Just One Drink...

Drinking did not take for me until my very late twenties. I grew up using a lot of drugs, but I stayed away from drinking. I was one of those people that once I started I was almost face down into the bottle every night. On the weekends I would start drinking as soon as I got up. I was not waking up in bed with a cup of coffee, I had vodka and whiskey. 

I think from the moment I started it was only casual for a few short months. It became an impulse and obsession very quickly. If I could not be drinking then I did not want to do it. I finally found something that silenced my inner storm. 

Sometimes on my way home from work I could not even wait and had to stop for a strong one. It became the driving force of my life. I went to work on no sleep, I went to work in a fog or still buzzed, and I thought about it all day. It cured my anxiety, it stopped the racing thoughts, it put me at home in my skin for once. 

I always said no, I will not let alcohol be a part of my life. I took one drink and it was literally over from that point. I am stressed so I drink, I am celebrating so I drink, I am bored and I drink, I am spinning out of control so I drink. There was always an excuse. There was always a reason. 

I drank alone, I went out alone, I was in a lot of compromising situations, I said a lot that I have no memory of. I found a way to survive, yet it was chipping more and more away at my being. I began to live in guilt, I began to live in shame. I became increasingly suicidal and attempted a few times under the influence. 

A very large percentage of people with bipolar self medicate with alcohol. Many suicides are completed by people hurting and under the influence. If I were not drunk maybe I would have called the hot lines, drove to a safe place, found a way to cope. The alcohol which I felt was my closest friend had taken absolute control over me. 

It is hard to explain and hard for some to understand. They say just stop, do not do it, do not buy it, do not stop at the bar and the liquor store on the way home. I would tell myself I am going straight home but before I knew it I was making the right hand turn just like I did every single night. 

I probably lived in a nine year binge. There were maybe a day every three or four weeks that I did not drink. I was blacking out every night. I would wake up and think what did I do, what did I say? Did I let my dog out? Did I feed her? 

It has been over a year that I have lived sober. I do not miss the drinking but I do miss the relief. Then I remember the relief toward the end was only for a flash of time. Maybe after the third or fourth glass of wine, maybe after the first pint, but then the switch was flipped. The torment came back just as bad and just as strong. Maybe it was even worst. I do not know. It all seems like a series of nightmares, I wake up, the sun is shining, but then it gets too close and I am burning and trying to escape all over again.