intro to me

At what specific point did my devil-may-care approach to drinking become this life or death choice?  When did a drink in the morning become easier than dealing with the excruciating pain that not drinking in the morning seemed to cause?  I want to find this day and erase it from my history - blow it up.  Why?  I want to drink some wine tonight.  (and fyi - it's 5 am)  You probably assumed that I was going to say something meaningful or incisive?  Nope - just wanna drink.  But I can't.  I cannot take one more drink for the rest of my life.  That sentence alone sounds so foreign, so absolutely bizarre, I still can't wrap my pickled brain around it.

I wonder if I should put things in perspective a bit?  Let me tell you a story.  Just one of many.  My husband and I went to an upscale wedding quite a few years ago.  At the end of the night we walked outside and my husband left me standing at the front doors to get a cab.  When he came back I was curled up on the cement with mayflies blanketing my sleeping body (for those of you unfamiliar with the Great Lakes, picture a moving blanket of dragonfly-esque bugs), the skirt of my dress blowing up over my arse.  Add to this:  the grooms grandparents staring down at me wondering who I belonged to.  It's more than ok if you are laughing because through everything that has happened, we still find this hilarious.  But if you are, I have to assume that you have been drunk once or twice in your life.  I wouldn't tell that story to anyone who hasn't.

It was suggested to me to start a blog because I don't make it out much.  With three kids, from ages one to four years, doing the "ninety meetings in ninety days" is laughable.  Believe me, if I could get out of the house for a couple of hours everyday for three months without my kids, I would fake any sort of disease you'd like.  I have never blogged, have no idea what I am doing, so please forgive me if I break any of the rules.  I probably won't post everyday.  Or I may post ten times in one day.  I was just told that I should do it so that when I feel like reaching out to someone, I can at any time.  And because the need to talk to someone overwhelms me at really odd moments, blogging sounded like a good idea.  Besides, if my sisters and my mother have to keep bearing the burden of my weepy bemoaning phone calls, they will most likely start screening me.

I was up until four in the morning a couple of nights ago, my mind full of guilt and fear and heartbreak...and I REALLY REALLY wanted to run up to the grocery store for five mini bottles of wine.  Just five.  They are 10 for 10 right now, but you don't have to buy 10.  And they are plastic instead of glass.  They were created for me.  These same bottles were glass just three months ago!  Do you know how hard it is to sneak twenty tiny glass bottles of Pinto Grigio into a very small house????   Let alone trying to hide them in places where you can grab one quickly without the telltale "clink".  And what about when they are all drained - don't even get me started with the lengths I have gone to conceal my empties.  They were such a perfect little size, a perfect little gulp, so friggin noisy though.  But I digress - getting back to my early morning self pity party.  I couldn't stop crying.  The absolute terror of losing my kids and estranging my husband is so unbearable when the house is asleep that being able to talk to someone in the wee hours is very compelling.  Wine used to be my best friend, but she failed me.  Although I can't realistically picture anyone wanting to read this or follow it or however blogging works, in my minds eye, I have a captive audience.  Nodding, hugging my head to her breast, whispering "I get it" or "you will get through this" or some other random words of comfort and understanding.  So there it is.  I am using you.  But, dear reader, if you would bear with me I could really use your help.