Monday
May092011
It Bears Repeating
Monday, May 9, 2011
I have been accused of not being a real alcoholic.
Real alcoholics pass out in bathrooms. Real alcoholics lose their jobs. Real alcoholics destroy their marriages. Real alcoholics drink all day long every day without ceasing. Real alcoholics drink at work. Real alcoholics can't freely make the choice to quit. Real alcoholics have rock bottoms that sit next door to death.
The intimation is that my alcoholism doesn't look like chronic severe alcoholism, which actually constitutes, by some measures, only 9% of those considered to be alcoholics. There are those who consider anything less to be hardly of any note. The hardcore alcoholic has it worse, so I have no right to talk about what I know.
This all reminds me of when I had a breakdown about three years ago after suffering through an abusive job for a few years and going through a hysterectomy due to cervical cancer and watching the Palinode suffer with severe pain and a broken back. Something in me fractured after all of that, and I could barely leave the house. When the Palinode came home from work, he would often walk all over the apartment calling my name because he was unable to see me under all the blankets I used to conceal myself. I was certain that my heart would simply stop in my chest one day soon and allow me to die. I felt like an ailing plant sick from diseased soil.
I made it out to drink, of course. I would bathe and plaster on a smile, knowing that I only had to work at it for about an hour before I was drunk enough to numb out the pain and soldier on. On a couple of those occasions, a particular friend leaned over and said "You're not doing that bad, you know. I've seen worse. You're not in the hospital. You're okay."
Having had friends who did things like drive their cars off overpasses without having ever once been hospitalized, I knew full well that his measuring stick didn't work, and his words immediately made me feel sick. I felt erased. When was I going to be ill enough to get better?
Something switched over in my head, though, when that friend told me that the breakdown that had me unable to eat or sleep or think or breathe or work properly was really nothing. Something changed, because I knew for once that he was wrong, and that the only person who could know my heart and mind and was ME. I knew that I was ill no matter what he thought it looked like from the outside.
My general view of humanity was a little more worse for wear, but faith in myself began to put down roots.
I took and adapted two lessons from my friend's comment about my breakdown which later became invaluable in getting me to acknowledge and deal with my alcoholism:
At my worst, I've been the drunk driver. I've hidden liquor under my bed just to find the will to wake up again. I've crapped my own pants at work after a long night out. I've plotted my suicide with the belief that life could only ever be what it was at the time. I've forced myself to throw up my last drinks in a vain effort to hide my lack of control. I've cried and fought with myself and burned with shame and truly believed that the Palinode would be better off without my malignant existence.
Even at my worst, though, measuring myself against worst case scenarios and trying to believe the people who told me I was really doing alright kept me from admitting to my alcoholism for over a decade. I didn't want to know the truth of the matter, and it was easier to believe that, as long as I wasn't one of those people, I wasn't that bad off. At least I wasn't that guy grubbing through cigarette butts in the planter, right?
Last August, though, I put aside what other people said and worst case scenarios, I grabbed a hold of what clarity and courage I could muster, and I saw a long-time alcoholic. I saw someone who ordered most of her life around getting drunk and ordered what was left over around hiding that fact. I saw someone who had been very sick and very sad for a long time who was becoming increasingly suicidal. I didn't have to look like that guy passed out in a pool of his own urine to be that person, either.
When people tell you that your breakdown or addiction or heartbreak is not what you know it to be, that you are not suffering in the way the you know you are, they don't usually mean to be dismissive or enabling. They are often in denial of their own suffering, and if they admit to yours, then they just might have to admit to their own. That's tough to ask of anyone.
This is why it is up to you to believe in what you know. Believe yourself. Believe your own voice. If your heart and your mind tell you that you are sick, you are sick, whether you are hiding behind a dumpster in an alley or under a pile of blankets in a corner of the living room.
I have been accused of not being a real alcoholic, and there was a time when I would have believed that, but, thankfully, I no longer do, and this faith in my own voice is what has afforded me the ability to choose to save my own life.
I've said it before, but it bears repeating: What does alcoholism look like? Sometimes it looks like me.
Real alcoholics pass out in bathrooms. Real alcoholics lose their jobs. Real alcoholics destroy their marriages. Real alcoholics drink all day long every day without ceasing. Real alcoholics drink at work. Real alcoholics can't freely make the choice to quit. Real alcoholics have rock bottoms that sit next door to death.
The intimation is that my alcoholism doesn't look like chronic severe alcoholism, which actually constitutes, by some measures, only 9% of those considered to be alcoholics. There are those who consider anything less to be hardly of any note. The hardcore alcoholic has it worse, so I have no right to talk about what I know.
This all reminds me of when I had a breakdown about three years ago after suffering through an abusive job for a few years and going through a hysterectomy due to cervical cancer and watching the Palinode suffer with severe pain and a broken back. Something in me fractured after all of that, and I could barely leave the house. When the Palinode came home from work, he would often walk all over the apartment calling my name because he was unable to see me under all the blankets I used to conceal myself. I was certain that my heart would simply stop in my chest one day soon and allow me to die. I felt like an ailing plant sick from diseased soil.
I made it out to drink, of course. I would bathe and plaster on a smile, knowing that I only had to work at it for about an hour before I was drunk enough to numb out the pain and soldier on. On a couple of those occasions, a particular friend leaned over and said "You're not doing that bad, you know. I've seen worse. You're not in the hospital. You're okay."
Having had friends who did things like drive their cars off overpasses without having ever once been hospitalized, I knew full well that his measuring stick didn't work, and his words immediately made me feel sick. I felt erased. When was I going to be ill enough to get better?
Something switched over in my head, though, when that friend told me that the breakdown that had me unable to eat or sleep or think or breathe or work properly was really nothing. Something changed, because I knew for once that he was wrong, and that the only person who could know my heart and mind and was ME. I knew that I was ill no matter what he thought it looked like from the outside.
My general view of humanity was a little more worse for wear, but faith in myself began to put down roots.
I took and adapted two lessons from my friend's comment about my breakdown which later became invaluable in getting me to acknowledge and deal with my alcoholism:
- Don't leave it up to anyone else, not even a professional, to tell you whether your breakdown or addiction or heartbreak is a mountain or a molehill. No one lives in your heart and mind with you. It's a mountain, because it's YOUR mountain.
- Don't fall into the trap of comparing your breakdown or addiction or heartbreak to the worst case scenarios you've seen in life or on television. It is never true that everyone is doing just fine right up until the second that they find themselves sleeping behind a dumpster. They were ill well before that scenario.
At my worst, I've been the drunk driver. I've hidden liquor under my bed just to find the will to wake up again. I've crapped my own pants at work after a long night out. I've plotted my suicide with the belief that life could only ever be what it was at the time. I've forced myself to throw up my last drinks in a vain effort to hide my lack of control. I've cried and fought with myself and burned with shame and truly believed that the Palinode would be better off without my malignant existence.
Even at my worst, though, measuring myself against worst case scenarios and trying to believe the people who told me I was really doing alright kept me from admitting to my alcoholism for over a decade. I didn't want to know the truth of the matter, and it was easier to believe that, as long as I wasn't one of those people, I wasn't that bad off. At least I wasn't that guy grubbing through cigarette butts in the planter, right?
Last August, though, I put aside what other people said and worst case scenarios, I grabbed a hold of what clarity and courage I could muster, and I saw a long-time alcoholic. I saw someone who ordered most of her life around getting drunk and ordered what was left over around hiding that fact. I saw someone who had been very sick and very sad for a long time who was becoming increasingly suicidal. I didn't have to look like that guy passed out in a pool of his own urine to be that person, either.
When people tell you that your breakdown or addiction or heartbreak is not what you know it to be, that you are not suffering in the way the you know you are, they don't usually mean to be dismissive or enabling. They are often in denial of their own suffering, and if they admit to yours, then they just might have to admit to their own. That's tough to ask of anyone.
This is why it is up to you to believe in what you know. Believe yourself. Believe your own voice. If your heart and your mind tell you that you are sick, you are sick, whether you are hiding behind a dumpster in an alley or under a pile of blankets in a corner of the living room.
I have been accused of not being a real alcoholic, and there was a time when I would have believed that, but, thankfully, I no longer do, and this faith in my own voice is what has afforded me the ability to choose to save my own life.
I've said it before, but it bears repeating: What does alcoholism look like? Sometimes it looks like me.
categorized in health and tagged in alcoholics, alcoholism, health, sober, sobriety
health and tagged in alcoholics, alcoholism, health, sober, sobriety 
Reader Comments (59)
I admire you so much. I can't get my words to say what I really want to say about this post, so I'll leave it at that.
You're so badass for being this kind of honest.
Yesterday was my 8th day without a drink. And all because of you. Thank you.
You my dear, are a gorgeous gift.
Yeah. That. All of that.
Probably the wisest thing ever said to me as a youth was said by an English teacher, who reminded us high school juniors that we were going to hear the phrase "the real world" a lot("just wait until you get out there into the real world!"), and that we should ignore it completely. She told us our world was as real as anyone's.
Looking back, she was absolutely right. I see my high school age son and sometimes think, "those kids don't know how good they have it," which is true, but so not the whole story. Yes, they don't know what it's like to struggle to make the bills each month, true. But their world, their problems, their struggles, are just as real as mine. I have to keep reminding myself that.
I'm not an alcoholic- I haven't had a drink in I don't know how long, and have absolutely no need to ever have another one. But I'm certainly not going to tell anyone their struggles are easier than mine. Your problems are yours, my problems are mine.
Bless you for the strength you have found, and the strength you share with all of us.
There is so much truth in this. Well, all of it is the truth. My father spent decades being able to go to work and perform his job, but crashed and burned at home because he didn't have the coping mechanisms to deal with so many issues not limited to but including migraines, depression and what I believe is OCD. He didn't drink, but he found a lot of comfort in prescription meds. Today he is almost 20 years sober/clean. It saved his life to acknowledge that while he didn't look like the classic addict, he was one none the less. I am so grateful for him and for you, willing to be out here, being so honest and open. You will save at least one life beyond your own.
It was the same for me before I faced the fact of my serious anxiety problem. I wanted someone to diagnose me, to say, "You know, that's really bad, let's get you some help." But because I coped so well outwardly, it never happened. I finally had to take responsibility for my own heart.
Congratulations, Schmutzie. It's only because you put yourself out there that people try to correct you. You could just be quiet! But then none of us would see your brave journey.
xo
i love your honesty. I love your willingness to be transparent, and to own what is yours. To speak truth without shame even in the face of the judgment that caused you to write this post. You inspire me to write, you give me courage, just by being who you are and writing what you write. Makes a difference to me every time I read you.
Today's takeaway that will make me think and reflect, was this one:
"Don't leave it up to anyone else, not even a professional, to tell you whether your breakdown or addiction or heartbreak is a mountain or a molehill. No one lives in your heart and mind with you. It's a mountain, because it's YOUR mountain."
Validation. All the time when I read you, that's what I get. Thank you.
I have stopped trying the convince the people around me that anxiety is real and just because it sounds silly to you (of course there's enough air, just look around you) doesn't mean it's silly to me. If I say I can't breathe, then I can't breathe. Love me enough to trust me.
The first time my doctor gave me antianxiety meds, I took one and threw them away. "I do not have a problem and I don't want to be a drug addict". He asked me what made me think I would become a drug addict. I said because everyone who takes xanax is an addict (for the record, I am a psychiatric social worker and work with these meds every day). He gently laughed and told me I shouldn't be ashamed to use what I needed to deal. We talked about what made me anxious and other ways to deal so I could save the meds for the last resort. Today, I carry them with me but rarely need them. Just knowing they're there helps.
You don't have to be in the most extreme state of any problem to admit there's a problem and to try to fix it. Kudos to you for taking care of yourself before you moved into a refrigerator box.
You are so flinchingly honest.
The things you are open about on your blog.
I know what you're saying, I hear you and see you.
People tell us it's not so bad, but the I inside us, now's this isn't right.
I am so relieved, happy, comforted, feel at home, finding your site.
It's like having my one friend back from college, the one that would be so honest with me, it's like having her back.
You are incredible, you do so much for my thoughts, and my day.
It gets lonely, when you feel no one, where you live, gets you.
You get me.
Thank you.
Very true. Denial is such a strong part of alcoholism but we don't often speak about the denial of bystanders. I'm the child of two alcoholics. My father was the crash and burn kind (which literally killed him at 45) so we didn't recognize my mother's chronic, life-long addiction (she's 73 and going strong - in life and alcohol). I've seen and heard denial in so many forms and have learned that denial of another person's problem usually comes from not being willing to face your own.
You are the expert on you. Well said...
I love truth. It's beautiful.
You have expressed this so well. There is so much wisdom in this. I'm sorry it was gained the hard way, but thank you for sharing it. You're making the road easier for those who follow.
it's so good when people tell the truth.
your reality is your reality and people who think they know differently?
well, god bless them and the little bubble they live in.
i'm glad you're dry.
yes yes and yes.
I just like you so much (even if you are Canadian). ;)
Thank you for baring it all. You are helping people. YOU ARE HELPING PEOPLE & THAT IS HUGE. I wish you weren't so damn far away. XOXO
Beautiful. Amen. You rock my world, sister.
Also, some people can suck it.
I'm so glad you wrote this. I agree that people enable others because to recognize the suffering of others is to recognize their own. I often say that if you shake anyone's family tree, then an awful lot of drunks fall out.
I'm the child of a recovering alcoholic, but I've seen many struggle and deny their own suffering because it doesn't seem as bad on the outside as it's supposed to be for "true" alcoholics. It's such a destructive path, but we're led to believe that if you can hold down a job and pay your bills, then you don't have a problem.
You touch on the inner sadness and turmoil so poignantly.
I lost someone close to me in the past year. I wish they could have read something like this before they died. I'd like to think that if they could have seen themselves in you, it would have made a difference.
Thank you for continuing to share this story.
yes. and thanks. a lot of thanks.
Just sitting with you and nodding. xo
your strength is astoundingly beautiful. that bears repeating too... because seriously, your strength is astoundingly beautiful.
damn you are brave.
Thank you for sharing your story. I am so glad to have gotten the chance to know you through your blog since meeting you at Blissdom.
I'm familiar w/ the feelings you're describing here.
I suffer from depression, but so far I haven't been hospitalized. Does that make my suffering any less real? Hell no.
Don't listen to people that try to downplay your reality or make you feel like your suffering isn't "real." They're jerks...
It's natural to compare with others, but we really never know what goes on in someone else's head.
Congratulations on getting yours straightened out!
I feel like everyone in these comments should share in a big group hug today. You all kick ass.
"This is why it is up to you to believe in what you know. Believe yourself. Believe your own voice. If your heart and your mind tell you that you are sick, you are sick, whether you are hiding behind a dumpster in an alley or under a pile of blankets in a corner of the living room."
This can be true of anything, really: I felt dismissed when I was trying to figure out what was wrong with me last year, but I *knew* in my bones what I was going through wasn't "normal," regardless of how many loved ones told me otherwise. As I heard a couple of times during that period, no one's going to advocate for you.
So glad you've shared this with us.
xoxo
You're so smart. :)
It's admirable, your sharing of this; of you.
I'm a follower on Twitter and a first time blog reader. I love your fierce honesty. No one can know how well or unwell someone else is. Thank you for sharing.
Geez...how do you win on this one?
Say you aren't an alcoholic but drink frequently and people will say you are one.
Say you are and people will say you're not.
Same with all mental health issues or pretty much anything else.
Coming from a long line of people whose lives are very diminished by their drinking or other forms of substance abuse but who don't do any of the things your friend says is crucial for alcoholism I have to say he's really full of it. If you can't handle life without a mind-altering substance and you want to handle life without that substance--but you don't believe you can what then? The problem is that this describes a HUGE number of people.
I guess I've told you my theory about the eleventy different kinds of alcoholics. Just so many varieties out there of humans who have to imbibe something or other to make it through the day, all their own special flavor and style.
No one likes that because it makes things too complicated and hard to categorize--that can be a really annoying thing with people, how different they all are.
I don't believe in the hitting bottom theory. I believe in the "I want to be better than I am" theory. I don't know what people are trying to do in minimizing your alcoholic behavior. What do they want? For you to become a sleeping in the alley drunk before it is ok for you to make positive changes?
Yesterday my pastor's message was that God wants us to express ourselves magnificently, shiningly. You go on being the best Schmutzie you can be.
Whatever you do, did, will do, might do, didn't do....I love you and am always here.
This is why I blog. To read something like this.
I'm with Neil. Your honesty makes me want to write my own honesty. Thanks for being so real.
Somehow, I always manage to drop by and read something here just when I need it most.
Thank you for being so honest. Thank you for your badassery.
Thank you, thank you, thank you.
Sometimes I read your words and am just GOBSMACKED.
This is one of those times.
Love and light to you.
Those who suffer from depression deal with the same thing. If you're not a greasy haired, catatonic curled into a fetal position in a darkened room, you're not considered "depressed" enough to seek or deserve treatment. Like alcoholics, depressed people work hard to hide how bleak their world really is. I am glad you are on the road to recovery.
Thank you, Schmutzie, from the heart.
Your blog floors me. This post is no exception.
You nailed it, Schumtz! I have some siblings that still believe I'm not a "real" alcoholic. They believe I drank because my 22 year old son died. True, I did and what better excuse, ace-up-my-sleeve, and sympathy vote could a girl ask for to truly hone her drinking skills?
And some of those who say our problem really doesn't exist ARE afraid to look at themselves in the rose-colored mirror. They were one of my great excuses, too!
Congratulations, Barbara! You rock!
GROUP HUG!!!
Amen! I love to hear stories just like yours that show so many different faces of alcoholism. You are absolutely right on that you know when it is too much and when you have lost your power over the alcohol. No matter what it looks like to anyone else. Thank you for being so brave and sharing your story. As an addict with 11 years clean, I know what it takes to put it out there. You are brave and strong and I am thankful for both!
The powerful part of this post for me is that you realized what you needed, to live, to heal.
It amazes that the people feel the need to speak to you or anyone about whether you need this healing.
It is awesome that you have made these changes in your life, and you are shining because of it.
There is a Ani Difranco song with a lyric that talks of a Phoenix and riseing from ashes and a thousand eyes smoulder
with jealousy while you are just flying there.... So you just fly on, you strong lovely woman.
Thank you. As always, your writing brings me to my own introspection.
One day at a time we take this life, this world.
This is so well-written, and so true. If a person is honest with themself, they know whether or not they have a problem.
What a huge post. So many people, in so many situations, could read this and take a moment to trust themselves. Thank you.
Well said of course. Your ideas can apply to any addiction, depression, or other mental health disorder. Sometimes other people don't want you to have a mountain, they want you to keep it a molehill. It takes courage and clarity and grace to acknowledge how big your pile of rocks and debris has become and declare it to be mountainous. xoxo
Everyone's been so lovely and respectful and exhibited a certain amount of decorum within these comments, so I feel quite small and shallow for this, but I mean it, hugely:
Fuck Yeah.
Thank you. Needed this today. xo
I <3 you, and your writing, so very much.
This? And you?
Both tremendous.
Thank you for being so brave. You said it wonderfully.