The beginning

This is my first blog. Wow. I'll begin with my journey of recovery from alcoholism. Years and years ago, while driving my friend Virginia to a restaurant for dinner together, I asked her, "Virginia, have you thought today about the wine we're going to drink tonight?" "No," she replied. "Have you?" "Yes. I have thought about it several times during the day. I am so excited!" She thought that was interesting. I thought it was tellling. I was beginning to suspect something was off about my drinking.

I remember the night I went out to eat with my then husband, our two young children, and my mother-in-law. I ordered a glass of white wine and when I had drunk half of it, I ordered another. I could not completely relax until I saw a second full glass sitting next to my half empty one. Whew, I was safe.

When I went out to eat with friends, I was astounded that some of them left alcohol in their glass. Did other diners do that? Looking around at other tables, I saw that several wine glasses had some of that elixir left in them though the occupants of the table were either gone or ready to leave. What's that about? I knew the server would throw the wine out. Wine is expensive and the feeling it produces is too good to pour down the sink. Maybe the server finished off those glasses back in the kitchen. I wanted to finish off those glasses for them, my friends and everyone else in the restaurant. But I held back because they might think I had a problem. I might think I had a problem.

Then there was the time I took my sixteen-year-old niece to New York for several days of sightseeing and shopping. One night we returned to our hotel from yet another Broadway play. We were hungry and tired. We ordered room service; she ordered a meal, and I a bottle - a small bottle - of wine. I drank all of that small bottle. In the morning, I woke up with a headache. "Emma," I said to my niece, "I have a headache and I don't feel well." She fired right back, "Aunt Patricia, you have a hangover." What? Losers, alcoholics, and bums had hangovers. Not me. And she was only sixteen. What did she know about hangovers? Several months later, I realized she was correct. Perhaps that bottle wasn't as small as I thought.

My drinking got worse. I drove drunk one night. It was 11:00 in a housing track. I was lucky. There were no cars and no police. The next day, I realized I was also stupid. I began blacking out. My now husband and I went to dinner at some friends' house. My friend handed me a glass of wine as soon as I sat down, and she continued to fill it while we visited before dinner. I blacked out after the salad. I didn't remember eating the main meal or the dessert. My husband assured me that I ate both and that they were delicious. I asked him if I said anything during dinner. "You kept saying over and over, 'Aren't we blessed. Aren't we blessed.'" The wife of the couple was also an alcoholic so she probably didn't even notice I was in an alcoholic coma.

I began to take the quizzes online that pose twenty questions to help you determine whether you are an alcoholic or not. I answered yes often enough to indicate I probably was. But my husband (this is a different husband from my then husband in paragraph two) and my son assured me that I wasn't. They both told me that sometimes i just drank too much. Though one night my almost perfect son told me that if he ever had a child and I acted the way I was behaving that night after drinking a little too much, I would not be allowed around his child. That's serious.

I decided to try alcoholics anonymous. But was I really an alcoholic? I consulted my older sister who has been in different twelve-step programs probably since she was twelve years old. In Los Angeles, there is a twelve-step program for just about any addictive substance or behavior. She told me that "the only requirement for membership is a desire to stop drinking." That clinched it. I found a meeting.

I chose an all-women's Tuesday night meeting. I went for several months. They had a rule at that meeting that when you introduced yourself with your name and stated that you were an alcoholic you also had to state how many years or days you had been sober. Probably that was to encourage newcomers that long term sobriety was possible. When it was my turn to state my name and the number of years or days I hadn't drunk alcohol, I continually said two days because I drank every weekend I attended those meetings. I don't remember if I said I was an alcoholic or not because I still wasn't sure. I probably did because I like fitting in with the groups I join.

I fervently renewed my commitment every Tuesday night to not drink alcohol My goal was to abstain for one month. I wanted to know if I didn't drink for thirty days would I feel as good as the women promised I would and to prove to myself I could do it. Then Friday night would come and I had the weekend to enjoy. Thoughts of wine or a martini or two came with that word "enjoy." I loved the feeling that washed over me after my first few sips of alcohol. To quote Robert Browning, "God's in his heaven/All's right with the world." That's exactly how alcohol made me feel: "all's right with the world."

Had anybody asked me at that time what was my favorite activity, I would have said drinking wine or a martini on the patio in the evening and eating Kirkland fancy mixed nuts. It was bliss. At least for a couple of hours until I fell into bed. And when I awoke, I had a headache and felt nauseous. Yes, Emma was right; I had a hangover. It took the entire morning before I had the energy to accomplish any of the necessary tasks to maintaining a home like laundry, cleaning, paying bills, watering plants, cooking and on and on. And at five o'clock, oh boy, the cycle began again.

So, I always said two days when it was my turn to announce my name and days of sobriety. Then a woman came up to me after a meeting and said, "Patricia, you need to pick a sobriety date." Why, I wondered. I'm sure she meant to be helpful, but I didn't feel helped. I felt shamed. I was doing it wrong. Again, back to my sister. When I told her about the requirement of stating a sobriety date, she told me that each meeting is autonomous, but in all her years of attending twelve-step meetings, she had never seen that rule in effect. "Why don't you try a different meeting?" I did, and I found my home group.

To be continued