Independence Day

4th of July 2011

I woke up feeling like crap that day. Drank too much again the night before. Felt so condemned and discouraged.

I tried to read my Bible but I couldn't concentrate through the hangover haze. This is what's been happening for at least the last year. In the morning I decide I won't have anything to drink that night. And then 6 or 7 pm rolls around and that motivation disappears like morning mist burned away by the sun.

Somehow I found the courage to tell my husband that morning. Really tell him. Not just "I think maybe I drink a little too much."

I said flat out "I'm an alcoholic." I didn't cry or sob. I said "I have to stop drinking. And I don't know if I can."

My husband supports me. He wants to help me. He offered solutions. But I know he really doesn't understand what's going on with me. How can he? He can have a drink or two and stop.

I can't stop.

I have one or two. And then after he goes to bed I have a couple more. I lose count. And then I stumble to bed in a drunken stupor. I get up early  the next morning and go to work. And no one knows.

Isn't it funny that on Independence Day I declared my dependence on alcohol?

I Didn't Plan to Become an Alcoholic

Alcoholism runs in my family. My father had a problem, and so did his father, my grandfather, who drank himself to death after the death of his beloved wife.

My grandfather had two siblings, fraternal twins who both died alcoholics.

I have two sisters who have been through rehab. And there are a couple of other siblings who might need it, too.

My Irish heritage should have warned me. But I never thought it would happen to me.

I'm writing this blog for myself. I hope putting my thoughts down might help me look back and come to grips about how I got to this place.

Because I have to learn to live without alcohol.