Fucking up again, and again, and again…

Here we are again. It never ends. No. I never end. I am in self-destruct mode again. I’m in a destroy everything and everyone around me mode. I am hurting myself, killing myself. More importantly I am hurting the most important people in the world to me – my children. I can see it from outside. View myself as a third party. I want to shake her. “INGRID, wake the fuck up! What is wrong with you?” I can see, but it feels like a freight train whose only destination is death. I somehow managed to control my drinking, for the most part, for a few months. I had to white-knuckle it though. Every time I drank I had to constantly remind myself not to drink more than ‘x’ amount. I somehow did it. Somehow. I have no idea how.

This past Saturday it all went to shit. I didn’t hold on. I let go. The consequences were disastrous. I drank two bottles of wine. I decided to get the train downtown on my own at 3am. When I got downtown I realized the bars would be closed soon, so I got back on the next train towards home. I vaguely remember talking to random people on the train – at 4am. I walked home from the train station on my own at that time. I scraped my hand off a wall on purpose. It’s not terribly injured, it’s more the fact that I engaged in any self-harm that is worrisome. There are a couple of things I am leaving out because it was worse than that. I stayed in bed until 7pm on Sunday. Got up and went to an A.A. meeting and went back to bed at 10pm. I thought Saturday was a watershed. The big wake-up call I needed. Surely now I would really give up drink. Sort myself out.

Wednesday, four nights later, was July 4th. Once again I drank two bottles of wine. I let my daughter stay up past midnight. She saw me extremely drunk. Apparently I shouted at her for something that I had done. She ended up going to her dad saying that mommy was extremely drunk and had shouted at her. He said she cried most of the night. My kids had never seen me drunk before. Certainly not wasted. I left the house at 2am, texting my husband not to leave for work in the morning if I wasn’t home. I came home a few hours later – texting him on the way. I had virtually no recollection of the entire night.

How could this happen? A week earlier I was telling myself I wasn’t an alcoholic. Here I was two nights in one week having rock-bottom moments. Most people have bad nights now and again. No big deal – right? This was so far beyond that, on both nights. Saturday should have shown me how bad I could be. It was apparently not enough. Wednesday showed me that I am an alcoholic. One of the hallmarks of alcoholism, or any addiction, is the continued use of the substance despite severe negative consequences. I could lose my children over alcohol. I could die by the dangerous situations I put myself in. Never mind the fact that my suicidal tendencies and self-harm urges can sky-rocket under the influence. And because when one is drunk one’s inhibitions go down, I’m much more likely to act on those impulses.

So here I am. It’s Friday. Two days after the last disaster. I do not want to drink, but the cravings are really high. I gave up in December 2015 and lasted for 17 months. I found it easy to give up. Now it feels impossible. I am way worse than I ever was. One of the other hallmarks: Alcoholism is a progressive and fatal disease. Lots of people who are not alcoholics seem to think it just means you like to drink a lot, or are chemically addicted to alcohol. I am not chemically dependent, for which I’m grateful. I do suffer huge cravings. I want to drink badly right now. My consumption and dangerous behavior is getting worse and worse. I don’t have an off switch. A friend of mine asked me on Sunday about Saturday why I had drank so much. I’m at a loss of how to explain it. It’s not as easy as it sounds. It’s never the plan to drink so much I can’t remember the night, I treat people like crap, and I put myself in danger. I don’t want that. That’s what happens when open that first bottle of wine. There is no telling what will happen.

Yesterday I spoke to my counselor at the substance abuse place and my therapist. I broke day begging for help, telling them how scared I was. How I knew I would want to drink again. We’ve set in place some safeguards. I can call my therapist 24/7 if I need. I hope I have the strength to do that and not just pick up a bottle. That route only ends in death. It is that simple. No one can continue on my path for long. It’s impossible, never mind the damage being done to my already crappy heart. How can I make it through? I need help… I need help… I need help…