Girl Interupted

I've been gone for a about a month here.

I'm not even sure how to write or what to write.

There are moments that happen that change your life. They often seem random or insignificant at the time, but they fuel and force a change to happen. And I am starting to believe that there are no accidents.

There are no accidents.

Sitting at Murph's about 2 weeks ago. My usual place, my usual behavior, except for the fact that I was drinking lightly - a pitcher of Bud - which is light for me. Its usually large amounts of tequila or Jager. But today it was just a pitcher of beer.

By myself. Life is good.

Just chilling. Hung over, bad headache, but in a good mood. Just chilling in my usual place. My comfort zone.

A guy who had been playing pool with a friend earlier and then sitting across the bar from me for awhile walks over and approaches me.

"Hi, I'm Paul."

"Hi - I'm Barb." I smile.

Now after this usual exchange normally comes the
"Do you come here often?"
"I was noticing you from across the bar."
"Can I buy you a drink?"
"Would you like to play a game of pool?"

But not today.

"Hi, I'm Paul."

"Hi - I'm Barb."

"Barb - Are you an alcoholic?"
(Not your usual winner of a conversation starter)

"Yes, actually I am. Obviously. Yes I am, and I'm ok with it. I know I am, and thats ok."

Now I'm paranoid as to why he came over to me, a perfect stranger, and asked that.

"Why do you ask? Is it that obvious? Why do you ask?"

"Because I'm an alcoholic, (and he was obviously intoxicated), I'm not doing well today, in fact I'm probably going to detox here shortly, and my counselors have told me that the best thing for me to do is to talk to another alcoholic. It is best for one alcoholic to talk to another. And I recognize it in you. I see it in your eyes. I can see that you are hurting. I can tell that you are an alcoholic, and so I thought you would be the best person for me to talk to today."

Paul proceeded to drink himself into oblivion while his friend and I tried to talk to him. Paul being an ex-soldier in Desert Storm. A parachuter. A medic. Paul who saw his best friends face blown off and held his body in his arms. Paul who defended my country. Paul who saved lives. Paul who lost his kids, his marriage, his job, his car, his everything, because of his drinking. Paul who is haunted years later. And sitting next to me at the bar. His friend who all the while is making arrangements for Paul to check into detox shortly.

The beers kept coming. Paul happened to be sitting next to a Vietnam vet. The conversation didn't go well.

"Well at least you had a parade and thank-yous when you came home."
"You don't know what the fuck I had when I came home."
"Well you couldn't have seen anything like I did as bad as blah blah blah"
"Don't tell me what I saw and didn't see you old Motherfucker."
Yadda, yadda, yadda.

The conversation got louder. Paul got cut off and asked to leave, and his friend helped him into the cab that was taking him to detox.

I proceeded to drink. And drink some more. Honestly, I don't remember what really happened, or who I talked to. But by the end of the night I knew I couldn't keep going the way I have been going. I didn't realize it was that obvious. I knew I had to talk to someone. Soon. The next day. I didn't want to keep living like this.

I had been numbing. For the last two years since my dad died, I have been numb. Except for fleeting moments of accidental sobriety. I had been spending most of our money, had been neglecting the kids, had been driving drunk, had been blacking out regularly. I had been drinking half a bottle of hard liqueur plus whatever else EVERY DAY. Sometimes more. Very rarely less. Hung over was a constant state for me until that next drink to fix it.

With Royce's help, I voluntarily checked myself into chemical detox. Five days locked in a unit of users, drunks, pill-poppers, suicidals. Broken people. I was sick that I was even in there, but knew I needed it. It was so hard for me to be on the other side of the nurse's station. I wasn't the nurse this time - I was one of the crazies.

The first day all I did was cry, spontaneously, unexpectedly, just cried for no apparent reason, cried and sat, and started to go into withdrawal.

Of all the withdrawals, alcohol withdrawal is the most dangerous. It is the only drug withdrawal that can kill you. Not many people know this. I knew it as a nurse. Heroin withdrawal will make you WISH you were dead, but only alcohol withdrawal can actually kill you.

With alcohol withdrawal you need medication to counteract the effects of withdrawal. To make sure you don't have a seizure. Or worse. They told me I would be in there for probably 4 days. The first two days are a blur, a dreamlike state, a combination of high doses of scheduled Valium, other meds, and sleep. Sleep like cats do. Like wake up to eat and pee, and then sleep some more. I slept through the meetings. I slept through everything. I had fucked up equilibrium - walked liked I had been drinking. A Valium zombie. Every so many hours have to go to the nurses station, hold my hands out and stick out my tongue so she can see how bad the tremors (AKA dt's) are, and my dose of Valium based on that.

Every day the dose of Valium got lower. The third day is the worst. 72 hours is the magical time.

Then I had to start thinking. About everything. Without my usual drink. Locked up. Faced with all that I had been running from and numbing from. With no more liquid anesthetic. The Valium helped, till they took that away too.

I stayed 5 days and nights. Royce came to visit me everyday. Royce's insurance paid my whole bill. Royce brought me food from "the outside." By the 5th day I wasn't crying anymore, I had gone to meetings and done "homework", had an appointment scheduled with their doctor who I had been seeing, an appointment scheduled with my family doctor, arrangements to talk to a psychologist for all the underlying issues, had started on Celexa an anti-depressant at my request, started on Vistaril for anxiety, and started on Campral - a new drug that helps with alcohol cravings. I was set.

Now is the hard part.

I am 10 days sober. I count them everyday. The meds are helping. I'm not one to take an antidepressant or other "coping" drugs, but I want to be successful and this is what I need right now. Any narcotic would just be replacing one addiction for another.

I have had bad moments, but have not desperately craved a drink yet. I do want one though.

It is overwhelming to me, completely overwhelming to think that I will never have another drink again. I can't say that I won't. That is too much for me. But I can say I won't have one today.

And I hate all those stupid fucking cliches. Easy Does It. One Day At A Time. Fuck those. And I don't care if people drink around me. Its not about them.

And I still am going to Murph's regularly. I refuse to give up my friends or my place. I sit and have my ice tea, eat my wings, see my friends. I don't need to drink to be there. It is my place.

A few days before this all happened I overheard a conversation between Peggy and my mom, and intense very serious conversation. That they didn't know I was hearing. My mom has basically written me off. I heard her speak the words. Doesn't think about or care about me anymore. Doesn't care anymore. Done with Barb. Written off. I heard her say the words.

I told her she could go fuck herself and I didn't ever want to talk to her again.

My mom didn't call, or ask about me, or visit, or offer one word of encouragement through this whole thing. But I can do this with or without her. Its about her, but she will not control my success.

My dad would have held my hand, hugged me hard, told me how much he loved me, how much Jesus loves me, hugged me hard again, and asked how he could help. Then told me he loved me no matter what I have done.

**crying now**

Thinking about him is so hard without being numb.
The world is such a darker place without him.

But he would have wanted me to do this. He would have been proud of me.

And wherever you are Dad, I think about you everyday.

You are still my Superman.