back at those months from March to July and think: “What the heck was I thinking?” and “Who was that person?” I’m still not completely healed but as the days go by, I’m getting better and better. I feel grateful for getting through such an awful, painful period  and I’m trying to use the experience to live a better life going forward. It’s been a long struggle. I hope the worst is in the past.

I failed in my quest to taper off drinking. I need to just stop.

I’m tapering off wine starting today with the goal of being sober in a few days. I tried quitting “cold turkey” and experienced such horrible anxiety and sweating that I went and bought a bottle of Chardonnay and am slowly drinking it right now. I need to stop badly. I want to be sober for good this time. I have so much to live for. I want to be fully present for my life.

I drank yesterday evening. And of course I’m wide awake now at 2am. I want it to be my last drink. I was sober for nine months! And then some emotions got to me and I thought: “Why not one bottle of wine?” Yes, you read right- not one glass but one bottle, which turned into two. Sigh. No real damage done on the outside but my mental health has taken a hit. So I start over tomorrow. There is no giving up. Got to keep trying. I’ll be okay.

I was sitting in the food court at Boston Logan Airport on Sunday eating a sandwich and feeling fine. I looked up and spotted the bar I used to drink at whenever I had some time to kill before boarding a flight home to Chicago. Suddenly, seemingly out of nowhere, I felt an urge to drink a glass of Chardonnay. And at that moment, and for minutes after, I knew I was going to drink. But sober me decided to battle alcoholic me. Sober me said “You only have time for one drink before you have to board and what’s the point of having just one?”  Alcoholic me countered with: “Well, I can have two more drinks on the plane.”  Sober me then said: “But by the time you land you will feel tired, the buzz will have worn off and you will feel awful.” Alcoholic me retorted: “Once I land, I could go straight to a bar at O’Hare and have another to keep the buzz going, and then I could drive straight to the grocery store to buy a bottle of Chardonnay and drink it when I got home.”  Sober me, fighting for my sobriety, said: “But you will be drunk by the time you get home, and the kids will know and then the next morning you will wake up with remorse, shame, and guilt, not to mention a hangover, and you will have to begin fighting for sobriety all over again.” And as swiftly as the desire to drink invaded my mind, it left.  This internal struggle had lasted no more than five minutes. At the beginning of that five minutes I knew I was going to drink. By the end of the five minutes I knew with 100% certainty I was not going to drink. That was the first time I had successfully fought off such a drinking urge. I felt like I had climbed a mountain and was standing at the top looking out over a beautiful horizon, feeling triumphant and at peace. Nothing mattered at that moment except that I had not taken that first drink and that I was still sober. I was, and still am, filled with gratitude – filled with grace. There is no better feeling.