Getting ready to go

Had a little freak-out yesterday, but I'm a little better now.  It's just that this change terrifies me.  Adam thinks I'm just being dramatic, but I told him to shove it -- this isn't just giving up a bad habit.  This change is to my entire lifestyle, and that's huge. 

Everything is going to change.  Drinking begets laziness, which begets "cooking" lower quality food, which begets weight gain, which begets poorer health, etc.  And even though this is obviously a good decision, I still hesitate.  Unfortunately, not drinking begets awkward excuses as to why you can't join your dad at everyone's favorite bar like you used to every weekend, and since your dad is awesome, you feel bad telling him that he can't see you.  Sure, it's a legitimate excuse this time because you're going camping, but what to say next time?  And the next?  It sucks to not go to your favorite bar, because other than obvious reasons, their chicken Caesar salad, their popcorn shrimp, and their hot ham & cheese sandwiches are off the fucking hook.  I'm sure that Adam and I will still go there, but the last time Adam quit drinking, he said he even felt uncomfortable in steakhouses because there would be a bar area there.  But I would hate to never go to my favorite place again.

Went shopping for camping gear yesterday and spent about $350.  Yikes.  We didn't have anything -- a tent, cooking gear, sleeping bags.  But at least we'll have those things for a long time.  Then today before we leave, we're going shopping again -- this time, for enough food and smokes to last the trip... which reminds me, I need to figure out how to cook in the outdoors. 

Fortunately, there's a gas station near the camp grounds, so I'll be able to nip by if I need tampons or something. 

Oh god, I hope I don't need tampons this weekend.  That would suck. 

During yesterday's trip, I bought a journal so I can chronicle everything while I'm there.  I'll type it out on here, unedited.  I plan to write a lot, while Adam downloaded like a thousand (not exaggerating) books onto his iPad.  I'll probably hike around the grounds if I get restless.

We both realize that this trip is probably going to suck, and we are going to be bored to tears.  Even when I'm at home, with a TV, computer, my phone, everything there to entertain me... I have to drink to keep from being bored out of my mind.

Maybe that's just it.  Everything bores the living crap out of me.  For a second, it makes me feel like, "well, maybe I'm just a misunderstood genius that is above all these uninteresting people," but then I remember what my mom always said -- that only a boring person is bored for long.

Last day

Today is the last day I get to drink, and I am so fucking on edge that I can't work and all I could do was write.  So many things going through my head...

For one thing, I'm a little caught off guard because for some reason I thought we'd be drinking tomorrow.  I don't know why I thought that -- probably because my vacation day is Friday -- but the "last day" seemed to come up really fucking fast. 

For another, I'm peeved and jealous that Adam just texted saying he's opening the bar since it's the last day.  Well, it's the last day for me too, and I can't drink for another two hours because I'm at work.  There's an eleven year old in my head, stomping her feet and yelling that it isn't fair. 

And I have so many questions...

What if I can't do it, or I need more help with it than Adam does?  Will he leave me?  He said that's his motivation for his sobriety, is that we say that if we can't do it, we leave each other.  Well, that doesn't make any sense to me, and I told him that I'm not going to leave him if he slips up.  That seems outrageous to me.

Will I seriously never be able to have a drop of alcohol again for the rest of my life?  This seems so final.  And I get a twinge of it everywhere:  looking at the invitation I received yesterday for my company's anniversary dinner ("Cocktails at 6:30".... so what the fuck am I supposed to be doing at 6:30?), the periodic get-togethers we have with my brother where we always hang out in a bar, hanging out with our friends and family (pretty much all of whom drink, though not heavily, but who the hell wants to be the one sober person among several tipsy people?), even the mouthwash in our bathroom, etc.  Will I never be able to go to a sports bar again?  Is this forever?

When Adam's brother "quit" drinking a while back to drop a few pounds, he told Adam, "Well... you don't want to become a non-drinker," when he spent a weekend with us.  We partied, went to the river, watched movies -- always with some rum or vodka in hand.  Then, after the fun weekend, he went home and continued his mostly-non-alcoholic diet, no problem.  Will Adam and I ever be able to do that?  Have drinks on our birthdays, etc.?  I have no idea.

And finally... what if I never feel better?

My last week

When Adam woke me up this morning, he welcomed me to the last Monday that I'll be at work hungover. 

It's actually not that bad today; I took it a little easier yesterday because of Saturday night, but I'll get to that.  I still stayed up way too late last night, though -- on some of that, I'll blame our neighbors, but the rest of it is due to the "bullshit half-cocktail" phenomenon. 

I'm excited to go shopping for our camping trip this weekend.  We're still going, despite Easter.  We'll just come back early on Sunday and learn to love the blue laws. 

Saturday, I opened the bar at five and continued drinking until about three in the morning.  At first I was just at home, watching re-runs on Netflix, but then I showered and joined a friend of mine for a midnight movie showing -- but first, we were at her apartment, where we killed a bottle of wine in about five minutes.  The theater we went to had a bar, and I had at least (?) two vodka tonic doubles, which were strong but eight fucking dollars apiece.  After the movie, we went to a nearby bar, where the martini I had was the straw on the camel's back.  It totally knocked me on my ass.

We walked back to her place -- on the way, I peed behind a van -- and she got really stubborn about me driving home, even though it was only a few blocks and all I'd have to make was a right turn.  I hate spending a night away from Adam, so I called him at 3 a.m. and he wasn't super happy about it, but he picked me up.  We didn't tell my friend that, by that time, he was probably as drunk as I was. 

Sunday, I woke up with the worst hangover I'd had in a long time.  I was still feeling bad by 5-6 p.m. -- despite sleeping in, despite eating, despite an entire quart of Powerade -- so I made myself some hair of the dog and felt a bit better.  Adam said he's done with hangovers.  We're looking forward to our trip.  I'm looking forward to losing weight.

On a side note, I noticed that my friend from Saturday night has complained about menstrual cramps twice since the last time I've had to bother with it.  I've got indigestion, nausea, and a weird sense of smell.  Things are smelling weird.  Like, my cup of ice next to me smells like infection.  Seriously, it smells like pus.  (Sorry to anyone reading this.  I read this over again, and thinking about the smell of an infected wound definitely makes me want to hurl.)  And on Saturday, my friend and I were sitting near a trash can in the theater, and someone tossed a bit of trash in when they walked by.  The trash they threw in smelled like some kind of food, and I almost threw up.  I had to look at the ceiling.

I've been pregnant twice, and neither of those times resulted in a baby, unfortunately.  So I don't get my hopes up.  But the first time I was pregnant, I was at a fast food place with Adam, and I nearly threw up when I saw a blob of ketchup in the soda area trough.  I don't know what it was that sickened me, but seeing that ketchup covered in soda really didn't sit well with me (and I'm pretty sure we hadn't found out about the pregnancy yet).  Oh, and I had fucking insane heartburn -- I didn't know what it was at first because I'd never had heartburn in my life, and now I get heartburn from PMS every single month.  The second time I was pregnant, I would dry heave whenever I got too emotional -- I remember one time when Adam and I were having an argument in the car, and right as he pulled up to the house, I jumped out and ran inside to the bathroom.  He came in the house, saying, "Oh, real mature, just jump out of the car like tha-- oh shit, are you okay?"  Me:  "ughghghghghgh no more fighting, the baby doesn't like it..."  Then we went to McDonald's, with him saying, "Let's get you a nugget for your nugget."

I was already drinking somewhat heavily by the time I got pregnant the first time.  Losing both babies is probably a factor in reasons why I continued to drink heavily. 

Anyway, it could be PMS, or it could be Adam Jr.  But man, my cup of ice smells terrible.


EDIT:  Took a test; not pregnant.  Adam said, "Sorry, baby," and I said "meh."  Adam:  "Meh?  Really?  Okay, then it's meh.  Let's have a good day."  (I usually get pretty upset when I find out I'm not pregnant... but with him out of a job and us not sober yet... yep, I'd say it'd be bad fucking timing.)

To refuse alcohol in public... or private

Depending on when my family's Easter dinner is planned, Adam and I are still going camping that weekend.  We'll just come back early for the dinner.  Sunday will still be a detox day; alcohol sales are prohibited, because this state sucks. 

Hope there's no alcohol at the dinner.  If I refuse a drink, everyone's going to think I'm pregnant.  Then I'll have to say I'm not pregnant, there will be an awkward silence, I'll try to crack a joke about it, and then there will be more awkward silence.

A diet.  I'll say I'm on a diet.

But then my mom, who tends to be a tad critical, will make some kind of comment... either "oh good, I was worried about your weight," or "you don't need a diet -- what if you get anorexia?!?!?!"  You know, I really wish she would just tell me the perfect weight.

And, actually, if I said I was on a diet, there would still be awkward silence, because surely people can tell that I've gained a lot of weight.  When someone who weighs a lot says they're going on a diet, what are you supposed to say?  Even a hearty "good for you!" would bother me, because that means they've noticed that I've fattened up.  And an oblivious "why go on a diet?" will only be interpreted in my brain as encouragement to drink.

Not much luck so far in Adam's job search.  He's in "fuck it" mode.  I'm just worried about money, especially since we seem to be hemorrhaging money on booze and smokes.

Great

May have to postpone the detox camping trip because of Easter.  How was I supposed to know when Easter was?  My family is Catholic, but I'm an atheist.

I don't know what to do right now.

Mornings

Every single morning has a pattern since I've been a drunk.  This morning was worse, because my husband woke me up when he came to bed at 2 a.m.  Not that I mind; we had a really hot fuck.  I love it when he wants me like that.

I wake up late for work, sometimes still drunk, most of the time hungover.  I don't wake up with the alarm; Adam does.  After several snooze button intervals, he will finally physically push me out of bed.  I walk to the bathroom, pissed.

I stick my head under the bathroom sink faucet and drink.  When I do this, I can feel water rushing everywhere it's needed:  it soaks into my brain, my lips, my eyes.... everywhere that last night's alcohol and peeing marathon had dried up.  I take about 12 17 gulps of water (edit: I actually counted this morning).  Sometimes I wake up at 4 a.m. just to do this.  I will drink from the faucet three or four times.  Usually, I flush the toilet or something first and run the tap for several seconds so the water gets glacier cold.

I put in eyedrops.  I don't look in the mirror when I undress.

I stand in the shower until I'm not freezing anymore before I start washing my hair, etc.  I let out a few gutteral coughs, my throat sore from alcohol sugar and cigarette smoke.  I become thirsty again, so I open my mouth under the spray of the showerhead. 

I get out of the hot shower and stand, freezing, in a towel wrapped around my shoulders.  I drink from the sink faucet again. 

I try to find clothes that still fit.  I'm down to about four outfits I can still wear.  I try to hide my midsection.  I layer my clothes to cover the massive cleavage I have now.

I try to cover the bags under my eyes with makeup.  I try to make my face look thinner with my blush.  I tie my hair back because I don't feel like fucking with it.

It sounds weird, but saying good bye to Adam is my favorite part of the morning.  Not the saying good bye part, the seeing him part.  He smells so good when he's still in bed, and we kiss, and I put my lips in his hair, and he grabs my hand.  "Have a good day," he always says, half asleep.  "I love you so much."

I get to work late, sneak in to my desk, and continue to chug water until it's time to go home.  I don't usually pee for the first time until after lunch.  Other than that, I'm the image of perfection while I'm at work. 

When I come home, everything starts all over again.  "I'm so glad you're home," says Adam, as I wrap my arms around him.  We talk about how excited we are for the camping trip, sobriety, losing weight (although he tends to cup my breasts and say, "I hope these don't shrink.").  Then we proceed to consume 4000 calories apiece in alcohol alone.  No joke -- I did the calculations.

Vodka - 1
Erin and Adam - 0                 ...like, beyond 0

Party foul

Spilled my drink tonight.  It's so warm here; the glass was condensating, and it slipped out of my fingers.  Now my keyboard and my elbow keep planting themselves in sticky liquid.  It's like trying to keep off the wet spot after virgin sex.

What I'm doing

At work.  I feel... puffy.

I can remember exactly one time in the last three years where I didn't go to bed completely plastered.  That one time, I was babysitting a niece overnight a few months ago.  I was going nuts without a drink.  My niece's parents aren't heavy drinkers, but I knew they might have something in the house, so I searched all over their kitchen.  Didn't find any there.  I finally found some in a basement closet, the bottles tall and leaning atop some shelves.  I stared at them for a while.  Should I?  Would they notice if some is missing?  I just want one drink anyway.  Would they be mad that I was drinking while caring for their daughter?

I walked out of the basement closet, back upstairs, and grabbed the baby monitor and my cigarettes.  Outside in the cold, the eaves of the house dripped on me as I smoked, holding the baby monitor to my ear. 

I didn't drink that night.  I knew I just wanted one drink -- that is, one after another. 

Every day, I get home at five thirty, and my husband -- who is collecting unemployment, which exacerbates the situation -- and I pour our first cocktails.  Unless I stopped by CVS on the way home from work, I scrutinize the bottle to see if we'll have enough for the night.  We go through 750 mL of vodka in a day and a half.  Anyway, so our first cocktails.  This is while I'm having "Erin time" upon getting home from work, which means I sit in front of my computer.  "Erin time," for the record, is not at all different from the rest of the evening, except during "Erin time," my husband knows not to talk to me very much.

Second cocktail.  Haven't started dinner yet -- hell, I might not eat.  Too much trouble to make dinner anyway.  And the dishes aren't done, so now I know I'm not making dinner.  "Erin time" is winding down, but on the outside it looks the same.  We are both sitting in the office at our computers, looking like Cartman from South Park.  Playing video games, mostly.  We also watch a lot of Netflix.

Third cocktail.  One of three things has happened by now:
(1) I got my shit together and started dinner (I did this last night!  awwwww yeah);
(2) Adam drops hint after hint about how he's "kinda starting to get hungry, lover," and then I snap at him that his legs aren't broken, and he offers that we just fend for ourselves tonight for dinner...I'll maybe make a little something for both of us;
(3) He gets McDonald's; I don't eat. 

Fourth cocktail.  I make random drunken comments on Reddit.  I read Feministe and get pissed at men.  I play an MMO and make drunk comments to people on my headset.  I pee like crazy. 

Fifth cocktail.  I give up on the MMO because I'm starting to get sleepy.  I've been drinking for almost seven hours.  I watch Netflix until my brain is swimming and my common sense reaches me and says, "You don't want to feel like this much shit tomorrow.  Go to bed." 

And usually, I do so, but sometimes I make a sixth cocktail.  Or we make the inaccurately-named "half cocktail."  There's nothing half about it.  That keeps me up until at least two, I never remember it the next day (even though I'm just watching Netflix, but sometimes I can't remember picking a big fight with my husband) and the next morning, I am walking death at work -- and that's assuming I didn't call in for the morning.

Whenever I call in, Adam gets pissed.  And when I can't remember fighting with him.

But I drink enough to fill an entire work day.  And on Saturdays, sometimes we start earlier than 5:30 pm and stay up later than 2 am.  I've gained 50 pounds in the last two years, and he's gained 40.  We've got bags under our eyes, and we snore like crazy.  Our stomachs are fucked up from the alcohol and the ibuprofen the next day (three in the morning and three at 5:30 with my first cocktail to knock out the afternoon headache).  We're spending $60 a week on alcohol, and it would be more if we didn't get shitty SKOL from CVS, which is $10 a pop. 

We never get anything done -- we are constantly just sitting.  I sit all day in a cubicle, and then I get home and sit all night in a computer chair.  I don't even do anything productive in the computer chair, even though I keep saying I'm going to organize my music and do the taxes.

So here's our plan:  Enjoy it while it lasts this week.  Next week, we begin weaning.  Knock it down to two cocktails, then one, etc. a day.  We then pack up and live in the woods for 2-3 days, no alcohol. 

I feel "ready" about 98% of the time.  We both keep mentioning how excited we are.  However, I get fleeting thoughts like, "Oh man, am I really doing this?  I love to drink," but then I go back to excited.  "Will I even be able to do it?" but then I go back to confident.

I've just started to hate myself too much.

Journal of a Drunk

My name is Erin, and I am an alcoholic.

Don't expect a "whew, I said it!" because I've been saying it for a long time now.

I didn't always drink.  My first sip of alcohol was followed by a "blegh!  what the fuck!" when I was 12 and at my older brother's wedding.  It was white wine.

My husband Adam and I are going to take a camping trip in a few weeks to detox.  This will be my journal from now through detox, sobriety, etc.

The hardest part will be coming home from work.  That's my trigger.  Even when I didn't drink as heavily as I do now, it was my "thing" to come home and make a gin & tonic.  Just one.  Now I can't have just one.  As soon as I leave my work building, I can feel it pulling at me.  The relief of "now, I can drink."

But I'm sick of the anxiety related to the following:

• Am I going to be able to get to work tomorrow?  And at a decent time?  Would they eventually fire me?
• Will I have to go out for booze at some point during the night?
• Tomorrow is Sunday, and this damn state has Blue Laws, so do I need to stock up on Saturday?
• Oh fucking hell, I'm at work and feel like shit.
• My husband and I are getting ridiculously fat because we're drunks.

We're both drunk right now.  It's hard to be creative.  But I do promise to be honest throughout this process.