Well, it’s been a month now (or 29 days) sans alcohol. Not a drink, a splash, or a twist. Nary a drop has passed these lips. I don’t think I miss it. I certainly haven’t experienced an enduring lust for wine or whatnot. I do have moments when I think “oh, a bit of Glenmorangie would be delightful right about now,” but these thoughts are brief and vanish as quickly as they arrive. Such moments usually have something to do with a raw throat; I expect I could justify a sip or two of whiskey with the “medicinal purposes” canard, but no. I do hope that some day I be able to enjoy a whiskey, a martini, or a fine cabernet now and then, but that must wait. Besides, you can’t truly enjoy a nice scotch with a raw throat.
This change was prompted by a therapist’s, perhaps overblown, concerns about my alcohol consumption undoubtedly, was excessive and approaching--if not arrived at--the prodigiousness of a Christopher Hitchens or a Richard Burton). In late January, I told her that I wished to stop drinking (admittedly, I was hungover at the time), and she, anxiously, asked me to see a doctor because, if I were to just stop, I’d experience hallucinations, seizures, heart irregularities, and so on. If she was trying to scare me, it worked--my mind filled with images of RayMilland in The Lost Weekend, and then switched over to Lee Remick in The Days of Wine and Roses (and I was Lee Remick!).
Like any fool with an Internet connection, I went home and Googled “alcohol withdrawal,” which resulted in lists of frightening withdrawal symptoms. Holy cow, I could die if I quit the booze! Inspired by fear, I visited an MD, who promptly gave me a prescription drug and scheduled a week-long tapering off, and that was that. Actually, the tapering off was a bit of a joke: from one bottle of wine, to ¾ of a bottle, to 2/3 of a bottle, to half of a bottle, to two glasses. After five days I shifted to beer (two beers one day, a single beer the next). Ultimately, rather than a gradual process, the “tapering” schedule created an abrupt rupture in my habits. Even so, it served its purpose (I got weaned!).
I don’t whether the tapering worked because it staved off withdrawals or because it forced me to change my evening rituals (note: I don’t miss the drinking, but I do miss my rituals. Peculiar). I hated the medication he gave me, so I quit that after a week. Since then--nothing. Well, far too much coffee and tea, but nothing fermented. So then, I’m sober. Whatever that means.
I didn’t join AA, nor did I visit other addiction groups. This is not because I distrust their methods (indeed, I researched several groups, including AA, which prove effective for many people). I simply didn’t want to be labeled as an “addict” with a “disease” to grapple with the remainder of my days. Although I willingly confess to abusing alcohol, and I recognize my tendency to self-medicate with booze, I don’t see it as something uncurable that can only be put into remission.
The upshot: you can stop drinking without all kinds of accompanying psychosis / illness, you can do it without meetings, and you can do it without declaring yourself under the control of alcohol.
Disclaimer: This ‘blog post is not intended to dismiss anyone whose experiences with alcohol have been emotionally or physically traumatic. Nor is it intended to dismiss organizations like Alcoholics Anonymous. Rather, these are my experiences; moreover, who knows--maybe I was on the cusp of something more full-blown and caught it in time.
01 March 2008
03 February 2008
A Note of Appreciation
'Lo all!
Sincere thanks for the comments and good wishes you've emailed. Right back at 'cha.
S G
Sincere thanks for the comments and good wishes you've emailed. Right back at 'cha.
S G
Lost December?
I last posted just as my thrice-yearly busy season (three weeks) commenced. I followed the completion of my busy season with a four week drunk.
I wasn't drunk all of the time, but very nearly. Part of that was the annual holiday hedonism--"Wahey! It's Christmas!" But most of it, to be honest, was that I didn't have to go to the office. So overindulging, if not justified, was acceptable. right? Bollox. I didn't get a lick of at-home work done over the course of those four weeks. A symptom: I've undermined something I've worked terribly hard for over the past four years. It's all going down the drain.
I've written in the past about my tendency to overdrink. I've been a heavy drinker since I turned 21. I never drank regularly in my 20s, but when I did drink, it was until I couldn't see straight. I functioned well enough (excellent student and employee). Easily qualified as youthful excess. Later, I moved to another country, one where more-than-moderate drinking was perfectly acceptable. Big mistake. I continued to drink heavily--but more often. At the time, I still functioned well enough. In fact, I seemed to thrive..
I 've built up quite a tolerance. Beginning about six years ago (and excepting the occasional day or weekend), I've been either "tiddly" or drunk every night of the week. For the past four years, I might have the rare evening of two cocktails (for example, two double vodka martinis), but it's mostly been either four-to-six dark ales or a bottle (most recently 1 3/4 bottles) of red wine a night. I"m talking every night, including worknights. Sometimes (albeit rarely), the beer or wine wasn't enough (e.g., I ran out of beer or wine), and I'd supplement with a spirit. It's a wonder I haven't died in my sleep a la John Bonham.
I've been lucky in that I've never blacked out, never had a medical emergency (God knows how I've escaped that). Neither have I ever woken up in the morning (or afternoon) and reached for an eye-opener. It's not that I had "rules" about drinking, I just happened to drink in the evenings after I'd completed my day's business. But I would put a hell of a lot of liquor away in an evening.
I have put myself in numerous risky, seriously dangerous situations; I'm too ashamed and frightened to think about the "what ifs." I also have alienated a few people because of my behavior when drunk. But I've mostly been able to mask my problem drinking (at least, I think so).
I don't know if I've hit "rock bottom" (whatever that is), but I'm sick and tired of waking up with a hangover--no matter what degree of hangover it is. I am terrified of losing my faculties. And, as mentioned above, I'm undermining something I've worked toward for the past four years.
Two weeks ago I just burst out and told my therapist about my average alcohol intake. She put me onto a doctor immediately. He arranged a schedule for tapering off, and he prescribed a low dosage anti-anxiety medication. My last drink: one beer on Thursday, 31 January. I think the meds have helped because outside of bouts of crying and/or irritability I seem to have done okay. But I'm afraid of what might happen in the upcoming days--seizures? DTs? Bats with babies faces? etc. Also, sneaky little thoughts are beginning to surface--justifications as to how and why I'm not an alcoholic. But I know I am.
So here's a new adventure. Sober Girl.
I wasn't drunk all of the time, but very nearly. Part of that was the annual holiday hedonism--"Wahey! It's Christmas!" But most of it, to be honest, was that I didn't have to go to the office. So overindulging, if not justified, was acceptable. right? Bollox. I didn't get a lick of at-home work done over the course of those four weeks. A symptom: I've undermined something I've worked terribly hard for over the past four years. It's all going down the drain.
I've written in the past about my tendency to overdrink. I've been a heavy drinker since I turned 21. I never drank regularly in my 20s, but when I did drink, it was until I couldn't see straight. I functioned well enough (excellent student and employee). Easily qualified as youthful excess. Later, I moved to another country, one where more-than-moderate drinking was perfectly acceptable. Big mistake. I continued to drink heavily--but more often. At the time, I still functioned well enough. In fact, I seemed to thrive..
I 've built up quite a tolerance. Beginning about six years ago (and excepting the occasional day or weekend), I've been either "tiddly" or drunk every night of the week. For the past four years, I might have the rare evening of two cocktails (for example, two double vodka martinis), but it's mostly been either four-to-six dark ales or a bottle (most recently 1 3/4 bottles) of red wine a night. I"m talking every night, including worknights. Sometimes (albeit rarely), the beer or wine wasn't enough (e.g., I ran out of beer or wine), and I'd supplement with a spirit. It's a wonder I haven't died in my sleep a la John Bonham.
I've been lucky in that I've never blacked out, never had a medical emergency (God knows how I've escaped that). Neither have I ever woken up in the morning (or afternoon) and reached for an eye-opener. It's not that I had "rules" about drinking, I just happened to drink in the evenings after I'd completed my day's business. But I would put a hell of a lot of liquor away in an evening.
I have put myself in numerous risky, seriously dangerous situations; I'm too ashamed and frightened to think about the "what ifs." I also have alienated a few people because of my behavior when drunk. But I've mostly been able to mask my problem drinking (at least, I think so).
I don't know if I've hit "rock bottom" (whatever that is), but I'm sick and tired of waking up with a hangover--no matter what degree of hangover it is. I am terrified of losing my faculties. And, as mentioned above, I'm undermining something I've worked toward for the past four years.
Two weeks ago I just burst out and told my therapist about my average alcohol intake. She put me onto a doctor immediately. He arranged a schedule for tapering off, and he prescribed a low dosage anti-anxiety medication. My last drink: one beer on Thursday, 31 January. I think the meds have helped because outside of bouts of crying and/or irritability I seem to have done okay. But I'm afraid of what might happen in the upcoming days--seizures? DTs? Bats with babies faces? etc. Also, sneaky little thoughts are beginning to surface--justifications as to how and why I'm not an alcoholic. But I know I am.
So here's a new adventure. Sober Girl.
22 November 2007
When Adolescent Women Attack
Like so many--so many--other people, I was mortified by the news that a young girl, an overweight, emotionally troubled, 13 year old named Megan Meier, committed suicide after a hot "boy" (and a few others) talked smack about her on MySpace. The horrible thing was that her tormentor-in-chief was an adult woman, the mother of Ms Meier’s former friend, who posed as a cute 16 year old named “Josh Evans” on MySpace. “Josh” lead Ms Meier on, and then told her--abruptly--that she wasn't worth being friends with. She was a “slut,” she was not a good friend, and, allegedly, the world would be better off without her. A few hours later, the 13 year old was found in her closet with a belt around her neck. She died the next day, just short of her 14th birthday. There is much more to the story than my feeble synopsis, but I won’t go into further details here--Lord knows, the story’s been told and retold numerous times over the past week. If you want those details, you can read:
The story that broke the news. You'll note that the reporter’s paper decided not to publish the adult woman’s name. Others, however, didn’t mind doing so.
Bluemerle discovered the name of the woman who originated the MySpace page and promptly “outed” her--home and business address included. Since then, someone has decided to do the same to Bluemerle’s author (fair enough). Then there's Jezebel. And Death by a Thousand Paper Cuts. And the forum at HitsUSA.
"Josh Evans" herself, the other girl’s mother, filed a report about the Meier episode on 25 November, 2006. The report includes her admission of setting up the MySpace profile. You can read the police report on The Smoking Gun. Oddly, even when the conversation between Megan and “Josh” became sexual (as the report asserts), the adult woman chose to continue the communication.
There are a few thousand other sites that relate the story and readers’ outrage, but I’d like to draw your attention to Leonard Pitts’ poignant editorial titled “If You’re Looking for a Good Laugh, a Real Sidesplitter, Read On.”
Many folks have posted the other family's personal information online. I don’t agree with this tactic; I do think that the woman should be held accountable--an adult deliberately winding a child up and then devastating her to the point of suicide? It’s all so lamentable. And cruel.
Now that the public is vocalizing its response (an outrage that, at times, borders on hysteria), the other family's supporters have come out with their own ‘blogs to try and refocus the debate onto Ms Meier in an attmept to justify the mother's actions. I won’t publish links to those here. If you’re interested, you can Google “Megan had it coming” etc.
My thoughts are with Megan Meier’s family, and with Megan--a girl who didn’t have the opportunity to move beyond adolescent turbulance and discover, well, herself.
The story that broke the news. You'll note that the reporter’s paper decided not to publish the adult woman’s name. Others, however, didn’t mind doing so.
Bluemerle discovered the name of the woman who originated the MySpace page and promptly “outed” her--home and business address included. Since then, someone has decided to do the same to Bluemerle’s author (fair enough). Then there's Jezebel. And Death by a Thousand Paper Cuts. And the forum at HitsUSA.
"Josh Evans" herself, the other girl’s mother, filed a report about the Meier episode on 25 November, 2006. The report includes her admission of setting up the MySpace profile. You can read the police report on The Smoking Gun. Oddly, even when the conversation between Megan and “Josh” became sexual (as the report asserts), the adult woman chose to continue the communication.
There are a few thousand other sites that relate the story and readers’ outrage, but I’d like to draw your attention to Leonard Pitts’ poignant editorial titled “If You’re Looking for a Good Laugh, a Real Sidesplitter, Read On.”
Many folks have posted the other family's personal information online. I don’t agree with this tactic; I do think that the woman should be held accountable--an adult deliberately winding a child up and then devastating her to the point of suicide? It’s all so lamentable. And cruel.
Now that the public is vocalizing its response (an outrage that, at times, borders on hysteria), the other family's supporters have come out with their own ‘blogs to try and refocus the debate onto Ms Meier in an attmept to justify the mother's actions. I won’t publish links to those here. If you’re interested, you can Google “Megan had it coming” etc.
My thoughts are with Megan Meier’s family, and with Megan--a girl who didn’t have the opportunity to move beyond adolescent turbulance and discover, well, herself.
11 November 2007
Cambridge Girls? Meet the Sex Industry. . . .
Last night I wrote of my initial foray into the world of "exotic dancing" (a euphemism I always found rather silly. I stripped. I didn't "dance exotically." I bumped, ground, and did suggestive things with a pole; I don't consider these things exotic). Well, hot after posting that entry, I discovered a month old (10/10/07) article from the UK's Daily Telegraph about some of Cambridge University's young women:
There's something telling about the cost of a university education when even young women who attend one of the world's most prestigious, hallowed insitutions turn to the sex trade in order to make ends meet. When I began, however, I was the only college student on the circuit who also danced. At the time, I felt like a walking urban legend: we all hear about the girl who strips her way through college, but how many of us know her? Anyways, just a news item to share.
Some female students are working as call girls and lapdancers, while several
hundred students or former students are said to be signed up to a single
escort agency.
One student is reported to have been a £50-an-hour prostitute in the city who slept with between 40 and 50 men in a two month period during her first year at the prestigous university.
She told a university newspaper she had met other students doing the same.
There's something telling about the cost of a university education when even young women who attend one of the world's most prestigious, hallowed insitutions turn to the sex trade in order to make ends meet. When I began, however, I was the only college student on the circuit who also danced. At the time, I felt like a walking urban legend: we all hear about the girl who strips her way through college, but how many of us know her? Anyways, just a news item to share.
10 November 2007
Aspergers Quiz
While digging around trying to learn more about Asperger's, I found this quiz. My results:
Your Aspie score: 174 of 200
Your neurotypical (non-autistic) score: 40 of 200
You are very likely an Aspie
Funny. Of course, this is, in no way, a diagnosis. Quizzes like this are too general and are too open to manipulation by the test taker (e.g., if you have an idea of what the "right" response is, you click it). But it is a yardstick of sorts--I know I'm not way off base by exploring the possiblity that I have AS.
I've been trying to work today, but I can't focus. It seems as though every time I settle into my subject, a firetruck or police car goes screaming past my window with all sirens blazing. It's a lovely fall day, though. So when I get distracted (too often), I just drink my coffee and look out the window at the vari-colored trees. Nice. Especially with my iPod's 13 hour jazz playlist on in the background (hardly necessary information, butt here you go). It's a Robert Frost kind of day.
We decided not to travel to see me family for Thanksgiving or Christmas this year. I need to spend that time working. Neither of us wants to engage in the family drama and all the free floating anxiety that accompanies any holiday 'do. We can't afford--emotionally or financially--a Christmas away from our place. So here we'll sit in our pajamas watching bad television. Bliss.
Your Aspie score: 174 of 200
Your neurotypical (non-autistic) score: 40 of 200
You are very likely an Aspie
Funny. Of course, this is, in no way, a diagnosis. Quizzes like this are too general and are too open to manipulation by the test taker (e.g., if you have an idea of what the "right" response is, you click it). But it is a yardstick of sorts--I know I'm not way off base by exploring the possiblity that I have AS.
I've been trying to work today, but I can't focus. It seems as though every time I settle into my subject, a firetruck or police car goes screaming past my window with all sirens blazing. It's a lovely fall day, though. So when I get distracted (too often), I just drink my coffee and look out the window at the vari-colored trees. Nice. Especially with my iPod's 13 hour jazz playlist on in the background (hardly necessary information, butt here you go). It's a Robert Frost kind of day.
We decided not to travel to see me family for Thanksgiving or Christmas this year. I need to spend that time working. Neither of us wants to engage in the family drama and all the free floating anxiety that accompanies any holiday 'do. We can't afford--emotionally or financially--a Christmas away from our place. So here we'll sit in our pajamas watching bad television. Bliss.
From Library to Adult "Bookstore"
I had a hard time holding down jobs as a teenager. I was a dedicated worker…I did whatever was asked, and I did it to the best of my ability. But I was a bit too “off” for my coworkers and, often, my employers. Loud and abrasive when I wasn’t being peculiar and stand-offish.
I had one temp job in high school that was arranged through the school district--one of those programs for low-income youth. I was placed in the local public library, which I absolutely loved. I worked for two women, both incredibly kind to me. One of them gave me a ticket to see Carmen at the local opera house (I love opera. My first experience of it was seeing Faust on a field trip with the “gifted” class). I only worked there three months (it was temp after all); they gave me a set of a necklace and stud earrings shaped like a unicorn when I left. I loved them, and I loved working at the library (I was left alone to get on with my work in a quiet place).
My second job was temp as well; I worked for a blustery insurance agent who terrified me. He didn’t do anything to scare me deliberately, he was just …blustery. I seldom saw him, though (I came in after school and he’d have cleared off for the day).
I was fired from my third and fourth jobs; once for continual lateness (although I’d told them right off the bat that my transport between school and work would cause me to be ten minutes late on weekdays). I was let go from the following job for stealing. I have no idea how that came about, but it had something to do with a missing role of dimes ($5.00). Someone decided it was me wot did it. So out I went. I’m not surprised, really. I wasn’t a companionable coworker, I was a tad strange with my introversion and extreme attention to details.
I was fairly depressed after this second firing, and a bit scared about trying to get another job. My resume wouldn't be too appealing to a potential employer. I was 18 at this point, and just beginning college. I didn't know what I wanted to do with my future.
One day I was reading the classifieds in the paper and saw an ad for dancers. So I went to the business that was hiring (on the slightly seedier side of town) and requested an application of a man who sat behind a massive, u-shaped desk (but with right angles).
I filled out the application, showed him my identification card, and he hired me (no interview; I actually expected one. Hah!)
The desk manager pointed me towards some lingerie the place sold and told me to choose something; he said I would pay for it out of my “tips.” I picked out a short, soft, magenta tunic/slip that wasn’t too revealing. I was unsure about what I was doing--that is, I didn't quite realize what I was embarking on. That didn't stop me.
The man at the desk told me to come back at 5:00 pm to begin my shift. That was that.
It’s so odd to think back; when I initially went in to apply, I didn’t think I had a “real” chance, I thought of myself as unattractive in face and figure. I thought the desk man would shoo me right back out the door. However, as I was to learn, no matter how unattractive you might think you are, you can get hired by a strip joint.
I had one temp job in high school that was arranged through the school district--one of those programs for low-income youth. I was placed in the local public library, which I absolutely loved. I worked for two women, both incredibly kind to me. One of them gave me a ticket to see Carmen at the local opera house (I love opera. My first experience of it was seeing Faust on a field trip with the “gifted” class). I only worked there three months (it was temp after all); they gave me a set of a necklace and stud earrings shaped like a unicorn when I left. I loved them, and I loved working at the library (I was left alone to get on with my work in a quiet place).
My second job was temp as well; I worked for a blustery insurance agent who terrified me. He didn’t do anything to scare me deliberately, he was just …blustery. I seldom saw him, though (I came in after school and he’d have cleared off for the day).
I was fired from my third and fourth jobs; once for continual lateness (although I’d told them right off the bat that my transport between school and work would cause me to be ten minutes late on weekdays). I was let go from the following job for stealing. I have no idea how that came about, but it had something to do with a missing role of dimes ($5.00). Someone decided it was me wot did it. So out I went. I’m not surprised, really. I wasn’t a companionable coworker, I was a tad strange with my introversion and extreme attention to details.
I was fairly depressed after this second firing, and a bit scared about trying to get another job. My resume wouldn't be too appealing to a potential employer. I was 18 at this point, and just beginning college. I didn't know what I wanted to do with my future.
One day I was reading the classifieds in the paper and saw an ad for dancers. So I went to the business that was hiring (on the slightly seedier side of town) and requested an application of a man who sat behind a massive, u-shaped desk (but with right angles).
I filled out the application, showed him my identification card, and he hired me (no interview; I actually expected one. Hah!)
The desk manager pointed me towards some lingerie the place sold and told me to choose something; he said I would pay for it out of my “tips.” I picked out a short, soft, magenta tunic/slip that wasn’t too revealing. I was unsure about what I was doing--that is, I didn't quite realize what I was embarking on. That didn't stop me.
The man at the desk told me to come back at 5:00 pm to begin my shift. That was that.
It’s so odd to think back; when I initially went in to apply, I didn’t think I had a “real” chance, I thought of myself as unattractive in face and figure. I thought the desk man would shoo me right back out the door. However, as I was to learn, no matter how unattractive you might think you are, you can get hired by a strip joint.
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