Dating in Sobriety

Dating is hard enough in today’s world where we usually meet people online, and throw in the fact that you’re sober-and it really tends to limit your connections.  I’d personally prefer not to meet someone online, but since I’m 35 and live in a city where I don’t know many people, I’ve fallen into the online dating scene.

First off, online dating is a commitment in itself.  I’ve used Tinder, Bumble, and and have had little success with any of them.  I’ve also used a matchmaker that didn’t amount to any quality dates.  Online dating requires you to create a profile that you think will attract people who you hope you will also be attracted to.  If you do like someone and make the effort to reach out, they don’t necessarily answer your message.  If someone does respond, there’s usually an annoying back an forth of questions about your job, background, and what you enjoy to do in your free time.  If you think you’d like to meet, you eventually will set up a date.

*I should also mention, there’s an occasional dick pic thrown into the mix.   These are always amazing, because I try to figure out what I may have said that makes a guy think I would like to see his penis.  Does a simple Hi, how are you?  warrant a penis picture as a response?  Maybe it does, who am I to judge?  All I can say is that I say hi how are you a to real life men many times a day and have yet to have a man pull out his penis in response.  Although with Trump as president that may be in our future.

I digress- as a sober woman, the most difficult part of online dating is when to reveal the fact that I don’t drink.  I’ve included it in some profiles, and not in others, but even when I do include that I don’t drink-people don’t necessarily read the profile.  Let’s face it, people are scared of alcoholics.  It’s not their fault, I used to be the same way.  Society has labeled alcoholics as bad people, so unfortunately as soon as you throw that into the mix many peoples’ view of you will change in a split second.  Now that I’m comfortable in my sobriety, it’s actually kind of funny to watch this transition from a guy being totally comfortable to shocked, dismayed, and confused.  I’ve now realized that if I’m having a bad date, it’s the best way to get out of it.  Just dropping the I’m an alcoholic bomb on someone will make a conversation awkward, but it’s also a great way to end a date if you’re with a person who doesn’t understand alcoholism.  With certain people, it’s the equivalent of telling them you have herpes.  It’s a life long problem that’s never going to go away.  Herpes-the gift that keeps on giving.

Enough with the STD talk, I was on a date the other night with a guy who was perfectly nice.  When I got there, he had already ordered a drink and I just got a club soda with lime.  We had a good conversation and then the waiter asked if he wanted another when we were ordering food, and he said yes, and when I said I was good with my club soda he made a comment about me not drinking.  I just kind of laughed and the date continued.  Eventually we got into the topic of drinking and driving and I casually mentioned that I don’t drink anymore and I’m in recovery.  BAM-he didn’t know what to say!  Body language changed, and he went silent, and then he asked the typical questions: You won’t even have a glass of wine to relax? No, I replied I can’t have anything.  I didn’t tell him that for me it actually wouldn’t be one glass of wine, it would be a magnum of wine easily, because that’s how I used to roll.  He then said, well I like to go out and have a good time once in a while, so would it bother you if we were like out and I had a bunch of drinks and then smelled of alcohol?  I told him that clearly I can’t hang out with someone who gets wasted all the time, but I have plenty of friends and family who do enjoy drinking and having a good time.  Then, he added the kicker-well maybe you just haven’t found the right relationship with a person who can support you and say after two glasses of wine, hey that’s enough for now, let’s stop.  Oh, if he only knew….I explained that’s never going to happen, and in my head I was like this is over he doesn’t get it.  I actually thought the date was pretty much done at that point, but he then asked if I wanted to hang out again and started listing things we could do sober.  I said sure because I was thrown off, but I haven’t heard from him since, nor do I want to.

I don’t want this to come across as judgmental on my part, because I myself didn’t understand alcoholism until I went to rehab.  There’s no way I would have been able to date someone in recovery when I was drinking, but I’ve also learned that there are certain people who aren’t phased by the alcoholism bomb, so I guess that’s who I’m hoping I eventually meet.

In the meantime, dating sober has taught me more about myself, and what I’m actually looking for in a partner.  It’s clearly a process that’s not going to be fast, but in the end, I’d rather be happy and alone than miserable with someone who doesn’t understand me.



Four Years of Sobriety

Well, it’s official.  I’ve been sober for four years.  Something I never thought possible four years ago when I was at the lowest point of my life in a psych ward in Florida.  Looking back I can’t even believe that was me, and I’m so happy to say that I’m no longer that same addicted, crazy person.

Although the past four years have been challenging and scary, I honestly can’t believe how much better my life is, and how much more comfortable and confident I am as a person.  I still struggle with my sobriety at times, but it is nothing like it was during my first year of sobriety.  When things are good, I’m thankful for every moment I have in my new found freedom called sobriety, but I also don’t take it for granted.  I know at any point something can arise that may challenge my sobriety.  This is just the reality of living with addiction.

That was probably the hardest thing for me to come to terms with over the past four years.  Although I’m doing well now, my struggle to stay sober will never stop.  My addiction is part of me, and it will always be lurking in the background, waiting to strike when I least expect it.  I will continue to have to be true to myself no matter what, and maintain my sobriety through a recovery community and a healthy lifestyle.  Today this is second nature, but I’ve worked very hard to get here.


I’ve been listening to a lot of podcasts lately, and the topic of vulnerability has come up a few times.  It made me really think of my own vulnerability during my active addiction, as well as my vulnerability in recovery.

When we as addicts finally make the decision to seek help for our disease, we are extremely vulnerable.   For people who don’t understand alcoholism, we are deciding to stop using the only thing that has ever made us feel comfortable or normal.  It has become a part of who we are, and we can’t imagine living without it.

For me, admitting I was an alcoholic was admitting that I was uncomfortable in my own skin.  My anxiety was the reason I drank, so before I was diagnosed, I was self medicating with alcohol.  I was untreated for years due to the fact that I didn’t want to admit I was anxious, especially in social situations, because I saw this as a flaw.  Although I was eventually prescribed anxiety medicine about a year before I truly accepted my disease, I took the medicine without seeking therapy, and I continued to drink.

Clearly this was a not the path to wellness.  I also knew that just taking the medication and not drinking was not helping me feel less anxious about everything that was going on in my life.  I wanted to pretend things were fine to everyone in the outside world, even thought that wasn’t the case.

Looking back, I find it funny that I actually thought I was fooling anyone.  I was  ashamed of my drinking, but too scared to be honest with my family and friends about my complete and utter reliance on it.  It is still hard for me to be completely open with some people about the amount I was drinking when I was heaving in my addiction.  Since people who are not alcoholics or addicts don’t understand the reliance a person has on their drug of choice, they’re usually shocked and sometimes disgusted by how much a person drinks or uses when he or she is entrenched in their addiction.

The shamefulness I felt over my alcoholism was what kept me from being honest with myself.  When I first attempted to stop drinking, my obsession with alcohol was still there.  I wanted everyone to think I was fine, so of course, I didn’t admit to anyone or myself how I was really feeling.  Amazingly, I was able to abstain from drinking for three months before I finally gave into my obsession.

This led to over 6 months of on and off drinking, and many bad decisions.  Although going through that was my personal hell, it forced me to understand that I needed to go to rehab, become educated about the disease, and continue to talk to other alcoholics.

Overall the hardest step for me to take in my recovery was to let myself be vulnerable.  This is still tough, but I now force myself to do it in order to stay well.  For those readers who are not alcoholics, I would like to make a simple request-if someone you love has a problem and shares this with you, try your hardest not to judge him or her.  Our society makes it hard enough for addicts to seek help, so if someone feels comfortable enough sharing their person hell with you, just remember that this might be the first time he or she is allowing them-self to be vulnerable.  They’re most likely not looking for advice, they just need a person to listen without judgement.



Dog Therapy

I adopted a dog yesterday and he has anxiety just like me!  I named him Francois or Frank for short.  He’s awfully sweet, but he’s still getting used to his new home.  I’ve been wanting to adopt a dog for some time now, and I finally took the plunge.  Frank is about 8 years old, and was a stray in the south that was brought up here to find a new home.

I’ve always been a dog person, but I’ve never owned my own.  My family dog, Hopalong Cassidy (Hoppy) was a huge support for me when I returned from rehab.  He was also there when I returned from my shenanigans in Florida.  When I got to my mom’s house from FL, I immediately went outside and gave Hoppy a huge hug.  The comfort he gave me at that moment, was so relieving I cried.  I found out that he also comforted my mom when she was upset about not knowing my whereabouts while I was on my bender.

Right after rehab I was unemployed and attending an out patient treatment program four days a week.  Going for long walks with Hoppy was one of the things that kept me sane.  Hoppy was the last being to see my father alive.  My father passed away while he was at our camp with Hoppy, but it always gave me comfort to think that my dad wasn’t totally alone when he died.

Hoppy became sick himself after I had been sober for about a year.  At that point, I no longer lived with my mom, but I missed him terribly and visited him on a regular basis.   When I was away on a short vacation, he became very sick.  My mom didn’t want to put him down without me being there.  Of course my flight home was cancelled, so I was delayed getting home.  My mom stayed up with him all night while he whined in pain, and called me early the next morning.  She told me to meet her at the vet, as he wasn’t doing well.  I rushed to the vet and met him in the parking lot, while he was still lying in my uncle’s car.  I got in the back seat and held his head telling him it was ok to go, and hugged him.  He passed in my arms while I was holding him, and I’m so glad I was able to say goodbye.

It was very upsetting, but in a way it made me feel like I was also saying goodbye to my father.  I’m so glad I was able to see Hoppy one last time, and I believe that his passing made me even more at peace with my father’s death.

That being said, I’m looking forward to spending time with Frank as I can’t wait to have a new friend to continue my journey with.


Ghosts of St. Paddy’s Days Past

As St. Paddy’s day approaches tomorrow, it reminds me of many drunken ones I celebrated in the past.  One that stand out to me in particular is St. Patrick’s Day 2003.

It was my junior year of college, and I lived off campus with 3 of my best friends in a large house where we would throw raging parties on a regular basis.  As I’m sure is the case at any college, St. Paddy’s Day is an excuse to get absolutely wasted especially if you’re of Irish decent, which I proudly am.  My friends and I decided to throw a party which I believe started in the afternoon, but my memory is a little fuzzy, so don’t hold me accountable to when it actually started.

Per usual we had drinks flowing including beer, liquor, and whatever else we could get our hands on.  This was the time before everyone had cell phones, so we still had a landline and an answering machine.  At some point during the party, the phone rang and my roommate picked it up.  It was our good friend Jerry* who lived down the street calling from the police station.  Apparently he had had a few drinks before heading down to our house.  We’d had a bad snow storm earlier that week so the snow banks were the equivalent of small mountains on the side of the road.  Jerry parked in front of our house, and as luck would have it, the cops drove by and noticed his creative parking job, which was literally perpendicular to the street, up the snowbank.  They asked him to move it, and when he was walking back to his car they realized he seemed drunk.  They gave him a sobriety test which he failed, and even thought they didn’t witness him driving the car-it was clear he had just parked it since the engine was still warm.  They arrested him and took him down to the station.

All of this took place right outside of our house, but no one seemed to notice.  As to why the cops didn’t seem to care that there was a raging party going on inside, I’m not sure.  You could call it the luck of the Irish, or it might have been more of a headache for them to deal with than it was worth. Either way, we didn’t notice our friend being arrested and taken away right outside.

As I mentioned earlier, our friend eventually called our landline with the phone call he was given at the police station.  No one at the party heard the phone, but then my roommate heard the answering machine pick up, so she answered the phone.   The beauty of this was that the whole conversation was recorded on our answering machine.  The exchange included Jerry putting the police officer on the phone to ask my roommate who she was, in which she replied very seriously with her first, middle, and last name, and then the cop asked if there was someone there who could pick up Jerry.  She replied yes, even though we were all hammered by this point.

We were able to find a friend to go pick up Jerry, and then they both came from the police station directly to our party.  Everyone was laughing at the fact that Jerry had actually parked his car on a snow bank, and was caught by the cops.  We also played the answering machine recording over and over again then next day laughing hysterically as we listened.

Although this was a very funny situation at the time, it was not so funny for my friend who received the DWI.  He was actually going to school to be a teacher, and he was supposed to start his student teaching assignment the next semester.  The DWI ended up costing him lots of money in legal fees, and the next semester he was without a licence and had to rely on other people, including me, for rides to and from his student teaching job.

As I look back on this now, it is still a funny story to me, but I also realize how much worse the situation could have been.  My friend could have killed himself or someone else driving, and we could have been arrested for serving minors if the cops had decided to come into our house during the party.  Although I do believe many college kids behave in the way my friends and I did, I’m still amazed that I graduated college without getting arrested as this was a somewhat normal night for me an my friends.

Drunk Lisa survives another St. Paddy’s Day unscathed!

*The names of the people in this story have been changed to protect their privacy.


Remember that time you…..

No, I don’t remember.  I was a blackout drinker, so there are many things I have no recollection of doing.  This came up this past weekend while I was visiting my mom.  She has no idea what it means to be a blackout drinker.  It’s not her fault, she’s lucky enough not to be an alcoholic.  She thought blacking out was equivalent to passing out until I explained exactly what it means to black out.

I would equate blacking out to sleep walking-which I actually used to do until I was about 18 years old.  When I blacked out I would walk, talk, and function, but the next day I could never remember what it is I did or said.  There’s nothing worse than waking up in the morning with no recollection of what you did the night before.  Although this didn’t happen every time I drank, it did happen a regular basis.

I decided to be candid with my mom this weekend, when she brought up a night I have no memory of.  She often brings things up that are embarrassing especially when I was heavy in my addiction, and I usually play along by pretending I remember, when really, I have no clue what she’s talking about.

We were chatting Friday night and since it was recently Ash Wednesday, she started to say remember the Ash Wednesday when you lived here?  I replied, actually no, I don’t remember it at all.   I told her how there are so many instances that she brings up that I truly have no memory of, and I’m extremely sorry that they have made an impact her life, but I honestly don’t remember acting or saying many things while under the influence.

I have avoided being honest about my lack of memory since I began blacking out, and I’ve made the choice that I will no longer do this.  I’ve been sober for almost four years now, and by continuing to pretend I remember instances that have happened in the past, I’m not being honest with myself about my addiction.

Not being able to remember things while drunk has always made me very ashamed, but I’m not doing anything to further my recovery by continuing to pretend I remember certain events.  It may seem silly to anyone reading this that it has taken me this long to realize I no longer need to lie about these things, but it once again brings to light how tricky this disease can be.

I feel as though I am comfortable in my sobriety and extremely honest with my friends and family about my addiction, but the weight I felt lifted when actually confessing to my mom that I don’t remember many things I did during my addiction was tremendous.


Rehab’s for Quitters

I entered rehab on May 13, 2013.  I’m just realizing now that this might be looked as a very unlucky date as it has the number 13 in it twice, but for me it was one of the luckiest days of my life.  It gave me a second chance at life.

Entering rehab was the hardest thing I’ve ever done, and one of the best decisions I’ve ever made.  I didn’t want to go, but at that point in my life, it was the only choice I had if I wanted to continue to live.  I was home for over a week between leaving the hospital in Florida, and entering rehab in Pennsylvania.  In all honesty, I was hoping that I could somehow find a way to get out of going, but in the end I knew there was no other choice but to confront my issue with alcohol.

Before entering, I spoke with a close friend who had completed a rehab program about a year prior, and she made me feel much better about going.  She said it was tough, but she came to like it and by the end she was sad to being saying goodbye to the friends she’d made.

When I checked into the facility, an old mansion with beautiful grounds, I was scared but ready to move forward with my life.  My mom and I met with the intake counselor who asked me some questions, and then my mom went on her way.  I didn’t cry, but I was sad to see my mom go as I wasn’t sure what was next.

After my luggage was searched, I was introduced to my buddy, a 19 year old named Meghan.  She immediately asked me what my DOC was.  My DOC?  I replied.  She said yes, your drug of choice.  I answered alcohol, and she then went on to tell me that she’d been in and out of rehab multiple times since she was 14.  Her DOC was anything and everything she could get her hands on, most recently crack.  I was shocked!  Where was I?  Was I supposed to be in with people who used hardcore drugs like crack?  I tried to play it cool, but wondered if I’d made a huge mistake.

I was placed in the detox unit even though I’d  been sober for ten days.  Apparently it was protocol, which I actually didn’t mind since I had a room to myself.  I attended the sessions and was overwhelmed by the different people in the program.  There were men and women of all ages and backgrounds.  This facility had nationally recognized programs for doctors and pharmacists with addictions, as well as a specialized program for law enforcement workers.  The men and women were kept in separate wings because fraternizing was forbidden.  We did come together for morning and afternoon meetings as well as recess where we could play games and go outside -weather permitting.  All of the women I met were friendly, and many of them had been in rehab programs multiple times, which seemed like hell to me.

I was still questioning whether or not I would survive a full month in this place since I really didn’t feel like I could relate to many of the people there.  On my second night, another woman was placed in my room with me in the detox unit.  Her name was Kate, and she ended up being my saving grace.

Kate was 37 and pregnant, but we were very much alike.  Her family had pressured her to enter a program because she was pregnant, but besides that she didn’t think she really had a problem.   I had more in common with Kate then any of the other woman in the facility.  We had similar senses of humor, and were able to laugh about being in there with all these crazy addicts.  The main difference was that Kate didn’t consider herself an alcoholic and I did.  My rock bottom was so bad, that I knew I literally would die if I drank again.  Kate on the other hand, had not hit her bottom quite yet, but she would in time.

I am a big believer in the fact that people come in and out of your life for certain reasons, and Kate came into my life to help me get through rehab.  We became very good friends and were lucky enough to be placed in a room together when we were done with detox.  We talked late into the night about our lives and how we ended up here.  We also laughed about the situation we were currently in, and wondered how the hell things got so bad that we were sleeping in twin beds as grown women.

If you go to an Alcoholics Anonymous (AA) meeting, you’ll hear many people say that AA is the only thing an alcoholic needs to become and stay sober.  I do not agree with this.  I think AA is one avenue that works for some people,  but for me this was not the case.  I tried AA when I first attempted getting sober, but I needed to go to rehab to really learn about my addiction.  Before rehab, I didn’t understand that alcoholism is a disease.  It is a mental health illness that cannot be controlled by sheer will power.  I cannot speak for others, but for me personally I had to really understand that alcoholism was in my make up, and that I have no control over the effects it has on my body.  Coming to this realization was my biggest takeaway from rehab.

I do believe that AA is a great option for maintaining sobriety, as I still attend AA meetings occasionally.  I have recently found podcasts to be a very helpful tool in maintaining my sobriety as well.  I personally enjoy the Bubble Hour: – a webcast where women share their personal stories of alcoholism and becoming sober.  I’ve also found yoga to be an important part of my recovery.  I started taking a pilates/yoga class when I got out of rehab and then continued my yoga practice which has helped me learn to meditate, as well as take time for myself to heal.

I believe that recovery is a very personal thing, so there is not a one size fits all solution.  If you think you might have an addiction, I encourage you to really think about yourself and research what options might work best for you.  There are so many resources on the internet that can be helpful, but i will say the first step is at least seeing what is out there, and then maybe reaching out to someone.  I wish I had done that a lot sooner than I did, so please contact me as I’m very open to helping others.



Rock Bottom

If you’re new to sobriety or thinking about becoming sober, you’ll often hear people talk about their rock bottom.  This is usually the turning point in an individual’s life when he or she realizes that they can no longer continue to drink the way they have been.  For some people it may not take much for them to realize that they need to stop drinking, for others it can take something major like an arrest, hospitalization, injury, or even a near death experience, before the person realizes that there are only two choices-stop drinking or die.

Oh how I wish my rock bottom was as simple as an injury.  I had been falling and hurting myself for years.  I had staples put in my head twice, and was hospitalized on many other occasions where I have no recollection of how I ended up in the hospital.  Although embarrassing, I still couldn’t stop drinking.

Like many alcoholics, my rock bottom was as extreme as my drinking.  There were many times over the years where I tried controlling my drinking which always failed.  I knew it was a problem, so I would often hide my drinking from others, and drink before I went to social events.  I know now that it was due to anxiety, but at the time I just thought it was my way of loosening up before parties.  I would also try to control my drinking in front of people, but then go home and binge.  It truly was a case of once I had one drink in my system, I couldn’t stop drinking until I passed out. On some mornings I would wake up hung over and start drinking again.  I was so ashamed and embarrassed, it was truly a horrible time in my life that I’m glad is over.

I finally admitted that I was an alcoholic after a boyfriend, who had friends in recovery, made me realize it.  I was not happy about this, because although I admitted it, I was not ready to accept it.  I felt pressure not to let him and my family down, so after detoxing in a hospital, I had my first go at sobriety.  This lasted for three months.

I attended AA meetings, and saw a therapist, but I still couldn’t relate to other alcoholics.  I thought I had nothing in common with them, and didn’t actually listen to their stories.  Looking back now, I know that I wasn’t ready to accept all of my issues and really work on myself.  I was trying to remain sober for everyone else, which ultimately led to a relapse that lasted for seven long months.

I was in a very bad place during those seven months.  My boyfriend and I broke up, I was still grieving over the death of my father, I was unemployed, and I had to move back in with my Mom.  I would go weeks without drinking, and then break down and go on a binge that would last days.  This cycle continued, and I continued to hurt my family and friends.

What I initially thought was my rock bottom took place in April of 2013.  My friends and I were hosting a wine tasting for a charity we had started, and I still wanted to be involved.  My friends even said, they were fine with me drinking at the event as long as I didn’t go overboard.  Being in the throws of my addiction,  I actually thought I could handle this, but of course I was wrong.

I took the bus down on a Friday night and drank vodka during the four hour trip.  I arrived at Port Authority happy as a clam, and decided to quickly stop at a bar for another drink before heading to my sisters.  This is literally the last thing I fully remember.

I vaguely remember being told not to attend the event on Saturday.  On Sunday when I was supposed to leave, I checked into a hotel and decided that was it-I was done with life and going to kill myself.

I was drunk this whole time, and I should also note, that I had stopped taking my antidepressants about a month before because I didn’t think they were helping me.  As I’m sure you’re aware, drunk people do not make the best decisions. My plan was to take a whole bottle of Tylenol PM and hopefully die in my sleep.  Please, never, ever try this.  It made me horribly sick, and also led to me losing control of my extremities.  I remember lying on the bathroom floor, and trying to get back to the bed but I couldn’t actually move my legs properly.  When I was able to get up, my legs were like jello and would come out from under me.  It was truly scary.

While all this was going on, I didn’t arrive on my bus back and my my called my sisters searching for me.  My sister called me and finally figured out where I was-I kept telling her I was in different places, partly because I didn’t want her to find me like this, and partly because at one point I was so disoriented, I truly couldn’t remember. She showed up to the hotel, found a suicide note I wrote, and called an ambulance.  She told me later that she honestly thought I might have brain damage because of how out of it I was acting.

I was taken to the hospital and put in the psych ward.  At one point I thought there were bed bugs crawling on me, and insisted they let me leave.  I was eventually released without having to stay for 72 hours which is usually the protocol.

My whole family was very upset and my mom and aunt who picked me up and drove me home, made me agree to attend an outpatient program.  I agreed, but still was not in acceptance.

The weeks following that incident I attended the out patient group only once, and then lied and said I went another time but really drank instead.  On May 1, 2013, I woke up hung over from a night of drinking.  My mother was very upset with me, but I got ready for work (somehow I was able to land a decent job during this time) and ran out of the house.  I went to work, and decided I was done with life.  I bought a plane ticket to Fort Lauderdale, grabbed my things, and told my boss I had to take my dog to the vet.   I rushed out of the office, stopped at the liquor store, bought a bottle of vodka, and drove to the airport.  I chugged the vodka in the airport parking lot, and rushed to make the flight.  I ended up missing the flight to Fort Lauderdale,  and a kind woman who could see I was drunk, arranged for me to get on another flight to Jacksonville later that afternoon.  I really didn’t care where I was going just as long as I could leave.

I had time to kill before the flight so I went to the airport hotel, got a room, and took a nap.  Then I ordered a pizza (Drunk Lisa loved her pizza), and eventually went to the hotel bar and had a few drinks before heading back to the airport.  I boarded the flight, although I don’t remember it at all.

The next thing I remember is being in a cab and asking the driver to take me to a hotel by the beach.  He took me to a hotel and I continued my drinking.  The hotel didn’t have a bar, but they did have bottles of wine you could purchase so of course I did that.  I holed myself up in my room and continued to drink through May 2nd and 3rd.   My phone was ringing off the hook, but eventually it died.

Meanwhile, my family was doing everything they could to figure out where I had gone.  They called the police who weren’t much of a help, although they eventually did find my car at the airport.  My sister was able to get a hold of my credit card company to see the last place I used it, and that’s how they tracked me down at the hotel.

At this point, I was trying to get the courage to kill myself, but once again drunk people aren’t good at completing tasks, so this proved to be another failed attempt at taking my life.  I tried the plastic bag over the head trick, but I couldn’t do that.  I then broke a glass and tried to slit my wrists but the glass was too dull and didn’t do much.  The hotel phone was now ringing off the hook, and finally I answered it.  My brother was on the other end, and when I heard how upset he was, I knew the charade was over.  He said that he thought I was dead.  I was so ashamed for putting my family through everything that I had, and I knew I couldn’t end my life in this way.  He eventually called the cops, and I was escorted to the hospital.

Given all that had happened you think I would have been in a bad mood, but at the hospital I was hitting on a nurse and cracking jokes.  My brother in law who was in Florida for business, came to the hospital to meet me.  It was good to see someone I knew, and I really appreciated him coming to see me.  Apparently my blood alcohol content was around 0.3, which results in death for many people.  The doctor said he was shocked I was coherent and speaking.

I was once again placed in the psych ward, but this time they were holding me for 72 hours.  My mom and aunt flew down to the hospital, and seeing them was one of the worst days of my life.  My mother was so upset she probably should have been hospitalized herself.  My aunt is in recovery, so thankfully she understood the troubles of being an alcoholic, and was able to comfort my mom.

I met with a psychiatrist and explained that I had gone off my anti-depressants and was drunk when I wanted to take my own life.  He put me back on my medication, but also said that I clearly had an addiction and needed to seek treatment.  I was also visited by a social worker, Les, who was a savior for my mom.  He was able to help her cope with everything she’d just gone through, and said that as long as I sought treatment for my addiction, I would be very successful.  He also said that I was from a “superior gene pool” which we still laugh about today.

I had to agree to enter some sort of treatment program before the hospital would release me, which I did.  I couldn’t wait to get out of there, since the floor they were holding me on was filled with severely mentally ill people.  Although it was scary at the time, it made me realize how lucky I was to have a disease that could be treated by not drinking, and dealing with my issues.

I left the hospital and entered a rehab facility 10 days later.  There were no beds available until then, so this was a real test of my commitment to myself and my sobriety.  Because my bottom was so bad, I actually didn’t want to drink at all during those 10 days.  I didn’t want to go to rehab, but I knew I had to, so two days after my 31st birthday, I entered a rehab facility in Pennsylvania.

Oh what a long road I still had ahead of me….