Re: something’s gotta give
February 29, 2024
I am writing this from a “hindsight is always 20/20” perspective. I wanted to start writing back up as a form of therapy, as a way to connect with people I know are out there, but who I haven’t been able to meet and connect with. Such a large part of this journey, as with any major “going against the flow of society” move, is finding a community of like-minded folks like yourself. We see it all the time with our queer friends and family, they often will find a community online first where they can observe, and then share their early voices without fear of being ostracized, but rather opened and welcomed. They know that if their given family and friends reject them, they have a beautiful lovely chosen family waiting with open arms to carry them forward. And while I don’t even begin to try and say me telling friends and family I’m not drinking it something equivalent to a person coming out to their family (they have it much harder), I do think the value of community still holds true.
So many recovery stories start like how mine is about to, but for the person out there who is reading their first quit lit, recovery piece, I’ll give you a flavor of how it often goes down.
My life was perfect. Moved around a lot but finally found our permanent space in Highschool. I always wanted to be accepted, and so it became a habit to mimic and go along with what the cool kids, or any kid really, was doing. Anything it took to make them a friend. I had this picture perfect dream of the American family, and I was the first born daughter, with no option to fail, who was athletic, starred in the school musicals, made varsity sports, didn’t get in trouble, crushed honor roll, and above all, did it with a smile. But as a curly haired, acne-fighting, mixed teen who ended up in Howard County Maryland in the 2010s, my dream wasn’t as easy as three clicks of my ruby slippers. Howard County, an overwhelmingly Yhite community where many kids grew up together since kindergarten, wasn’t the easiest place to make friends. But I made my way, freshman year into sophomore year, hearing whispers of parties where kids were having alcohol, and flirting, and hooking up. All I wanted was a boy to like me, and to go to those parties! It seemed alcohol was the key.
Well I was a good girl in highschool, and thanks to my extremely strict parents, plus lack of invitation to join the cool and popular kids in highschool, I never really drank, until I was able to sneak to a few parties here and there at the end. The theater kids finally lived up to their reputations of being freaky and started throwing their own parties.
But I remember the first time I got really really drunk. It was at Senior Week in Ocean City, MD - for those of you who don’t know what this is - it’s the week after HS graduation where kids get a house together and celebrate graduating - it’s basically a big drunkfest and fuckfest. My mom finally let me go for a few days, after I begged and begged that I would be good. And once I got there, I had my first real taste of freedom. Everyone had graduated, social groups didn’t matter anymore, and everyone was getting fucked up together. This was the first time I was really, truly drunk and I even ended up losing my virginity. Yes it was sad that it happened while I was drunk, and in a bathroom. And yes it was definitely borderline sexual assault/rape, but I didn’t care! I was cool! I was partying, dancing, getting drunk, making out with boys (PU$$YPWR - am I right?!), and doing it! Hell yeah - living that American Highschooler dream. My parents evidently found out what happened as I left my email open with a note about it to my friend - LOL - sending emails like texts #amirite?! And for the first time, I wasn’t perfect, and I got grounded for the first time in the HS - or would it be considered college? #qtna - career, but the rush of the rebellion, the acting out against all the strict rules my parents had set for me felt so good. And that’s how my uncontrolled drinking began.
I got to college and went hog wild and cemented my binge drinking habits. I was the party friend, the heavy weight, the wild one, the flirtatious one, the adventurous one - the drunkest one who could keep her shit together. In all my years of drinking I can count on 2 hands the number of times I threw up from drinking, which seemed like a win! Afterall, I had some friends who were always puking. Although man, sometimes I was jealous, I think my hangovers would’ve been a little more bearable if I was able to throw up.
In the nearly 15 years that followed after the summer I graduated HS, I got a great job out of college, moved to san francisco, met the love of my life, started making over $100k, moved for work, traveled abroad multiple times, got new jobs at flashy startups, got engaged, got married, had 2 residences over ski season, survived COVID, and moved to Hawaii. In between that, my heavy drinking continued and I started to add more to the mix - weed, cocaine (though I knew it wasn’t for me), drunk driving, molly, shrooms (those were the best!), and near death hangovers, angry fits, weight gain, anxiety & stress, sick days to manage hangovers, financial challenges (though we thankfully got these under control), and anger in my life - at my relationships, at my family, at coworkers, at the government (but also who isn’t). I was pretty much blacked out at the tail end of my wedding. I’ve been blacked out at family holidays. I’ve been blacked out and locked myself out of our apartment. I’ve met strangers and made bad decisions, which ended up okay because I wasn’t in a ditch (using a lot of good karma). But on the outside, my life looked great right? I had a husband, a dog, a luxury vehicle (though BMW service pricing is a ripoff), could afford 2 residences, regular soul cycle meet ups, cute brunch with friends, weekends in cancun and tulum, fun wine memberships. Something had to give. My life was getting more and more out of control.
But there were a series of events that took place and altered my perspective, starting with my youngest brother’s suicide attempt in the fall of 2021 where he slit his wrist with a kitchen knife. Thank god he survived, but I was most unstable after that. I can’t watch Jungle Cruise anymore, weed had me paranoid, drinking was happening all the time. I was unhappy and scared. I realized just how fragile life was. I started realizing life is short, and I would be damned if I had to miss a moment of it. Drinking didn’t matter, weed didn’t matter, shrooms were nice, but they didn’t matter. The drama, the flash of it all, it didn’t matter if you didn’t have your family, and couldn’t spend time with your family. And I was missing out. My experiences were clouded by alcohol, or I was recovering from a wicked hangover and missed the whole thing anyway. Spring of 2022 was really a dark but also light time for me. I spent time alone while my husband was on business trips, and I cried and journaled and was angry I was far from my brother. I was angry at folks drinking. I remember when my dad had called to tell us what happened and showed us over facetime the blood on the carpet I was drunk and high. I never wanted to be that way again. If my brother needed me, I would be there for him 100%, and I couldn’t do that with alcohol. I really took a step back from drinking after that, but it picked back up as summer rolled around. Our best friends in the city, another interracial couple, had moved and I was only hanging out with annoying Yhites. My drinking was through the roof and then we found out my grandmother was diagnosed with lung cancer, it was bad. She was given 10 months at best.
Around this time we decided to move to Hawaii, not 3 weeks after I was back on the East Coast with my college friends. I was already feeling like not really drinking, because my hangovers were unbearable and I didn’t want to hold the group back from anything. But we drank casually. Thankfully, most of our friend group had matured beyond me and we didn’t drink heavily, but I noticed that once I got going, I kept wanting to. Drinks at Barbie, another drink at dinner, I was a walking puff ball of shame. Feeling bloated like a little oompa loompa I squeezed into the outfit I had been planning for months for Beyonce’s Renaissance tour. The group of course coordinated and we all looked fire. We took gorgeous Golden Hour pics in the parking lot and pregamed with our jumbo white claws, of course I was wanting more, but it was time to go inside - and I resisted the urge to offer to finish the rest of my friend’s drink. Why though? I knew I didn’t want it, I just wanted to feel carefree and forget about life’s troubles to enjoy the concert. Plus it was what we did at concerts right? We got fucked up. But yes I resisted, I kept replaying something my friend said earlier “Jill you’re the biggest drinker of the group” and for some reason, this time, it hit me. And I kept revisited memories of all the most recent trips with friends and there I was drinking the most, encouraging folks to keep drinking, and then we were all trying our best to navigate the hangovers and still make something of the day.
But then the show started and Renaissance was a symbolic renaissance for me. (for anyone who attended one of the performances on this tour, knows what I mean). Beyonce preached about being free, living in life’s most beautiful moments - both happy and sad, doing things on her terms, and dropping things that didn’t serve to make her life better.
That night was the last night I had a drink. July 31, 2023 is my Sober Date.
In the beginning it was “i’m just taking a break” but as I got to 30 days, then 60 days, I realized, I liked not drinking alcohol. I was waking up early, going to the gym, eating healthier, thinking clearer, and more mild tempered. I liked me. I found myself reading the comments frequently on I Am Sober app - shoutout to that app! And found some community. I started late night rabbit holing on #sobriety, #sobercurious, and slowly my instagram feed started shifting. Then, my grandmother passed on November 26. She was 79. She was young. It was a little different with gram because she was a product of perhaps the most successful marketing schemes since the beginning of the US by 1950s and 1960s Big Tobacco. And we knew it was the inevitable. But nonetheless I never knew a hurt like no other until that day. I didn’t want to drink. I wanted to live, and long at that! I suddenly realized how short life was, again. And this time I was determined to not miss out on a single moment I was awake. If I lounged around and vegetated, it was because I chose to - not because I was inhibited by a splitting headache and nausea. Right around the new year I downloaded a book called Quit Like a Woman by Holly Whittaker. And this is where I meet you. I started listening to this book and it’s changed me in a way I didn’t know possible.
It’s been a long time since I’ve had thoughts & questions after reading a book. But it’s only made me want to learn more. It’s just the tip of the iceberg against my Titanic (aka my mentality & attitude towards alcohol). And once it’s done, that ship is going down and she’s never coming back.
Come along with me as I realize the alcohol ship is sinking and that if I want to live I need to leave it behind and get in the lifeboat of knowledge. The Titanic of Alcohol sinking was the best thing to ever happen to me.
