• Posts Tagged ‘Alcoholism’

Ask The Band: When Does Being Sober Get Easier?

Here at The Band, we believe in kicking stigmas to the curb, flinging glitter, and shining a light into the dark. And now?

Your bandmate needs a sounding board.

It’s time to Ask The Band!

I quit drinking seven months ago.

Actually, it was 217 days ago if you want to get specific.

I wasn’t a fall down drunk all the time. I reserved my drinking for the evenings and the weekends. I usually waited until my child was in bed. I usually drank with other people.

I graduated both high school and college with honors, all while drinking. People knew I attended classes hungover but no one ever said I had a problem. I have successfully held down jobs all while drinking. I had more than my fair share of liquid lunches and still managed to not get fired. My happy hours after work went on too long and by sheer luck I never hurt myself or someone else or had a run in with the law.

Source: bandbacktogether.com

Fair

Alcoholism can completely change a loved one’s personality and put stress on the entire family as a result.

This is her story.

Life’s not fair, I know that. I don’t expect fairness from the world at large. But I feel like - and maybe this is me being a spoiled only child - we should try to be fair to those we supposedly love.

He’s an alcoholic, I know that too. He tells me so all the time, whenever I complain about his behavior or his attitude. Or whenever he feels bad. He’s trying to fight his demons, he says.

But I’m angry. I’m supposed to be the bigger person and I am so fucking angry.

Source: bandbacktogether.com

Healing Takes Forever

I’ve been on the path toward recovery most of my adult life. Of course, it wasn’t always defined as recovery. I just knew I had problems that were considered “secrets.”

When I was younger, if you mentioned you were “in recovery,” the person you were talking to would’ve stopped and said, “Recovering from what?” No one understood the aspects of alcoholism, love addiction or recovery from the torture of a narcissist or an abusive spouse.

“Recovering from what?” That’s one heck of a loaded question. I’d already read every self-help book on the market.

At nineteen years old, I first sought spiritual counseling. I’d come to the enlightened conclusion that I was in a horribly abusive marriage and was now pregnant with our first child that He Did Not Want!

I’d been married less than one year.

Source: bandbacktogether.com

Belated Wishes

Substance abuse claims the lives of thousands of people every year.

This is her story.

Happy Belated Birthday, Mom.

You used to laugh about how we were all February women in our family. You, your younger sister, me, and two of my cousins were all born in the same month. You said it made us special. When I was small, I thought it was true. When I was small, there were still times I wanted to be just like you.

I remember making you birthday cards with clumsy hearts and sunshine drawn on them, folding them so carefully and neatly that my teachers were impressed. I remember handing them to you with excitement, waiting to see your smile and hear your praise. I remember you putting down your bottle of beer, just for a second.

After you died, I found most of the cards I made for you and, later, bought for you. Even in the depths of my numbness, I teared up a little thinking that it meant you were proud of me.

Source: bandbacktogether.com

Letter To My 18-Year-Old Self

As the saying goes, hindsight is 20/20. Do you have life lessons that would have helped you through a difficult time?

Share those with The Band as you write a letter to your younger self.

Put down that beer right now. It’s caused you enough grief already and if you stop drinking now, it will save you a lot of grief in the future. You do not need it. It just makes you seem silly and makes you a target for abuse.

Now, call your Mom back and tell her you’ll be changing your major even though she thinks you won’t be able to succeed. Dancing is her dream, not yours. You want to be seen AND heard.

Source: bandbacktogether.com

Apathy Thou Art

I feel like every time I post, it’s more of the same.

I’m depressed.

I’m cutting.

I’m drinking.

That’s all happening right now. I’m taking a break from therapy. Well, it’s been five months since I went to therapy and I’m not back yet so who knows?

I quit school. I couldn’t handle it anymore. It’s a little easier when I’m working, the variety of life is better than sitting in a classroom with unmedicated Attention-Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder.

Source: bandbacktogether.com

Christmas Day

It’s Christmas Day; I remember how I used to love watching my children’s genuine delight in opening their gifts and stocking stuffers. I loved making the huge dinner, supervising and organizing the entire family. The meal would be spectacular and the children would play together without fighting, then..

THHHWACK!

My abusive mother would pick on my abusive husband.

Immediately, the atmosphere changed. Conversations became muted whispers and then, my drunk older brother would say something rude or outrageous and cap it off.

Now, my children are grown and have excellent educations. The narcissist I raised (as opposed to the one who raised me or the one I married), has a prestigious job in DC. She was more than a handful to raise.

I didn’t know I’d been fighting narcissistic personality disorder my whole life. I just knew something was “off” within these three people; I fought them to within an inch of my brain withalcoholism/addiction, anxiety, fear, cajoling, religion, codependency, divorce, and finally,recovery.

Thank God for recovery and a plan. Gotta have a plan or I can’t navigate my life. Other people have always given me the plan - I just waited for it and then reacted to each person the way I thought they wanted. That never seemed to work. Matter of fact, it seemed to complicate things; somehow making it worse. I always paid the price. Not to whine - I was punished without knowing that I was a victim.

The best way to ferret out a narcissist is they clearly identify the problem at hand. They don’t know this is a compulsion and a major “tell” they can’t seem to control. I learned early and hard that the people who think everybody else is lying is, in fact, the liar.

Source: bandbacktogether.com

Spotlight On: Recovery - 14 Years Sober

Such a simple word with such a variety of implications, not a one of them simple.

This month, the Band is focusing upon recovery - from anything. Part of getting through the traumas, the addictions, the mental illnesses is to focus on the light at the end of the proverbial tunnel and focus upon new coping mechanisms, new ways of life, and recovery.

So, The Band, how are YOU recovering? What are you recovering from? How are some ways you cope while recovering?

The day after the last night I ever drank alcohol, I found myself curled up in a sickly ball on the floor of my friend Michele’s Upper East Side apartment, the embodiment of the shame spiral. As the previous evening flashed through my mind in bits and pieces, each scene inducing more self-loathing than the last, I sobbed.

…there I was, spilling my scotch and water at dinner with Michele’s sweet sister and brother-in-law visiting from Texas, the evening barely begun.

Source: bandbacktogether.com

Overcoming Vaginismus

I have vaginismus, which means my pubococcygeus muscle (PC muscle) involuntarily contracts when I try to have intercourse. This makes sex painful and often impossible. It has been difficult to obtain a diagnosis from an OB/GYN because many do not know about it.

Over time I’ve had many unfortunate sexual experiences that have trained my PC muscles to react in the same way that eyelids do. Eyes automatically blink when something comes too close to them in order to prevent injury or pain. With vaginismus, PC muscles automatically have spasms to prevent intercourse. The muscles have “learned” over time to contract in order to “protect” me from sex.

I am writing because: 1) I want other women to know about vaginismus if they are experiencing similar issues with painful sex, and 2) I reached a point in my personal treatment where I need to address my negative association with sex, but I have no one to talk to about it.

I addressed my first point earlier. If you experience painful sex, I recommend discussing it with an OB/GYN or a physical therapist.

As for the second point, my husband and I have a good relationship overall, but I have shame and guilt regarding sex. He was a virgin when we met, but I’d already had many partners. There is little positive association or understanding in this society for women having many partners. I know this, and I have trouble believing that my husband doesn’t judge me when I continue to judge myself based on society’s standards.

Further, I have a history of abusing alcohol, which has resulted in two rapes and one close call.

Six years ago a friend raped me on Labor Day weekend after I drank too much. Later, within the first year that my husband and I were dating, the following incidents occurred. At a Halloween party, I danced with a guy (not my husband, but I was not planning on doing anything but dancing). I had too much to drink, so I did not know how to react when he picked me up, put me over his shoulder, carried me out of the party, and started kissing me in an empty alleyway. I was scared and did not have the courage to fight back. I had no idea where I was, and kept asking that we return to the party. Luckily, a friend came searching for me and found us, so I escaped the situation. I told my husband (boyfriend at the time) what happened. I expected he would break up with me, but he forgave me and asked that it never happen again.

Unfortunately, something worse happened on the day before New Year’s Eve (all of these events occurred around holidays, which serve as reminders every year). I went to my best friend’s house to hang out, and her husband’s friend was there, as well. We played card games and I drank too much. I felt like I was in a safe place and did not care about drinking responsibly. I blacked out, and only remember politely telling her husband’s friend, “No…no…no.”

I woke up naked and realized we had had sex. I was not aware of my surroundings and had been too drunk to do anything to protect myself.

I was too cowardly to tell my husband (still my boyfriend at the time) what had happened because I was leaving to study abroad the following week. I was selfish in not wanting to deal with a break up, and I tried to keep the event to myself. After weeks of trying to pretend it didn’t happen and trying to ignore my suffering, I could no longer handle the guilt and told my husband what had happened. He emailed my friend to ask her side of the story, and she told him that I had kissed the guy that night, which I don’t recall because I blacked out. Although I try to believe the saying “rape is rape,” I still feel responsible for what happened to me because I drank too much and supposedly kissed him.

Since then, I’ve had other episodes of alcohol abuse, and I sought counseling. I have not yet been able to abstain from alcohol completely, but I have become much better at drinking responsibly. My husband is glad that I no longer abuse alcohol, but he has told me that he is uncomfortable when I go out with friends. He doesn’t stop me from going out, but his mood changes, which serves as another reminder of what happened a few years ago.

Those are not the only stories that I have, but they are the most salient to me. I believe that those events and prior abusive relationships combined with anxiety and depression contributed to my developing vaginismus. I want to overcome it to have enjoyable sex, which requires me to move on from the past, but I can’t quite get over what happened to me. I also feel bitter toward my husband because I don’t think he agrees that I was raped. I desperately want him to forgive me and say it wasn’t my fault, but he’ll never do so. I’m just going to keep trying, and am glad to be able to share my story.

Thank you for reading.

Source: bandbacktogether.com

A Letter I Can’t Send: To The Police

We all have letters we’d like to send, but know that we can’t. A letter to someone we no longer have a relationship with, a letter to a family member or friend who has died, a letter to reclaim our power or our voice from an abuser. Letters where actual contact is just not possible for whatever reason.

Do you have a letter you’d like to send but can’t? If so, send it to us.

Please, The Band, keep in mind the mission of Band Back Together and the Guidelines for Submissions are very clear in that we are not a rant site - the purpose of our posts and our mission is to be able to share our stories in a safe manner while encouraging healing.

Two years ago I called upon you to save my sister. She told me she was going to drive off a bridge, and yes, that was an exaggeration on her part. But she was mentally ill, and you did not help. In fact, the dispatcher told me that bridges were hard to drive off of, which surprisingly was not a comfort. When one is determined, bridges offer other solutions, do they not?

When you, the police, found her, you believed her. She had been driving drunk. An hour before, she was stumbling through the house. And yet, you believed her when she said that we had argued and I was lying. You believed her, even though she stank of booze. You didn’t give her the breathalyzer test that you should have, and she didn’t get the help she needed then. Only weeks later she would try to commit suicide.

Source: bandbacktogether.com

It’s The Third Time…

If you, or someone you love, is feeling desperate, please call 1-800-273-TALK to speak to a counselor at the National Suicide Prevention Hotline.

Thankfully, the third time was not the charm.

Last night marked the third time my sister tried to end her own life.

Her husband saved her.

Her daughter of six years old says, “Maybe Mommy and Daddy shouldn’t live in the same house.”

And, “Mommy drank a lot today.”

She is my baby sister.

I want to protect her.

I want to save her.

I don’t know what I can do or say that would matter anymore.

I can’t make her save herself.

I feel numb.

Source: bandbacktogether.com

Fed Up And Frustrated

Hey There Band,

I’ve been meaning to write a post - a few posts, actually - for a long time. However, it seems that no matter what I do, it ends up a long-winded, horrible brick of text that I know I would not behappy with. I scrap it. Throw it to the proverbial hounds of the interbutts, and move on.

Tonight, I’m going to change that. Why? For one sole reason: I am fucking fed up.

My mother has taken up my father’s alcoholic legacy, determined to do his dawn-til-dusk habit justice in light of his recent passing. He died a little over a year ago.

I’m tired of fighting with her about her drinking. About her smoking. About… everything.

I’ve been trying to save money so that I coulddo something with my life. I had three amazing scholarships and so much potential that I threw away for an eating disorder. I’ve been going nowhere for over two years, now. I consoled myself with sex, drugs and starvation but now that I have none of the above, well, I want more for my life.

Where did my hard-earned money go?

Source: bandbacktogether.com

Ask The Band: I Thought It Was Over

One in every four women will have an abortion in her lifetime.

This is her story.

I am in my 20’s. I have a great job. I have a wonderful family and the best friends a girl could ask for.

He is in his 30’s.

We had been together for a little over a year. Our relationship was unhealthy (to say the least). Constant arguing and fighting. Yelling and screaming. Many nights of drinking and physically fighting.

I don’t know why we were still together. I don’t know why we are still together; I was unhappy then and I am unhappy now. Maybe it’s because he is the only one who knows my secret. It’s OUR secret.

I found out I was pregnant two days before my best friend’s wedding. I took two tests and both were positive.

I was terrified.

The three days that followed were crazy and emotional. I was surrounded by friends and family. It was so hard not to tell someone, but I told no one. I already had my mind made up.

I have always, always, always maintained I would never have an abortion. But, I also believe that every situation is different. Everyone goes through different things and I never felt that it was my place to tell someone else what was best for them. I never thought I would be in this situation. I never thought it would happen to me: I wanted an abortion.

Source: bandbacktogether.com

The Hardest Truth

Addiction to alcohol affects nearly 18 million people in the US.

This is her story:

The other night, I had the hardest conversation of my young life.

I sat on the bed, holding the phone to my ear and, sobbing, told my father that I thought I was having some problems with alcohol.

I have never felt so ashamed in my life.

I know that, as an adult child of an addict (my father has been a member of AA for years now), I’m predisposed to alcoholism more than others. I thought I had so much under control, that I knew my limits. But when I go week after week of having more than one drink a night and spending my hard earned money on booze when I know I have bills to pay? When my boyfriend finds the little bottles in the car that they sell at the cashiers counter and I have no excuse as to why they are there?

Source: bandbacktogether.com

Edentulous

The scars of child abuse may fade. But the reminders, they never do.

This is her story:

On Friday, my daughter sprouted four teeth, bringing her up to a grand total of six teeth atseven months.

That’s six more teeth than I have, and I’m twenty-six.

Twenty years ago, while my mother was in the hospital, my father thought my teeth were not sufficiently brushed.

He expressed his dissatisfaction by slamming my head into a wall. That single incident did not turn me off brushing my teeth. It was a combination of things: being an abused child, having my mother in and out of the hospital, and the taste of toothpaste making me vomit.

So I didn’t brush.

Years later, I was so deep in the waters of mental illness I still couldn’t brush my teeth without a panic attack – complete with vomiting.

I was too poor for a dentist. I was in, more or less, constant pain for six years before the teeth that could be seen started breaking.

I remember how kind the dentist was that finally took me on as a charity case. He even found money from the state to pay the oral surgeon.

Source: bandbacktogether.com

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About

Band Back Together is a group weblog that provides educational resources as well as a safe, moderated, supportive environment to share stories of survival. Through the power of real stories written by real people, we can work together to destigmatize mental illness, abuse, rape, baby loss and other traumas so that we may learn, grow, and heal.

On Band Back Together, we put a face to things not normally discussed. We are the face of depression. We are the face of baby loss. We are the face of mental illness. We are the face of abuse. We are the face of rape. We are the face of SURVIVORS and we are proud to be here. We wear our scars proudly, like battle wounds because everything we've survived has made us who we are today: better, stronger, and smarter.

It's time to pull our skeletons out of the closet and make them dance the tango.

We will no longer let our secrets fester inside. We will no longer live in the dark.

All are welcome.

Me, Elsewhere

The Band Back Together Project, its host, editors, moderators, staff and volunteers are not responsible for any decisions you make directly or indirectly as a result of content on this site. This site does not claim to diagnose, treat, or cure any medical or emotional problems. The site is not intended to replace the care of a doctor, psychologist, counselor, or other health-care professional, nor the advice of legal counsel. . Effector Theme by Carlo Franco.

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