I hadn't touched my vodka in five days. I don't know what I expected to happen when I opened the freezer and grabbed that bottle. I hadn't really thought about it.
It was like an electric shock went through me. My heart quickened and thousands of memories rushed into my head all at once. Thousands of memories of walking through the front door after a day of work and heading directly to the kitchen to pour myself two shots. Memories of the shots that followed. Hazy, obscure, one blurring into another, trailing off into blackouts.
I unscrewed the cap and poured the cold, clear liquid out into the sink. I watched it trickle away into nothingness. My god of oblivion. Farewell.
For one more day, at least. What tomorrow will bring, I don't know. I'm desperate to go back to him.
But on that day I had a friend to meet. I'd met her the night before, at my second AA meeting--an LGBT-friendly group that met in a Unitarian Universalist group. But tonight we were going to a different group.
We hugged and she introduced me to one of her friends, and then this transgender heathen darkened the door of a baptist church.
In the LGBT group, the theistic elements of AA seemed to be more of a formality. Not so here. Most everyone who shared felt that God was an important part of their recovery.
There was a time when listening to that much talk of religion would have irked me, but I guess when you're desperate enough to go to AA, that doesn't matter anymore. And I'm desperate. I left the meeting with streaks of mascara below my eyes.
I'm stunned at where the last six months have taken me. Six months ago I posted here that I was drinking too much, but it wasn't causing me any problems, so it was tough to find the motivation to quit. My goal was to become a moderate drinker.
Except that's bullshit. Complete bullshit. I've never been a moderate drinker. I've never come close. I had this idea in my head that one day I would get to the point where I had no more than the recommended seven drinks per week, but my actual goal was not to drink more than ten per day. That was a goal I could hit. Sometimes.
Too often I've found myself in the bathroom making myself throw up because I knew if I didn't, I wouldn't make it work in the morning. Or I would wake up a couple hours after passing out and try to get some food and coffee in me while I still could, then fight my way through the day through sheer willpower.
There are days when I couldn't even do that. When I'd called in sick, or gone in to work and then made some excuse to leave. Trying not to be sick in my car is a thing I do nowadays. As is pulling over by the side of the road and heaving my guts out onto the asphalt.
Then there are days off from work. Drinking at breakfast. Throwing up by the afternoon. Pass out for a couple hours, then stumble into the kitchen and pour myself some more vodka. Next day watch the video my husband took of me, doing things I don't remember.
I've had a million excuses for my drinking, but the truth is I drink because I'm an alcoholic. When I start drinking, I don't stop. I just take breaks now and then. Just enough of a break to get over the hangover and make the money I need to keep drinking.
At the meetings they say to take things one day at a time, and that's what I'm trying to do. Make it through one more day without drinking.
Today is day six without alcohol. I haven't slept much. My nervous system is still used to being awash in depressants. Desperate to drink and desperate not to.
Anyway, if you made it this far, thanks for reading.
I'm Gemma, and I'm an alcoholic.
It was like an electric shock went through me. My heart quickened and thousands of memories rushed into my head all at once. Thousands of memories of walking through the front door after a day of work and heading directly to the kitchen to pour myself two shots. Memories of the shots that followed. Hazy, obscure, one blurring into another, trailing off into blackouts.
I unscrewed the cap and poured the cold, clear liquid out into the sink. I watched it trickle away into nothingness. My god of oblivion. Farewell.
For one more day, at least. What tomorrow will bring, I don't know. I'm desperate to go back to him.
But on that day I had a friend to meet. I'd met her the night before, at my second AA meeting--an LGBT-friendly group that met in a Unitarian Universalist group. But tonight we were going to a different group.
We hugged and she introduced me to one of her friends, and then this transgender heathen darkened the door of a baptist church.
In the LGBT group, the theistic elements of AA seemed to be more of a formality. Not so here. Most everyone who shared felt that God was an important part of their recovery.
There was a time when listening to that much talk of religion would have irked me, but I guess when you're desperate enough to go to AA, that doesn't matter anymore. And I'm desperate. I left the meeting with streaks of mascara below my eyes.
I'm stunned at where the last six months have taken me. Six months ago I posted here that I was drinking too much, but it wasn't causing me any problems, so it was tough to find the motivation to quit. My goal was to become a moderate drinker.
Except that's bullshit. Complete bullshit. I've never been a moderate drinker. I've never come close. I had this idea in my head that one day I would get to the point where I had no more than the recommended seven drinks per week, but my actual goal was not to drink more than ten per day. That was a goal I could hit. Sometimes.
Too often I've found myself in the bathroom making myself throw up because I knew if I didn't, I wouldn't make it work in the morning. Or I would wake up a couple hours after passing out and try to get some food and coffee in me while I still could, then fight my way through the day through sheer willpower.
There are days when I couldn't even do that. When I'd called in sick, or gone in to work and then made some excuse to leave. Trying not to be sick in my car is a thing I do nowadays. As is pulling over by the side of the road and heaving my guts out onto the asphalt.
Then there are days off from work. Drinking at breakfast. Throwing up by the afternoon. Pass out for a couple hours, then stumble into the kitchen and pour myself some more vodka. Next day watch the video my husband took of me, doing things I don't remember.
I've had a million excuses for my drinking, but the truth is I drink because I'm an alcoholic. When I start drinking, I don't stop. I just take breaks now and then. Just enough of a break to get over the hangover and make the money I need to keep drinking.
At the meetings they say to take things one day at a time, and that's what I'm trying to do. Make it through one more day without drinking.
Today is day six without alcohol. I haven't slept much. My nervous system is still used to being awash in depressants. Desperate to drink and desperate not to.
Anyway, if you made it this far, thanks for reading.
I'm Gemma, and I'm an alcoholic.
A Gemma is forever.
