My alcoholism [part 3]

My early thirties were a time of so much stress.

Serious freaking stress.

I’ve elaborated enough on why alcohol became my coping mechanism of choice, though.

I started drinking regularly in social settings. At that time, social settings were frequent.

Professionally I was doing pretty well for a steady amount of years, although I chose a high stress profession.

I began keeping my fridge stocked with beer. No biggie, just beer. Then that became fattening, so I moved on to white wine, a decent Pinot Grigio.

It helped me calm the day’s eve to have any hope of sleeping. My social drinking became wild at some points in some circles. Mostly a weekend here or there. I began to hang out with friends younger than me by about a decade.

{That was another enabling factor. I was a ‘super-mom’ in my twenties and my first 2 kids were older and hung out with their friends pretty often. I had missed time to make up for, I thought.}

In my mind it was ok since I still bought actual bottles of wine and not the cheap wino-box.

No matter how good the wine in the box might be, from a completely different winery, it didnt matter. I in dine inwasn’t able to discern past Mother’s box(es) of Franzia Chardonnay. To me the box represented being an admitted alcoholic.

I just couldn’t bring myself to do it, even after doing the math on how many bottles I would be looking at in the recycle bin. At that point I figured “at least I recycle”.

My doctor said (early on) something similar to;

”If you feel like it’s enjoyable and not interfering with any part of your life, you’re probably ok.“

My twist on that info in my head gave me permission to “enjoy”.

Not only that, but I could use that ideal to have a little more. Next thing I know, I have a steady tolerance and I’ve perfected the art of “functional alcoholic”. I kept it at home and after work. I was never hungover, I was able to sleep.

I didn’t miss work over it, nor did I consider for a second having any at work, unless it was a designated function and I’d have one then go home. I didn’t want to mess with getting a DUI, so I would be antsy to get home so I could have a real drink and “relax”.

One exception on missing work. I was roofied. But that was my own stupid fault.

This went on for years. At one point along the way I switched to Vodka.

All the time I knew I was taking it up a notch but I justified that in my head pretty easily.

My health still seemed fine, I was still completely functional but come 5:00 I would start to get the shakes. That was ok, I was working normal business hours.

Along the way I began taking acid reduction medicine regularly. I ended up with this lump in my throat that I couldn’t clear. It was probably about 2006 when I got a scope then was sent to a specialist a 4 hour drive away.

This specialist was well accredited and was no kid fresh out of college. Further testing proved I had GERD and my digestive tract was a free-for-all. I was on a serious acid reduction regimen by my mid thirties. I knew my drinking must have something to do with this. But I was still in a place of automatically lying to every doctor about how much I really drank. Generally I’d admitted to less-than-half and listened to any warning with eagerness on my face. What I heard was Charlie Brown’s teacher with a wordless voice.

I asked my specialist if he thought drinking might worsen the GERD effects. He said “probably not”.

Ok, good. “Now I am re-justified to continue drinking what I want.” said the devil on one shoulder to the denial somewhere deep within.