Judgement

The stigmas associated with being labeled an alcoholic, or any type of addict for that matter, is a fairly long list that can often have negative consequences on the individual.  The negative connotations, often unfair and some times uneducated beliefs, disapproval by friends and family, a simple mark of disgrace; all of which can lead to discrimination at work, difficulty even finding a job, harassment, the idea that you are a failure and will never succeed in life.

Stigma = shame and shame = silence.

I have spent a lot of time reading about alcoholism and addicts in the last year and a half, simply to try and understand my own issues.  However, research on functional alcoholics is minimal at best. Mainly due to the what you just read.  Thankfully, in my small part of the world, I never experienced much of what is listed.  I was well known as the big drinker among friends and colleagues.  For me, if I didn't have a beer in my hand, or both, then the harassment began.  I also no longer have a high profile job, which in a sense allows me to have more freedom to say and write exactly how I feel without any negative consequences.  In the same respect, I have always been pretty outspoken on certain subjects, and would and still will give you my opinion regardless if you ask for it.  Just ask any of my current or former bosses at work.

Stigmas are a pretty shitty way of stereotyping a person based on something that has happened in their life, even if it is an uncontrolable disease.  Take the 1850's novel The Scarlet Letter for instance.  Yes, I have read it...not just watched the Demi Moore version.  A woman was forced to wear the letter "A" and face public humiliation for an adulterous relationship.  I am in no way saying adultery is a disease, just simply using Hester's downfall as an example of what happens when someone is placed in a position of being publicly labeled, whether right or wrong.

I have had plenty of judgemental remarks towards the way I look, dress, how I present myself, and even some in relation to my job...simply because I choose to work in retail and am a blue collar worker must in some way mean that I am uneducated.  Surprisingly, or maybe not so much, a lot of these were initiated by my parents.  I guess that is part of the reason why I am not ashamed of admitting that I was an alcoholic, or professional drunk as I like to call it, that I did seek counseling for it, and I do now rely in part on certain meds to get me through the day.  And I can honestly say that the feedback has been extremely, and overwelmingly positive.  Although, I am sure someone out there thinks I am a nut job that can not overcome alcoholism...once a drunk, always a drunk right?! Well, I'm not dead, not certifiable, and no longer a drinker, except Big Red and that doesn't count. So, judge me as you please because I will prove you wrong.  I am not ashamed of the disease that I battle and I will not be silent about it.

The moral of the story is this:  if there were less stigmas attached to alcoholics, maybe there would be less silence, thus more information gathered about the disease...all leading to a single resolution and avoidance of using alcohol as a cover-up.  But for now, we are stuck with the mom and pop age old response of "don't drink because it's bad for you".

the Unexpected...Food

It has been almost 18 months since my last beer.  Now days, I eat pretty much whatever I want (aka Big Red Zero and Chunky Chips Ahoy) and work my ass off in the gym.  However, during my first few weeks of sobriety, I encountered something that I did not plan for...one of the unexpected aspects of sobering up.     

To abruptly deprive my body of the only thing that it knew, Mr. Barley and Ms. Hops, was quite an adjustment, mentally and physically.  Just like any other addict, in the first few days, I fought off the shakes, I felt sick, I slept hours on end, I drank gallons of water…but once I was back on my feet, the one thing I was not prepared for was learning how to eat again.  Beer was my most substantial source of nutrients (just the idea that beer, in massive amounts, is nutritious makes me laugh), but as I began the first week of my journey, I had no real interest in food.  No food, no calories, no energy…this was not a good thing.  So began the process of finding food that was enjoyable. Those I consumed in excess with beer, I no longer craved.  In fact, I recently had a Reese’s peanut butter cup again…trust me, I ate it…but really didn’t enjoy it like I used too.  I lost my appetite for a lot of different things, especially things that were salty.  

Once I figured out what to eat, along came the challenge of how much to eat.  At first, I would not eat enough to sustain me for even one full hour.  What I forgot to consider:  I had been consuming a minimum of 3000 calories a day in beer, plus whatever food I did eat, so now I always felt as if I was starving.  After six months of trial and error, I finally found my best eating schedule along with quantity and type of foods to get me through a full day (mind you I never said it was all healthy or good for me).  

My first few months, I found that eating a family sized breakfast was the way to go.  I would wake up starving in the mornings, and since I work fairly early, it would be the only way to get me through most of my shift.  I would follow that up with a sandwich for lunch and a decent sized dinner.  I eventually found that adding a protein shake to my morning routine helped immensely and my breakfast platter turned back into a plate.  My body has since adjusted to this new way of life, and I still eat a good breakfast and dinner.  But mid-day is more a series of snacks rather than a full lunch.  I now find myself eating something around 9 or 10am, 2pm, and 5pm...followed by dinner at 7-8pm.  I will refrain from telling you what I do eat because I don't want someone to try my "diet" and end up gaining fifty pounds.  What I will tell you is that it works for me! 

And yes, to all those diet gurus out there, I may be, according to your way of life, killing my body by eating processed foods.  BUT guess what...we breathe the same crappy air, most of us shop at the same grocery store or something similar, and with the crap that is shipped out of China, you probably don't know what your eating either.  So, I will happily enjoy my cookies, pop-tarts, and waffles...and still kick some ass in the gym! :))

What Goals???

"The question isn't who is going to let me; it's who is going to stop me."
And the answer to that is me...only I can sell myself short.

My number #1 goal in the short term and long term is an easy one: stay clean and sober.  Even though I have faced some rough days and I am sure there will be more ahead, I have had more fun and enjoyed life more in the last eighteen months than I ever did covering up my problems with beer and alcohol.  I sincerely hope any one with addiction issues can turn there life around...because it is never to late!  And when they say the grass is always greener on the other side, that is 100% true in this case.  Simply waking up every morning at the crack of dawn sober and watching the sun come up, (instead of puking my guts out and laying on the couch trembling with anxiety about the day ahead), makes me appreciate every day I am given.

Beyond my professional drunk life, I have already achieved many small goals that just make me want to push further and see what is possible.  I got to a point in my life where I wouldn't get into a car unless I was driving...overcome.  I was afraid to step foot on an airplane...overcome.  And the times I was afraid to leave the house because of the unknown...overcome.  My goal now is to save up some cash and take a well earned family vacation...probably to Vegas.  Yes, I may be the only person in the world that wants to experience Sin City and the beautiful red rock canyons sober.

And then, of course, I have my goals for strongman as well as powerlifting.  With the strongwoman national competition right around the corner, my sights are now set on improving my lifts and event techniques so that I am 100% confident in my capabilities when the clock starts.  I don't expect any miracles to happen, there are only so many gains one person can make in a month.  But with that being said, there are adjustments that can be made to make what I can do more efficient and consistent, thus turning the question of "can I" into "I will".  A year from now, my sights are set on being competitive at this level, as well as making a more successful run at CA Stongest Woman.

Powerlifting is similar in the fact that repition makes you more consistent in your lifts. But I also see it as a numbers game.  There is no end to what a person is capable of lifting...there is always more weight to be added. Since I finally hit my goal of 350 on the deadlift, it is time to move toward my goal of 400 by the end of next summer.  My coach also helped in setting short term goals for my next meet with higher starting weights which would ultimately end with some new PR's...and hitting the elusive 200lb bench as well as going over 200lbs on my squat.

There is lots of hard work ahead but I am ready to face the challenge!

Blinders

When your drunk all the time, you lose sight of what your loved ones see you go through every day. Just like the ponies at the track that wear blinders, you have one sole purpose: to strategically get from one drink to the next without distraction.  Most of my excessive drinking was done at home, especially the worse it got.  But on the days that I had to be somewhere, I had already mapped out convenient stops along the way to refresh my beverage of choice and consume most of it in my car. 

One thing that it is important to note is this: I was a lifelong drinker.  So when I did go out to eat or chill at a bar, it was not uncommon for me to go through 12-18 beers at one sitting and be able to walk out like I was sober.  That was just average for me.  At my worst, I would wake up in the morning and finish a six pack for breakfast.  Or I would mix a vodka drink in a 32oz plastic cup, and be on my second one in a matter of minutes. 

However, as a functioning alcoholic, people that do not see you on a daily basis rarely have any inclination as to how bad it really is.  Any addiction is a cause for concern to someone close to you, if they know it IS truly an addiction, but talking to an addict about how much they consume can go in one ear and out the other pretty easily...especially if they are functional throughout the day.  But when you see those words in writing and truly feel what they were or are also feeling...well, then it becomes something different.  For me, it was more of an eye opener as to how bad things really were. 

After losing my job as a collegiate Head Basketball Coach:
“She sat on the couch for six months and drank.  She was not drinking beer though; instead, she was drinking vodka along with other hard liquor.  After six months of that I told her to get off the couch and get a job.  She resented me for making her do it.” 

Once I admitted that I felt like my body was shutting down (at this point, about once a month or so I would be so sick that I wouldn't get out of bed for days at a time...but as soon as I felt better it was right back to drinking): 
“…she began to experience high levels of anxiety and physical illness.  She soon became a person I did not even recognize.  I kept trying to convince her to get some help.  I knew of a therapist who dealt with alcoholism, and I tried to connect them on more than one occasion.  But, she was not ready for help.”

Approximately six months prior to hanging up the bottle:
“(She) was just not getting better, mentally or physically.  She started to miss work regularly, and I would literally drive home from school wondering if I would find her dead or alive.  I was worried that the combination of her physical and mental condition was serious enough to take its ultimate toll on her, or that she just might take her own life.”

Clean and sober:
“(She) has been the biggest inspiration to me, as she has now been sober (with no relapses) for 15 months.  Her internal strength provides the foundation for my will to stay sober.  I also never want to let her down or cause her to relapse. “

Personally, I like the last one the best.

My Worst Day Sober

Who ever started the phrase, "my worst day sober is better than my best day drunk" was obviously not a functional alcoholic.  Maybe a holiday binge drinker at best.  Either way, this phrase is completely untrue for me.  Remember, I was a professional when it came to drinking all day, partying till all hours, and living a drunk lifestyle that most people would never admit to...and in my lifetime, I have had some damn good drunk days!  But on the downside of things, there was a "worst day sober"...

Everybody has experienced a “worst” day so far to date.  At some point, each one of us has encountered something that we wish would have never happened, something we wish we could have fixed, changed, or made right.  The loss of a loved one, a divorce, failing to get into college, breaking something dear to you, the spectrum here is endless.  Maybe we don’t regret the experience per say or even desire to fix it, but instead have learned and grown from it.  Or maybe it just remains in the back of our mind, a reminder of what could have been or what once was. 

In my humble opinion, human life is the single greatest thing bestowed on us.  Whatever one believes as to how and why it happens is of no significance here, a case study in religion is better left for…well, not me.  Now for me an utter disregard for human life is nearly incomprehensible.  We are given something so beautiful, a blank canvas to develop and nurture; life is a continuous learning experience, a fascinating growth process both inside and out.  So why would someone even consider bringing an end to it, life that is.  What is so important that takes precedence over living?  It is almost mind numbing to think that anyone would contemplate an abrupt end to their life….…but it happens.

I have never feared death…although I will admit that somewhere along the way I developed a fear of flying.  I live life with the philosophy that the fat lady could sing at any moment, ready or not.  I could walk out of the house right now and get hit by a car.  I have also never sat and contemplated death except when I was forced to read various philosophical views in college.  It will happen soon enough why waste time thinking and worrying about it.  Shit, after some of the things I have done in my life I am sometimes surprised it hasn’t happened already. 

During one of my first sober months, I found myself in MY worst possible scenario.  I became THAT person; the one who contemplates taking THAT step…the permanent solution, the way out, the quick escape.  I had no concern for my own life…zero.  Looking back on that day, I am not even sure what led me to that place mentally, to the single moment in time where I contemplated such a cowardly action.  I do know that I truly believed that I had ruined my life by abusing alcohol and there was nothing left for a failure like me.  There were, what could be considered, external factors that contributed to my mental state, such as fatigue, new medication, a longer than normal day at work.  But none of those should have led me to sitting in my car at the corner store actually attempting to formulate a plan.  Thoughts consumed my mind.  I felt like I had lost all control.  I felt helpless, mentally not physically.  I was overcome by thoughts of how to end my life.  I had an hour of free time, a knife in my car, gun at home, an overpass to jump off less than three miles away, plenty of places…but again one hour to decide and execute and no one to talk me down off the ledge, no pun intended.

It appeared as though today was my day…the fat lady was warming up and there was nothing I could do.  I could not put a thought in my head other than the end.  My mind was a runaway train careening off the track.  I had never experienced such an overwhelming feeling and sure as hell didn’t know how to stop something I could not gain control over.  I sat and cried because I had failed…at life and the process of living it was no longer a concern.  Undecided on an action to take or a plan to follow, I noticed through my tears that my free hour was up. I started the car and headed home to change for a concert that evening.  I was mentally exhausted but all of the sudden it was over.  I was able to refocus all my negative thoughts and concentrate on the present, what I needed to do and where I had to be.  I had successfully survived, literally, the worst hour of my life.  All those thoughts gone in a moment’s notice…with a sincere hope they do not ever return. 

The problem I now face…I felt no fear.  It is a piece of the puzzle I had hoped to never find…more or less hoping that it would be lost forever.  Usually thoughts that even remotely resemble these scare me to death, but for the first time I did not blink at the thought of taking my own life.  I don’t really know what turned that switch on and besides a deadline of sorts; I do not know how it turned off so abruptly.  Now I wait…will the fearlessness, that has only begun to exist, and lack of concern for human life reappear like two trains in a head on collision or will they simply fade away.

Support System

 

I am not a big believer in group therapy, such as AA.  I did not use it nor will I promote it, although I do believe that some people may benefit from it.  It is just my choice and I know I do not respond well to various people that I do not know patting me on the back, praying for me, or giving me advise on life.  In fact, put me in a group of people and I will either not say a damn thing or I will be the one to crack all the jokes at the wrong time or just be an asshole.  So, I chose to attack my alcoholic problems by myself, but not without a handful of people, new friends and old, that have come into my life at exactly the right time.  I was not naïve in the fact that I did know I needed some help.  Where was it going to come from? That was the question that time would answer.    

My best friend has always been there for me.  She knows me better than I know myself, and knows what to say when…from letting me crash and burn when needed, to picking me up.  There is no way in the world I could have undertaken this enormous task without the support of the one constant in my life.  If you are one of those people that have to deal with a loved one with an addiction, I can honestly say, for my situation, it was handled 100% in the correct manner.  I had to decide for myself that it was time to quit, and after twenty plus years of drinking, no one ever saw it coming from me.  There was no push, no intervention, no dumping out bottles, no I am going to walk away if you don’t quit situations.  It was me and my decision.  Although it was needed, for my health and sanity, I was allowed to do it on my terms.  Even though “my terms” was originally a bet to see how long it would actually last.  And I would be the first to tell you, it won’t.  I had made that critical decision more than once in my life and failed, but on one morning in particular…I would not fail.  In addition, I have never had to ask for support, its just there…all the time.  This person is the essential part of any recovery program, whether it be a best friend, family member, co-worker...as long as it is someone who truly knows the real you.

I began therapy before I quit drinking to deal with the issues that caused me to drown myself in alcohol in the first place.  Prior to my first session, I chugged three 16oz beers just to calm my nerves and be able to open up a little bit.  My second session, I was wasted.  I started drinking at 8am, my appointment was at 2pm and kept drinking the rest of the day.  She had no idea…that shows you right there how “functional” I really was as an alcoholic.  And it was not her first day on the job by any means.  By my third session I had sobered up for good, and began to do work.  She has single handedly helped me through some extreme rough points in my early months of sobriety.  From depression, to thoughts of suicide, to anger, to being a failure, to piecing my life back together one day at a time…she has heard it all and provided me with countless solutions and ways to get through each scenario.  I can say that without a doubt, I would not have made it this far without her.    

As with any type of addiction recovery, you are always encouraged to find something to do, something you love and have a passion for…a distraction, a release, whatever you want to call it.  Mine had always been sports and lifting.  I played basketball, soccer and volleyball in college and turned to CrossFit in 2008 as a means to stay in shape and feel that competitive edge again.  I competed in the CrossFit Games in 2009 in Aromas as an individual and regional competition in 2010 with a team.  By this time, I had minor injuries that were keeping me from being 100% all the time, so I hung it up as a competitor and turned to the only thing I knew would help, beer.  As my drinking got worse, I walked away from any and all things athletic shortly after that competition.  I began to realize that I needed to get my shit together and being around the gym where I was no longer competitive was not helping.  To me, it was seeing failure first hand day in and out.  So I drank more.

The first day I decided to attack a morning workout, sober, was the first day of the rest of my life.  I could feel that passion deep inside and had to find a way to pull it out.  I spent several months doing things on my own and researching every thing I could about powerlifting.  I knew I could rebuild my bench press to be respectable and I love to deadlift.  The third element of powerlifting is the squat, and in my mind, two outta three wasn’t bad.  Injuries had kept me from squatting for quit a while and I really had no desire to ever squat again. 

As with anything competitive, I hit a point where I need a coach, someone to teach me the ins and outs of the sport, critique me, and best of all kick me in the ass.  I have had some great young coaches in my athletic career and the best ones always pulled things out of me by doing just that.  So, I did my research.  I found the best of the best when it came to competitive and knowledgeable women in lifting and shot her an e-mail.  I’m not gonna lie the quick response kind of scared me a little bit.  I set up an appointment to discuss my goals and show her where I was in my three lifts.  In one session, I learned that I need to tweak my bench form, no problem there, my deadlift form was horrible, and I had no leg strength.  Years of not squatting because of injury had turned my squat to shit, which I was well aware of, as well as my deadlift.  But after one session I was hooked.  It was simply her passion for lifting and her passion to teach…and her ability to kick me in the ass from day one.  Long story short, I had found a person that was going to keep me on my path to recovery, even though she had no idea. 

I could have easily walked away from the challenge that I was about to undertake, but that is not me, not how I operate.  Challenge me to a drinking competition and I would have never backed down.  Challenge me to get stronger and become a better lifter…I am not backing down from that either.                  

So all in all, this was and still is my support system.  Adding to this list, I received a huge amount of support from several co-workers through my hardest moments.  Not many have a boss/friend that was as understanding and supportive as mine.  I was extremely lucky in this department.  The simple fact that I have some of the most caring and supportive co-workers is beyond what I can write or say about them.  When I was at rock bottom, they still showed me love and support.  It is important to note that these are not people that I met overnight, most had known me for years.   

And I can not forget the friends from near and far, old and new who sent me messages of support.  They always made me smile on days when I needed it most.  I still battle issues with anger, frustration, and depression, although they are a lot less frequent, and deal with those moments as they happen.  But my life without alcohol has been amazing to say the least.  I am alive…physically and mentally and extremely appreciative of everyone and everything that has gotten me this far in my new journey. 

I Should Be Dead

I guess that pretty much goes without saying.  I spent 27 years drinking and 23 of those years drinking and driving.  But in my last 8 months or so of drinking, I could tell my body was shutting down on me.  I no longer even liked the taste of beer or alcohol.  I only drank it because that is what I knew...that is how I escaped from my problems.  That was how I lived.

I remember several friends and I were at Wurstfest.  After a couple of pitchers of beer, I broke down crying.  I couldn’t hold back any longer.  I felt like shit.  I looked like shit.  And I knew if I didn’t quit soon, I would be dead.  End of story.  At the same time, I did not know how to cope without alcohol.  My coping skills had stopped developing right about the time I started drinking.  In a sense, I skipped those years of my life.  So, my lack of coping skills carried me through another five months before I actually quit. 

Those months were horrible.  I was drinking from sun up until sun down and would get up in the middle of the night to drink more.  I kept count of beers left in the fridge so that I would have enough for over-night drinking as well as a six pack for the morning hours.  If I didn’t have the correct amount, I would make late night beer runs to get another 18 pack or case.   

I never slept more than a few hours a night and when I did sleep, I had horrible nightmares.  I also had anxiety issues when it came to simple things like showering and leaving the house.  My anxiety attacks got so bad that more than once I thought I wasn’t going to live to see the next morning...or the next five minutes for that matter. 

After work, on the days that I made it to work, I would make a mad dash over to the liquor store next door to get a cold six pack of 16oz beers.  It would make me physically ill to go into the store as well as slamming the first one to get my buzz back.  I was always forced to eat something with a lot of flavor to get the first one down.  But once that buzz came back, all was back to “normal”. 

I was becoming a recluse of sorts due to my drinking.  I couldn’t go anywhere without being drunk.  And if I was the least bit sober, I would get physically ill.  There were many times that I would be at my favorite bar/restaurant, order something, and then not be able to eat it.  At this point, I was starting to get bad stomach cramps that would hit me out of the blue...but became more frequent as the days went on.  So in my infinite wisdom, I decided that food was no longer a necessity as long as I had beer or a bottle of vodka.  It was the same wisdom that led me to believe that drinking all night and day was “normal”.  Any and all rational thinking at this point was drowning in alcohol. 

pretty much sums it up!

 

Supply and Demand

In order to get a perspective of my life as a drunk, it is important to understand the quantity of alcohol I consumed throughout my life as well as how it increased dramatically over the years.  As a kid 11 years of age, when I was first introduced to the ultimate hideout from  all problems, I would drink one to two wine coolers.  It was typically on the weekend when my mom and I were chilling at home.  It became such a wonderful and desirable feeling to me that I would occasionally sneak to the pantry for one during the week.  This was usually due to a fight between my parents, getting into trouble, or some other undesirable that I wished to hide from.  By the time I was in high school, I had freedom in the form of a Pontiac Grand-Am, my first vehicle.  My alcohol consumption by this time, and you are only looking at a four year difference, had increased to one 750ml bottle of vodka during the week and one for the weekend.  I also picked up smoking consistently during this time period, Marlboro 100’s in the soft pack. 

When I first started drinking, the wine coolers were purchased by my mom.  But as I increased my consumption, I had to hide my purchases.  So where did the money come from?  I was given a weekly allowance and gas money like a lot of kids, but my drinking typically exceeded the money I was given for the week.  There were times when I would do extra chores for five bucks a pop, but on numerous occasions, I would “borrow” twenty to forty bucks from my mom’s stash.  She used to keep a large sum of money in a white envelope on the right side of the second dresser drawer.  My mom did not keep track of her allowance thus providing me with plenty of opportunity to collect drinking funds.

During high school, partying in the form of drinking happened just about every weekend.  So, the consumption of alcohol also increased.  The bottles of vodka got bigger and I began incorporating bottles of cinnamon schnapps.  The cinnamon flavor replaced the gum cover-up and you could keep your buzz.  Awesome!  Summer time meant pool parties and gallon, yes gallon, daiquiris…with extra shots of course.  And while purchasing the gallon size beverage, why not have some cherry bombs while you wait…or jello shots.  Daiquiri Express, or the round building as we called it, became a primary location for obtaining anything buzz worthy.  The generic styrofoam containers that held the smaller daiquiris could pose as a soda from almost any joint in town.  Needless to say, they accompanied me to school on occasion and even sports trips.  I know what you are thinking, how did you get around the drinking age and being ID’ed.  In Louisiana, the legal drinking age was 18.  So as long as you had someone in your group that was of age, anything could be purchased.  It also helped that when you became a regular at certain places, they no longer asked for identification.  This included bars, liquor stores, and of course the round building. 

By the time I was “of age”, I was already known at most places around town.  I had one bar that I would frequent for happy hour that included $1 and some change screwdrivers.  Another bar had the best long island ice tea in town and when craving something sweet and mild, an amaretto sour would do the trick.  This place also had plastic cups that you could take home.  I had such a large collection in the back seat of my car, I had to start throwing them away.  Its just like leaving a festival with a stack of cups, except these were of the sixteen ounce variety. 

So basically, by the time I finished high school I was drunk pretty much all the time.  I was stealing money from home to cover my purchases.  Driving drunk was an art and acting completely  sober in front of people was a profession.  I had already become a high functioning alcoholic.