Alcoholism Archives ⋆ Typical Broad

Tag: Alcoholism

Giving Up Alcohol

Posted on October 7, 2015November 23, 2015 by thetypicalbroad@gmail.com

“Now for seventeen years I’ve been throwing them back
Seventeen more will bury me
Can somebody please just tie me down
Or somebody give me a goddamn drink”
-Nathaniel Rateliff & the Night Sweats

“Alcohol can trigger episodes,” the nurse practitioner said. “You need to avoid it.”

As she says it, all I can think of is that half empty 1.5 liter bottle of Pinor Noir sitting on my kitchen counter.

“Okay,” I think. “I’ll finish that first. THEN I’ll give up alcohol.”

I guess.

But how long do I need to give it up for? I know I should probably give it up forever, but Christ. I haven’t even been to Ireland yet. How am I going to visit Ireland and NOT order a Guinness? How am I going to visit Ireland without making a stop at the Jameson distillery? How am I going to visit Ireland and not get jubilantly faced in honor of my Irish ancestors?

Fuck.

The last time I tried giving up alcohol I fell into a deep depression, which forced me to seek mental help three years ago.

It’s hard for me to acknowledge, but alcohol is a big part of my life. I often wish a pharmaceutical company would create a depression medication that would make me feel like I do after a few beers or a couple glasses of wine. I feel so much more relaxed and inclined to have fun. The best part is that I love everyone. When I’m drinking, I feel more spiritually connected to every human being. I see people who might typically annoy me in a new light. Just another one of God’s children. Imperfect and beautifully made. Like me.

I met with the nurse practitioner last Monday. I finished the bottle of wine last Wednesday. Greg and I were watching Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy and I was giggling at Sam Rockwell channeling his best George W. Bush impression as Zaphod Beeblebrox, former President of the Galaxy. For a moment I thought, “Man, I miss Dubya. He was awful, but so damn funny.” I nostalgically recalled all of those State of the Union addresses I drank through during the aughts. Take a sip when he mispronounces nuclear. Take a sip when he says terrorism. Take a sip when he mentions homeland security. Take a sip when he says weapons of mass destruction. Finish your drink when one side of the room gives him a standing ovation.

Later that evening I tried telling Greg a story about something funny I saw online and couldn’t properly explain it.

“Are you drunk?’ he asked.

“I don’t know.” I put my nearly full third glass down. I felt embarrassed. It kind of snuck up on me, like it always does.

I just wanted to finish the wine and not waste the money I spent on it. I just wanted to feel good.

Alcohol is such a large part of the mostly Irish and Italian American Catholic culture I grew up in and live in. My parents weren’t big drinkers (my Dad gave up drinking years ago) but Mum sometimes had a glass or two of beer in the evenings. My Italian American friends grew up with wine at the supper table and were allowed to drink long before they turned 21. I can’t help but smile ironically when Christian friends tell me they avoid alcohol because of their faith. In the house I grew up in, we always kept a bottle of scotch on hand for one of the priests in our family who would often visit us for Sunday dinner. Mum also knew that some Catholic nuns, like the ones who taught her in school, drank too.

Nearly everyone drinks. It’s just a part of life in the Boston area. It seems like something is always being celebrated, and there is always a reason to say “Slainte,” clink glasses, and imbibe. Even if it’s for something silly. My friends and I once got smashed during a get together we deemed “A Very Good Friday.” Instead of avoiding meat and reflecting on Jesus’ sacrifice with reverence, we decided to eat Easter-themed goodies, drink, and celebrate!

Even though it made me forget sometimes, alcohol gave me some of my greatest memories.

I ended up pouring that third glass of wine down the sink. I winced as I did it, but knew I was already too drunk for a Wednesday.

Last Friday I thought to myself, “Man, I haven’t had a drink in a while! Check me out. Maybe I should have some hot chocolate and peppermint schnapps tonight to celebrate! I mean, it’s Friday, right?”

Then I realized I had only been sober for one full day.

Not drinking means I can’t celebrate like I normally do. I have to watch everyone around me get tipsy and happy while I feel jealous and annoyed with my drunk, sometimes loud friends.

Do I need AA? I’m not a real alcoholic. Am I? I’m functional. I don’t have a DUI. I have a job.

Avoid alcohol, stressors, and get enough sleep. Not doing these things can trigger an episode. Not doing these things can affect your life in a big way.

If I had my way, I would celebrate giving up drinking by drinking.

This is going to be rough.

July 4th Revelers: Label Your Alcohol for Friends in Recovery

Posted on July 4, 2015 by thetypicalbroad@gmail.com

First of all, Happy 4th of July, everyone!

I just wanted to provide a friendly reminder for your July 4th festivities: be sure to label all of the alcoholic items you provide at your party for your friends in recovery.

It can be easy to mistake booze for non-alcoholic beverages, and innocent-looking dessert items as alcohol-free. The reason I’m providing this reminder is because I have a brother who is in recovery. Last year, we went to a family party and there was a large beverage dispenser full of sangria. Because it wasn’t labeled, he initially mistook it for fruit punch and poured himself a cup.

He was in recovery for about three years at that point. And thank God he took a whiff of the drink before taking a sip, or else he would have risked relapsing. After smelling it, he asked me to taste it and tell me what it was. It was definitely sangria. I just about died thinking about how something so ordinary could automatically reverse the three years of progress in recovery. My brother works so hard to stay sober, and I felt a bit miffed at the party hosts, who knew my brother was in recovery but didn’t bother to tell him that the fruit punch-looking drink was sangria.

My brother wasn’t the only one who mistook the sangria for fruit punch. My 7-year-old nephew also tried pouring himself a cup of what he thought was fruit punch. We had to redirect him to the Hawaiian Punch in the cooler that was set aside for the kids at the party.

There are other things you need to watch out for. Not Your Father’s Root Beer is a popular drink right now. It’s alcoholic, but doesn’t really taste like it has alcohol in it.

Be sure to label this as well. A person in recovery could easily mistake this for ordinary root beer.

Also be sure to label any desserts made with alcohol. While it is true that some of the alcohol is baked out, there are other desserts that have alcohol in their frosting, which is not baked out. Italian Rum Cake is a perfect example.

It just seems like ordinary cake, and you wouldn’t know it had alcohol in it until you took a bite.

Please be sure to label all of your alcoholic items with a “Contains Alcohol” sign for your friends in recovery and people who haven’t reached the legal age to consume alcohol.

And please have a happy and safe 4th of July, everyone!

Alewife Station, 5:30 p.m.

Posted on October 10, 2014October 10, 2014 by thetypicalbroad@gmail.com

Danny McCormick looked down at the bloodstained tracks at Alewife Station. The police cleaned up as much as they could. You couldn’t tell anything happened there unless you really looked, unless you remembered where you left her.

Danny remembered. He remembered the awful, deafening screech of the train’s brakes. He remembered the screams. He remembered running down the stairs.

He used what was left on his Charlie Card to walk her to the track. To make sure she was all right. Then he left her there.

He left her there.

The last thing she said was, “I’m gonna make things right.” There was a certainty in her overflowing blue eyes, shining with the reflection of the subway station’s lights.

Andrea was making strides in her recovery. At the 4:00 meeting she received a coin commemorating her 60 days of sobriety.

“It’s been the hahdest thing I ever done, but I’ll do anything to get Sydney back,” she paused, wiping tears away.

Whenever a woman at the meeting didn’t have a ride, Danny walked her to the T to make sure she got there safely. There was safety in numbers at the T station. Even though Danny hated crowds, he knew people were safer in one.

Danny touched Andrea’s shoulder. “Yahalready makin’ things right. I’ll see ya at the Tuesday meetin’. You have my numbah, right?”

She nodded. “Thanks Danny.”

No… that was the last thing she said.

Thanks Danny.

As he stared at the tracks, his eyes welled up with tears. He eyed the red “Danger – Third Rail” sign posted above them. He clenched his teeth.

Was that the last thing she said?

“No problem. Take ceah,” Danny said, turning around to leave the station. He almost forgot that it was rush hour. He knew the station would get busy when the next train came, unloading thousands of commuters getting off from work in Boston. Danny wanted to beat the crowds out of the station.

As he reached the top of the stairs the thunder of the arriving train filled the station. This was a sound Danny was so familiar with. He was also accustomed to the soft screech of the train’s brakes. Loud sounds made him nervous, but the sounds of the T became everyday sounds that fell into the background of his life.

But then the screech grew louder and didn’t stop. Danny immediately clenched his teeth because of the sound. Then he heard the screams.

He turned and ran back down the stairs. He couldn’t see her. He saw mothers covering their children’s eyes. He saw old men pointing down at the rails. Then the wide-eyed college students, speechless, covering their mouths in shock.

“Call 911! There’s a woman under the train!” A young man in a suit dialed frantically on his iPhone.

No.

He left her there.

Thanks Danny.