We Loved It, We Hated It | The Confusing Dynamics During Early Alcohol Recovery
I’m an alcoholic. Okay, so that probably didn’t really get your attention since this is a blog about that very subject. Let me say that another way, and note that I will use the past tense. I LOVED alcohol. I loved the way it made me feel. I loved to hold it. I loved to buy it. I loved to smell it. I Loved to talk about it. I LOVED alcohol.
I also liked to hide it. I liked to drink it late at night, when everyone was asleep. I liked wine that was concealed in a box. I liked to have a few beers while I got ready for a party. I drank before I drank, you could say. Yeah, that was fun.
I was okay with all of that. I was okay with justifying anything that revolved around alcohol. I was okay that I ran for the bar at every party. I was okay that I had to have wine with steak, beer with burgers, and margaritas with Mexican. I was okay with all that.
With that said, I hated waking up in the morning and not remembering the last hour of the previous night. I hated looking in the mirror, that same morning, and seeing a pale face with bags under my eyes. On some mornings, those eyes might be extra puffy because I cried in that same mirror about 6 hours earlier. I hated that damn mirror.
So there you have it. I loved it. I liked it. I was okay with it. I hated it. That was my ride with alcohol. I say “was” with hopes that I can run from that ride. If it catches up with me, that ride will ruin my life. There’s no doubt about that. None.
I am blessed that I can run from this problem with people who love me. I am blessed that I can go to meetings with people that can relate to me. I am blessed to look in that mirror and see color in my skin. White in my eyes. And I’m so blessed to not have cried at that very face the night before.
I am thankful that I can write for this blog and tell you this. I am thankful that I stopped alcohol at the age of 41. I am thankful that I have a family that loves me so much. I am thankful for my memory. You see, I have awesome things that go on around me, and it’s nice to keep those awesome things from being blacked out.
I’m not sure if alcohol is a disease, a mental disorder, or what. All I know is that I, Robert Stedman, have an allergy to it. I refuse to be ashamed of that. It is what it is. I will say this. I will no longer dance with my addiction. Let me rephrase that. I HOPE AND PRAY that I will no longer dance with my addiction. I’m worth it.
