On Super Bowl Sunday 2012, I sat down with my last six-pack of beer. I think I took it easy since I knew I was going to rehab the next day. I also think I smoked crack one last time later that night, too.
When you’re an alcoholic, you find any excuse to get drunk. I hate sports, but my Superbowl party of one was fueled by Hoegaarden. I liked Hefeweizens. I got the good stuff that night. Toward the end there I was drinking tallboys of Miller High Life because it was cheap and big. More bang for my buck.
But what’s important is not my last drunk, it’s the days leading up to it.
There was a knock on the door in late January. No one ever knocks on the door except the building’s Mr. Fix-It. I was already drunk with my now-ex boyfriend and it was only 8PM or so. It was my dad. He simply said, “We’re concerned about you. We want to have a family meeting in the apartment in one week at 10AM. See you then.”
He had flown in all the way from Maui without my knowledge. Later he told me he was so angry at me he got on a train and went to New Orleans to escape prior to the intervention.
I love my dad. He’s kind of an absent-minded professor type but it’s endearing. He’s a writer, too, and has published three books on the subject of Hawaiian culture. He’s also got a blog called Joys of Kaānapali.
I resisted rehab hardcore. We went through three sessions with an interventionist before I finally agreed to go. It was my sister Foley’s ultimatum “Quit drinking or you can’t see my son anymore” that finally convinced me.
The previous summer, I had taken a drunken spill down a flight of stairs and sliced my forehead open. Huge gash. I also broke my nose. I don’t know how many stitches they gave me, but the barely-noticeable scar is about two inches. My parents were in town and seeing me with those stitches on my forehead must’ve been a wakeup call that I had a problem. I visited them on Maui just one month prior for Christmas. I spent my time day-drinking every day. Piña Coladas and Bikini Blondes. They would smell alcohol on my breath. It was obvious that I was an alcoholic.
I started a three-month outpatient rehab program at Hazelden on February 6, 2012. Rehab was great! We all shared our struggles and got sober one day at a time. Everyone was required to share their story toward the end of their time in rehab. Most people made a speech. I’m a writer so I wrote mine down.
I read my story to the group and at the end, all was quiet. After 30 seconds or so, my addiction counselor broke the silence and said “Amazing… amazing.” It inspired me to write The Bipolar Addict and to document the lives of others who struggle with both addiction and bipolar.
So how’s life now?
I’m not manic. I’m not depressed. I get along great with my family. I have a wonderful relationship with my 6-year-old nephew now that I wouldn’t have if I continued drinking. We get together at my place and play Nintendo Wii. We have Wii bowling tournaments and he’s very good at old-school games I’ve downloaded – especially “Golden Axe.” He beat Death Adder all by himself! On “beginner” mode but still. I have a healthy relationship with a great boyfriend. He’s a beer aficionado but he drinks moderately. I see a recovery coach, who has gone above and beyond and helped me immensely. I owe my life to my psychiatrists – both my old one in New York and my current one in Chicago.
I go to one meeting of Alcoholics Anonymous every week. I know a lot of people there and it feels like home. My sponsor says I should be going to three meetings a week and that’s something I’m working on. I started going to a meeting of Dual Diagnosis Anonymous, which is for those of us who struggle with both mental illness and addiction.
I’ve moved into my own place. I started collecting jazz vinyl and listening to records every day. I was named Ambassador of the Week at my day job. I’ve launched this blog. My book is 75% finished. My agent is shopping my book to publishers. Everything just keeps getting better and better. Awesome.
