My Story.

My name is Sara and I am a (proud!) recovering alcoholic.  My sobriety date is February 11th, 2017.  As of today, I am 62 days sober!  In this blog, I will share my experience, strength, and hope with other recovering alcoholics, those still struggling with alcoholism/addiction, and those who are interested to learn more about the disease!

I was born on July 5th, 1993. Three days later, I was adopted by two physicians who I call my parents.  I grew up as the only child, my parents’ prized possession.  If I had to describe my childhood in one word, it would be happiness.  Although sometimes sheltered, I had everything a well-brought-up girl should have. My mom always said that I was the happiest (although incredibly stubborn!) child she had ever seen.  I know what some of you are thinking: “how could this girl with the picture-perfect childhood end up being an alcoholic? It does’t make sense!”

As grade school approached, I often wondered about my biological parents. I was always told growing up that I was adopted, but since my adoption was closed, I could never get any information about them.  The curiosity and a feeling of “who am I? was growing stronger as I grew older.  I was diagnosed with ADHD when I was in the 6th grade, and I hated the feeling of being austrosized or heaven forbid I had a disorder.

Around the same time I was diagnosed with ADHD, my beloved grandmother was diagnosed with an inoperable form of lung cancer.  I had a relationship with my grandmother that I will never forget.  Sometimes I would fake sick just so that I could spend time with her and watch Titanic for the thousandth time.  She lived right across the street from my elementary school, so I went over to her house almost every day after school while my parents were at work.  We had a very close bond, and everyone noticed.  When she was diagnosed and given 6 months to a year to live, I supressed every negative emotion regarding her illness.  When my grandmother was really having a hard time emotionally and physically (because of the chemo), she moved in with my parents and I.  At the ripe age of 12, I literally watched my best friend suffer before my eyes.  Her cancer spread to her brain, which caused her to have a massive stroke that paralyzed the left side of her body.  My grandma eventually went into hospice care, and suffocated to death.

When that dreaded phone call came from my mom at 3:02 a.m. Informing me and my dad that grandma had passed, I immediately felt numb.  Absolutely no emotion whatsoever. I knew this day was coming.  Instead of sobbing hysterically or having normal emotions of sadness and grief, I continued to suppress these feelings.   I refused to go near her casket at her showing, and I did not shed a tear at her funeral.  When everyone was going through the “normal” stages of grief, I coped in the only way I knew how.  My mom tried to approach me about my coping mechanisms and tried to put me in therapy to try and process my emotions, but I refused and always said that I was fine.

I graduated from 8th grade and went from a class of 12 students to a brand new high school with over 250 kids in the freshman class.  AKA, I went boy crazy and rebelled like you wouldn’t believe.  I would not do my homework for two weeks straight, I was on behavioral probation, and I even ripped a chemistry test in front of a teacher just for the hell of it.  The only activity that made me happy in high school was theater.  In the words of my drama teacher, “Pandora’s box was opened”.  I was the lead in multiple school musicals/plays and thought I was on top of the world.  My grandma frequently crossed my mind, but I forced myself to forget about it.   Around this time, I also tried to find my biological parents, but my mom (who was incredible for helping and supporting me!) and I always came to a dead end.  I had a lot of hidden emotions about my adoption too, but (surprise) I didn’t want to deal with those feelings either.

As I continued to be a complete asshole throughout my high school career, the end was finally near.  Around the second half of my senior year I started experimenting with alcohol.  I remember the first time I got intoxicated, I remember how great it felt, and that I could pound beers like water and drink all of my friends under the table.  Of course I woke up with a hangover, but as soon as that hangover went away I was always looking forward to when I could get my hands on that next drink.  I craved it.  I was built to drink and I was proud of it.

About two months before I graduated high school, I met a guy that would significantly influence my life in so many ways.  The good, the bad, and the very very ugly.  We started dating two weeks later, and things got very intense very quickly.  The amount of chemistry we had was out of this world.  I had never met a guy quite like him.  I had never met a guy that treated me so great.  I was in love and nothing else mattered.  In the first couple of months that we dated, we didn’t drink and I didn’t crave it.  Around 4 months into our relationship, we drank together for the first time.  There it was again!  That feeling of happiness that alcohol gave me, and that feeling of “nothing else matters.” I missed it.  As our relationship intensified, I put a lot of other important life responsibilities on the backburner.  I flunked out of my first semester of community college, and I gained 40 lbs in less than 4 months.  We started drinking together every weekend, and the weekdays couldn’t go by fast enough until I could get my lips on an alcoholic beverage. I noticed myself starting to get angry if we couldn’t find someone to buy alcohol for us.  My weekend was ruined if we didn’t drink.

Two years into my ex’s and I’s relationship, I found text messages on his phone that were questionable. He had been on free dating websites, and sending flirtatious pictures to girls across the country.  I was basically living with him and his grandfather at the time, so I woke him up, showed him the texts, yelled at him, packed up my shit and left.  Of course I got text messages, and numerous phone calls from him expressing his guilt and that he would never do it again.  I loved him so much, and I always believed that people could change, so I took him back less than 72 hours after I found those messages.

The relationship was never the same after that.  I continued to drink, and by this time I was 21, got my shit together when it came to school, and I was on my way to graduate with my bachelors degree in social work with a 3.95 grade point average.  Of course the legal drinking age in the U.S. is 21, so I bought alcohol on a regular basis, and would often hide the bottles/cans because I knew what I was doing wasn’t normal.  My ex and my parents would find the bottles but I swore up and down the table that I did NOT HAVE A PROBLEM.  I found myself drinking to intoxication at least once during the week, and Friday and Saturday of every weekend.

Around this time, right before I was about to graduate, the law that closed adoptions could apply to get their original birth certificate became legal.  Of course I jumped on this opportunity.  I received my original birth certificate about a month later.  When I found my biological mother’s name on that birth certificate I jumped right on Facebook and found here.  There she was! I started crying as soon as I saw her picture on that computer screen.  Instead of suppressing my emotions like I had done throughout most of my life, I let the tears of happiness flow like a river.  I let those emotions in because it was a happy emotion, not a negative emotion. I contacted her and met her two weeks later, and it was one of the best days of my life. We still have regular contact today. 🙂

Shortly after, my boyfriend and I moved into our first apartment together.  I graduated with my Bachelor’s degree in social work, and I was about to start graduate school (to get my MSW) in the summer. I thought that moving in together was going to “fix” everything, and all of our hopes and dreams that we talked about together would come true.  We lived together for about 8 months, and my drinking started to escalate and he started to notice.  He started saying things like “we don’t have to drink every day, Sara.” That scared me.  But of course, I ignored his comments and the emotions that came along with it.  I quickly noticed that living together full time was a lot different than basically living part-time together.  We started arguing about my alcohol use, about how I didn’t tidy things up around the apartment like I should have, and numerous other arguments that I don’t want to delve into.

One day, I came home from my graduate-school internship and I wanted to surprise him for lunch.  We had gotten into a pretty intense argument the night before and I wanted to  “clear the air” so to speak.  Instead of making up, we broke up.  My ex basically said that our relationship “wasn’t the same anymore.”  I did the same thing that I did when he cheated on me for the first time– I packed up my shit and left.   But this time I didn’t go back.  I was done.

Despite the breakup, I managed to graduate with my Master’s degree in social work with a sky-high grade point average.  I hung out with girlfriends that I had put to the side when I was with my ex, I went skydiving, I did a mini-marathon, and I got my first big girl job.  Everyone around me (except my parents) thought that I was embracing my independence.  Little did everybody around me know that I was suffering an incredible amount. I was completely heartbroken. Behind closed doors, the bottle was my way of coping. I would lock myself in my room and drink.  At first the alcohol gave me a euphoria so to speak.  I had all this confidence that I could move on from him, and that life was great.  As the night progressed and drank more, this confidence became depression and I would end up in tears.  This became and every day/night occurrence and it was starting to effect every aspect of my life in a negative manner.  I continued to gain weight, my health was starting to deteriorate, I was putting myself in situations that I would NEVER get into if I was sober… I was basically going through the motions of everyday life, but not really feeling what was going on around me.  My parents were so worried about me because the alcohol bottles that they found around the house were astronomical.  But of course, I STILL DIDN’T HAVE A PROBLEM, DAMNIT.

Eventually, (eventually meaning 8 months later) I hit rock bottom.  I don’t want to delve into the nitty gritty details just yet of what my rock bottom was, but what I will say was that it was a wake up call that I needed to get my life together.  Alcohol was ruining my life. My grandfather (who has over 30 years of sobriety), and my mom and I went to an Alcoholics Anonymous meeting a couple days after my night of rock-bottom deubochery.  I was slowly admitting that I had a problem, but I was so embarrassed to walk into my first meeting.  I walked into that room lookin’ a HOT mess.  Hair in disarray, eyes puffy from crying, hood up, arms and legs crossed, and avoiding all possible eye contact.  But, my plan to hide in the back row and pretending that I didn’t exist did not work out in my favor.  Every single person in that room came up to me, shook my hand, and welcomed me to the meeting.  My stone cold expression on my face slowly softened. I was confused as I looked around the people in the room.  They all seemed so happy. I thought “how in the hell can all of these alcoholics be happy? I am absolutely miserable!”  The first meeting that I went to was an open discussion, and the moderator picked the topic “what it felt like to be a newcomer to Alcoholics Anonymous.”  I was overcome with emotion from the stories that the group members shared.  But, when the meeting was over, I felt a sense of hope. I wanted to get sober and stay sober.  I admitted that my alcohol use was making my life unmanageable.

At the next meeting I went to, I admitted to myself and the group that I was an alcoholic.  I can’t even begin to describe to you how GREAT that felt.  I was free of the secret that I had been hiding for years, and I was surrounded by a group of amazing people who were just like me.  As I went to more and more meetings, I became happier and happier.  I FINALLY let myself deal with negative emotions, learned better coping mechanisms when these negative emotions come, and that it is okay to FEEL emotions that are uncomfortable.  And, I am never ever alone when I am processing these emotions, and I am certainly never alone in my journey in sobriety.  Last but not least, I finally let go of the anger, hurt, and sadness that was left after my breakup with my ex.  That was probably the most freeing emotion of all.

My life has changed for the better in more ways that than I can count in these 62 days of sobriety.  Alcoholics Anonymous has saved my life!  I am the happiest that I have ever been.  I no longer have to lean on alcohol to get through the day, I no longer have to stuff my face with obscene amounts of food, and I am no longer embarrassed that I’m an alcoholic.  I will fully admit that I am an alcoholic and I’m damn proud of it, and I am proud of my sobriety.  I am working through the 12 steps, going to meetings 6 days a week, have a home group and sponsor, and I am continuing to repair relationships that I have broken in the past.  I am establishing a relationship with my Higher Power that I never thought was possible. The list could go on and on, but that’s what this blog is for, right?!

Some people say that “its not about the journey, its about the destination.”  My story can relate to this saying, that’s for sure. My journey has led me to my destination of sober living, which has been an incredible blessing.  I will end with this quote: “I have survived because the fire inside me burned brighter than the fire around me.”

One day at a time, my friends. One day at a time.