The Beginning

This will be an ongoing journal and a post may seem to stop in the middle or at the wrong place, but will continue in the next. I hope that I do not bore you with these details but they are a part of the madness of my addictions.

I did not start drinking until I was 21 years old. I do not remember ever sneaking a drink from my parent’s glasses when they had a gathering. In fact, I do not remember doing much of anything before I was 21 except working hard and having to be an adult even though I was only a child. I do remember my father drinking from the time I was three until I was thirteen. It is not a pleasant memory. I suppose you could say I followed in his footsteps.

When I started drinking, I went straight for the hard stuff, bypassed the beer completely (did not like the way it tasted). I remember going to a Christmas party at my boss’s home and drinking things I cannot even pronounce and smoking a cigarette. On the way home, my first husband hit me in the mouth, not because I drank alcohol but because I smoked a cigarette. When we reached home and he went to sleep, I called my parents to come and get my son and me. I left that day and never went back. I divorced him and “moved” on to the next abusive man. It is strange how I always seem to choose the abusive man. I never saw my father physically abuse my mother so I do not know why I choose them. Maybe it was or is some deep-seated emotion or feeling that I needed to be punished for something I did. I know that is not true but that is how I suppose I felt at the time.

I met my second husband through a friend (some friend). Guess what he did for a living. He worked in a liquor store. We partied hard, he encouraged me to try all kinds of liquor, and I did. At that time, my choice was gin. He also taught me that it was best not to mix the alcohol with anything since it was the mix that would make you sick. I learned the lesson well. As I said in the first post, I was the best at my addiction and gave it my all. I progressed to the point that I drank over a fifth a day and hid it well. No one knew, except my husband since he provided the liquor, that I was drinking that much. I worked everyday, never drank at work, and kept up appearances. You have to remember this was in the 60’s and things were a lot different then. I got a break and did not work for several years and during that period, I would get up and have a breakfast of gin and tonic. I would drink all day and into the night. Every day.

We lived together and had to pretend we were married and we eventually did get married. As I said before I was a mean drunk and so was he. We had physical fights; I still have the scars to prove it. The more we fought, the more I drank to drowned out the feelings I had. I remember how bad the hangovers were. I remember how I lied and denied, said hurtful things to people, how I hurt inside and how I continued to drink more and more thinking I could drown out the feelings. I also ignored my child and my family. Nothing was important to me except, the drinking. On my 27th birthday, I drank so much gin and tonic and martinis that I was violently ill that night. I remember sitting on the bathroom floor with my head hung over the commode and vomiting until I thought I would died. The result of this episode was that I never drank gin again but started drinking whiskey.