1000 is Never Enough

Am I an alcoholic? I have struggled with that question for many years. I know I am a social drinker. I know I like to have a glass of wine or two while I cook in the evenings. I also know I like to drink. I definitely can(am) be a binge drinker. But am I an alcoholic?

This question first came to me while I was still married to my ex. Actually, he put the idea into my head. Over and over again, as exes sometimes do. The situation is really rather intricate. After the children were raised and out of the house, we looked at each other and asked, “What do we do, now?” Now, the children are gone. No more homework to help with, no more sporting events to attend, no more worrying about what they are doing on a Friday night. They have moved on, moved out. So, yeah, “now what do we do” became our refrain, our thing.

We did what a lot of middle-aged Americans did. We started going out to have a drink. A sports bar opened in our neighborhood, and we went to try it out. We went together; we met friends. It was social, it was fun. We watched sports at the bar. We met new people. Most of them were similar to us, middle-aged Americans, empty nesters, asking themselves, “What do we do, now?” So, we drank. And drank. And drank.

At first, it was just on the weekends. “Let’s go have dinner at the sports bar down the road.”

“Okay.”

One drink at dinner leads into two drinks after dinner. Then, the new friends would show up. We must stay and have a drink with them. They buy us a drink. We must return the favor and buy them a drink. This turns into several more drinks and the night just slips away. We go home drunk but laughing and stumbling our way into this new life. We say, “That was fun, let’s do it again next weekend.” So, we do and then the weekend after that, and after that and after that. But, somewhere along the way we got carried away in our newfound freedom. It goes from just being a social outing to a need to go out and have that drink. I see it in him; he sees it in me. But we don’t talk about it. We aren’t very good at communication. That is why we started to go out drinking, to avoid getting to know each other again after the children are gone. We do not know who we are alone, without the distraction of family life. It has been years since it has been just the two of us.

Suddenly, we find ourselves at the bar more than just weekends. It’s a Wednesday, everyone is meeting after work for the dollar beer special. The responsible, sensible people go home after a couple of drinks. They go home in time for supper with their families and bedtime with their children. But not us. We stay. Who do we have to go home to? The house is empty. The noise and distraction are all gone. The only person left is sitting on the bar stool next to me. I ask, “Do you want supper tonight?” I am answered with another round of drinks. Again, the night slips away, but there is work tomorrow. Shouldn’t we be going home to bed? But this time when we go home there is tension in the air. The first notion that something isn’t quite right in our marriage. Is it lack of trust? Is it jealousy?

“Who were you talking to at the bar tonight?”

“Who were you talking to?” comes the reply. This leads to an argument of accusations and name calling and blame. The blame is on me. It always seems to be on me.

Now, it’s Thursday. “Hey, I am at the bar. Wanna stop for a drink?”

“Didn’t we just do that last night?”

“So.” “It will be quick, just one or two drinks.”

“Ok, I will stop on my way home from work.”

That one to two drinks turns into closing the bar down….again. Then comes the arguing. The name calling. The accusations. The blaming. Of course, it’s me again. I am to blame. Saturday rolls around. Same thing. Now, it’s Wednesday. Same thing. And it’s Thursday. Same thing. Weeks turn into months and months turn into years. Always the same pattern. Always the same argument. But tonight, tonight that argument turns into a fight. He pushes. I push back. He shoves; I shove right back. Things get broken, bruises are left on the skin. We go to bed, only in separate rooms this time. We get up to go to work. We do not speak to each other the morning after the ‘episode’. After so many years and living so much life, there is an episode. I have no other words to define what is happening. The bruising is still fresh and sore and my body aches in ways I never thought possible. I hide from my co-workers. They cannot know that we had an episode.

“Hey, I am at the bar. Wanna stop for a drink?” Do I want to stop for a drink? Of course I do. That is our thing. This is what keeps us together. Do I want to stay together? What am I doing to myself? The drinking is starting to take a toll on me, my health, my mind. We stop for a drink and more. Always more.

I cannot keep this up. This pattern we have created to fill our lives with something, anything, but just being together, sober is driving a wedge into our marriage. Why can’t we just be together. Where has our communication, our teamwork, our years of raising children gone. I am not the same person I used to be. I do not recognize myself in the mirror. I do not recognize him either. This is not the man I married. This is not what I pictured life would be like in our later years. I did not sign up for this.

Then, I ask one day after things went too far and the blame is on me yet again. “Do I drink too much?”

His answer is simple. “Yes. You are an alcoholic”

“Oh, I guess I am.”

“You need to get help; you have to work to keep us together.”

“Oh, Okay, I will”

I attend my first AA meeting. Me of all people, the helpful one, the caring one, the one that holds everything together, the one that is afraid of doing things wrong at Alcoholics Anonymous…alone. I can do this. “Hello, my name is…and I am an alcoholic.” I sit and I listen. And I go back meeting after meeting. I am ready to share. I tell them parts of my story. I am still telling the truth. I just hide the ugly parts. The parts where I am not the only one drinking more than ever before. The parts that hurt at the end of a long night of drinking and fighting. I am not ready to admit those parts even to myself. I tell the group that I am an alcoholic because I am a binge drinker. Once I start drinking, I lose my off switch, my switch that says stop I have had enough to drink. I verbalize my situation in just a simple phrase. That phrase…”One drink is too many and 1000 is not enough. ”This is my new mantra. I say it every time I join an AA meeting. I say it to my friends who ask if I want a drink. I say it to my family, my children because my drinking is to blame for the damage in the marriage. I don’ t want to embarrass the husband, their father, with the thought that he might have a problem too. I want people to still like him. I am still lying for him, hiding who he really is from my family. But they know. One is too many and 1000 is not enough.

“Do you want a drink?”

“I can’t, I am in AA.”

“You can have a couple.”

“What about the progress I have made? I just got my three-month chip.”

“Drinking a couple won’t hurt, I promise.”

“Okay.” I order a drink. It tastes good. I end up drinking four and then I stop before I get out of control. Yes, I can do this. I am not an alcoholic. I can control my drinking. None of my friends or family say anything to me. None of them question why I started to drink again. They all let me drink at my own pace, at my leisure. I am doing well. I become the responsible one. No one notices when I begin binge drinking again. Maybe I am hiding it, well. Maybe they just don’t notice. I start to relive all those late nights. Going home drunk. Starting the same old fight. One’s too many and 1000 is not enough. Before I know it, I am right back in the same old cycle. He is still seated on the barstool next to me. The only difference is he never left. He buys. He always buys. Then, back at home it starts. The arguing, it starts slow. It’s not too much. I can handle this. After another long night and closing the bar down, things spiral out of control. The accusations start up again. “What have you been doing?” The name calling is worse than before+, the blaming begins again. The blame is on me. Of course, the blame is on me. Because:

One is too many and a 1000 will never be enough.