Thursday, March 5th, 2020
My first drink on my own I was in grade six. So eleven or twelve. I was a latch key kid and I went home for lunch and sometimes drank out of my dad’s vodka he had under the kitchen sink. I thought it was god awful to drink but I liked what it did to me. It took away my inhibitions, I was more outgoing, braver. Even more sexually outgoing.
I did the typical adolescent drinking, parties, lying to my parents about where I would be, filling random containers to steal alcohol for the party or for myself. I drank in the day sometimes. The heavier drinking was around fifteen or sixteen.
I started college in 1990. That is when my problem drinking really began. I would spend many hours at the campus bar, I was drinking as I studied and I have a theory now of why I did that. I told my mom I was goin to smoke in my bedroom while I did my studying. And I told her that sometimes I like to drink.
I realized one thing about that. I used to have a lot of anxiety, especially around schoolwork. I would be frazzled and unable to produce work. But when I got older and could drink, wow, what a difference. I was relaxed and focused. I never got piss drunk though when I was doing school work, I was only maintaining a small buzz. I did really well at college despite the drinking, I graduated with Dean’s Honours. “Cheers!” Lol.
My favourite drink at the time was rum and coke. I made them really good. Too good. I tend to get people drunk making my version.
I started heavy drinking on weekends as well. My boyfriend at the time was worried about me (he found out I was drinking and driving) But then the new guy (later my ex-husband) thought I was great and he liked to drink too. Win-Win. So I met his other drinking friends and I fit in really well. Had many fun nights, nights that turned out ok. And then there were the dark times.
Between twenty and twenty-two, I drank so much that my ex told me it was him or the bottle.
There were these times when I drank. I made poor choices. Sometimes things would trigger me, like anger, like self hate and I would act out on that, usually physically, and similar to my younger days when I would get drunk.
I think part of it is sometimes I got paranoid, I would think people were looking funny at me or talking about me, I would get overwhelmed, or something would tick me off. I would thrash around, I would bang my head against a brick wall (literally), I would start dodging traffic by foot. I would self-harm. I would become suicidal.
We were cat-sitting for our close friends and actually lived there for a week while they went on holiday. Her cat was a nasty nasty mean vicious cat. I had to protect my bf. I started drinking
more in the day and by the time he got home Id be in the drunk negative mode. He threatened to walk away.
The next day I really wanted a drink, so I started drinking, when I knew he would be home soon I picked up the phone and called an addictions program. I was trying to say..see I am doing something about it.
My psychiatrist too, told me there was nothing more he could do while I was drinking.
SO I called this number for the rehab, answered a bunch of questions and get set up for an assessment. I don’t remember much of it but I remember finally getting into the group. As I sat there I looked around. I was surrounded by men in their 50’s. ( I am 22 at the time)
I did manage to stay sober despite ending the group counselling. I stayed sober for five years. I felt good.
I had my son when I was twenty-eight. I suffered for a year with postpartum depression before I would agree on meds. I wanted to breastfeed him and I didn’t want meds in my system.
A few months into taking the pill my husband at the time, Bruce, said to me ;
“Your head seems like it isn’t screwed up, I am sure you could have a beer.”
Wrong thing to say.
So it started with half a beer the day after we spoked. AHHH… I was a bit unsure.
I spent the next six years drinking more and more. I would party with my friends, but as in old times at night I would get hit with the not-so-fun thoughts. Sometimes I would be outlandishly sexual. I started partying with a few girls from work till I crossed over the line of drunk like too many times, they stopped inviting me. This hit a toll on me. I became very paranoid. Very. I thought they were all talking about me and what I have been up to, quite a few unproud moments, like talking pics of drunk young me, standing beside a urinal. But fuck I was fun when the go got going. Just not so much at the end of the night.
Over the years the drinking got worse. I was now drinking most of a large bottle of wine (small ones empty too quickly) or six-plus beers, usually with a vodka cooler or two when my six beers weren’t enough.
I never could only have one beer without trying to find my next. I didn’t stop at tipsy, I didn’t stop at drunk. I stopped when I either, puked and passed out in the bathroom or just gone to bed drunk. I had to continue drinking as much as I could.
Then the morning hit. I missed some days at work because of the drinking. I showed to work up after a late night of heavy drinking at our cottage and drove the two and a half hours to work. Guaranteed I was not yet sober. When I got to work late I bribed my coworkers with McDonald’s breakfast. They just about died when I walked into the office because they told me to stay in the backroom and not talk to anyone. I reeked of booze.
Oops. Well, I wasn’t busted, never busted. The only time I got busted was from being bat shit crazy as I struggled with My bipolar years later..
I got pregnant three years after my first. But I miscarried early on. I remember starting to drink heavier after that. Two years later I finally get pregnant with my daughter.
I had postpartum depression again and it was bad. I was seeing my family doctor who also does therapy with me, told me he wanted me on meds. I told him I wanted to breastfeed.
He said to me and his words will always stick,
“If you were my wife and breastfeeding our child I would make sure you were on medications.”
He just really personalized it for me. It hit hard. There was urgency and concern in his face and voice.
I said ok.
Because I wasn’t breastfeeding anymore I started drinking again. Same pattern. Lots of drinking, lots of puking and likely lots of bad choices.
So guess what happened.
I went manic. Bat shit nuts and I can say that because it is my mental health. My Dr asked if he could call the psychiatrist I had when I was younger, he said he wanted an opinion.
They both felt the possibility of bipolar.
Because antidepressants can be the first onset of mania. Antidepressants are rarely given to those with bipolar.
SO I have lots more on that story, but for another chapter.
I get a referral to the mental hospital where I meet a doctor for an assessment. We go over everything, we chat, he turns to me and says;
“I can not diagnose you while you are drinking.”
SO I got up with a bit of tears and apologized for wasting his time.
I got home and drank till I was very drunk.
This continues throughout the summer, parties at the cottage, front lawn parties with the neighbours. We started some mild swinging amongst close friends. We were having the time of our lives.
One day. I had been drinking quite heavily during the day. I remember it being evening time and my ex was falling asleep on the couch, I, in eyesight around the corner. I was on the computer.
I went for a cigarette and proceed to burn my self three times on the upper arm. I remember looking around wondering if I should hang myself.
The most terrifying feeling in the world. My kids.
I go back in the house, I feel distressed. I need help.
I get out the phone book and look up my doctor’s name. He let me call him at home. I woke him up.
I told him what was going on. How I was feeling. He told me to wake up Bruce and he told me he wanted me to go to the hospital. I wish I called 911, but I took a taxi.
I spent the night in observation making a total fool of myself, yelling out that my cut was bleeding. I had done this cut a day ago. Demanding privacy so that I could masturbate. Humiliating. I am shaking my head right now. Dumb drunk hysterical girl. Yup, I did that one.
The next morning. I am discharged and I called Bruce to come get me.
About twenty min later he showed up. With the kids.
I nearly broke down. Feeling so guilty for my thoughts and actions. I said I will never do this again. Not putting my kids through my chaos.
November 2005 is when I started my journey sober. And I was right nuts.
My story will continue another time as I walk you through my path into sobriety.
Welcome to my blog. My Non de Plume is Christine W Forgues. I have been journal writing for years. I took a course in Creative writing and found I enjoy writing short stories and poetry. I write more when I am hypomanic or manic.
I went into Rehab for Alcohol Addictions and have been sober for fourteen years.
Shortly after I quit drinking I was diagnosed with Bipolar 2, I have since been diagnosed with Bipolar 1.
I enjoy talking about my story, for people to learn or relate. I try and have a healthy lifestyle and try to use my coping strategies. Life is just too boring without Bipolar, it is a blessing but yet sometimes a curse.
I am currently working on a book and dream of publishing one day.
I am so excited to have found Wordpress.
This is my new adventure.