Being fired probably was my fault

It gets you no where to think that other people are the source of your problems. I have been thinking that my old boss was just a jackass who didn't like me. But tonight I was talking to the ladies and they suggested something: maybe they did know about my alcoholism and it just took a while to catch up?

It had been three months since I quit drinking when I got fired, but perhaps they were just waiting till I had finished that project? I was working on something big, but they did fire me right before an event I was working on.

I had shown up to work drunk or hungover all the time. I fell asleep at my desk almost every day. I really wasn't accomplishing anything because of my alcoholism and depression. I did play a part in this, but it wasn't my fault. It was no one's fault. I can't beat myself up over it, I just need to acknowledge my part in it. And that's part of step four.

Drugs hurt your arteries

All sorts of fun death can be associated with amphetamine use. And amphetamines aren't just the commonly abused ones like meth, but also Adderall and Ritalin.

They've found "a link between aortic dissection and amphetamine abuse," and "a relationship between a diagnosis of amphetamine abuse and heart attack," and that "Increasing rates of amphetamine and cocaine usage by young adults significantly boost their risk of stroke, with amphetamine abuse associated with the greatest risk."

Basically, heavy use of amphetamines can kill you. Duh. I know they can be a lot of fun, but that pounding in your heart can cause tears in your arteries and the possibility of heart attack and stroke, even in young people. I always worried I was going to have a heart attack after taking 7 pills of Adderall. That was the most I ever took at one time, and it was for a bachelorette party.

I arrived on Friday night, late, and slept on the couch. We got up in the morning and headed out for a long day of spa and food, and then off to a club where we had a private room. I was popping Adderall all day long just to stay awake, and plus it makes you feel less drunk no matter how much you drink. I was in school at the time for a certificate, and I had to be back Sunday morning at 9 to take an exam. I popped more pills all through the night, and stayed up till I got on the plane. I made it back, took the test (and barely passed), and then went home and crashed for 13 hours.

I love Adderall. Giving my supply away was harder than giving up my wine, and that was tough. I really wanted to keep it. Sober is different from clean, and I was only promising AA that I'd be sober, right? I didn't have a problem with drugs, so I could still take them. Only I bought them in Mexico and smuggled them over the border. They weren't my prescription, and I wasn't supposed to be taking them with my drugs. And I was taking them so I could get drunker. I was abusing drugs. Oops. So I gave them up, too. Now, I've been sober and clean for 95 days. Let's hope for more.

Sex and candy

Oh, sex. How I miss you so.

One of those things I did to take away my feelings of loneliness, and to punish myself for being a fuck-up, was to have sex with people I wouldn't have had I been sober. Well, that's not true. A lot of those times I was manic as well. See, mania also takes away your inhibitions and gives you a wild sexual energy.

I was talking to Adam when he was here, and I realized something: I've never had sober sex before. My first time, I was high on pot. I did a lot of drugs in every relationship I had in high school, and slept with my best friend (even though I didn't want to), because he was my dealer, too. That happened a lot in high school. Remember, my policy was never to pay for drugs, so I got into relationships with dealers.

During and after college, I only slept with other alcoholics. I hung out at bars and picked up drunk one night stands. I got into a few relationships and even moved in with alcoholics. I've never had sober sex. Not that I can remember.

Towards the end of my drinking, I was blacking out during sex, and was always sure that I had passed out. I asked my ex the other day, and he said no, I never passed out, I was still doing it. Awesome. I've had blackout sex, too.

So now (well, next year), I'll be able to see if I can do it. I've been told I'm good in bed, but I'm sure that had something to do with how drunk I was. I'm not sure I'm any good if I'm feeling nervous. Hopefully it will be a safe place with someone I love. Where I can mess up and laugh at myself.

Will I ever dance again?

My friend Doug and I like to go out and get drunk. Big surprise, right? But Doug is my gay boyfriend. I'm his wingman. He never picks anyone up, cause he's too much of a wuss, and uses me as an excuse to meet men, and then to leave them because he's got to escort my drunk-ass home.

Back when Doug and I used to work together, we would go out every night to our favorite dive, get super cheap drunk, eat really bad happy hour food (Doug didn't eat because it wasn't The Palm, but Cassie and I sure did!), and then hit up a gay bar.

I love gay bars. Or lesbian bars, for that matter. I can flirt and make out with guys and never worry that they really want to take me home. Gay men love to kiss straight girls. I don't know why, but I always end up making out with some hot guy and then he leaves with his partner. I love it.

Doug came out here once to visit his "aunts" in the south, and I went with. We wandered around town in their neighbors' convertible, drank all day, and hung out with the "aunts" at night. We used their old lady hospital beds as race cars and raced the leg and back lifts all night. We dressed up in their old lady nighties and drank by the pool. We drank, and drank, and drank. That's what Doug and I do.

Luckily for my liver, he's only been out here 3 times since I moved here. All three times have been DRUNKEN, (wait, maybe 4. 4) and full of drama. He's a queen if I've ever met one. Last time, we went wine tasting all day with Angie (and found the most wonderful handicap porta-potty with a real sink and oriental carpets). We ended up with Angie's boyfriend Jack in a bar next to my house. We were all drunkenly carousing until he picked a fight and stomped off the block to my house. I ignored him, and found out the next day that he had gone to the airport to stay at the Westin. I didn't even know he was gone, cause I don't think I came home till early in the morning, and was probably happy to have the bed to myself again.

I told him I quit drinking and he quit texting. Then he texted me a drunken hello the other day, and I haven't known how to answer. Our relationship is built on alcohol and lack of sex, and now he's dating someone and I'm sober. I wonder if he'll come out for orphan Thanksgiving again? I wonder what he'll say when he gets drunk, cause he will, and I'm still not drinking? I bet he won't come out anymore. It's sad to think of losing friends, but I suppose this is what they mean when they say nothing will change except your whole life.

Meeting with the sponsor

I just stuffed myself full of Mexican food and laughter. My sponsor took me out to dinner after a meeting and asked me to tell my story. "Well," I started, "I started drinking when I was about twelve, drinking my parent's booze and refilling it with water." "Like any good alcoholic," she said. I don't know why I started doing it, it just seemed like the right thing to do at the time.

From there I moved on to drugs. I started drinking, taking my prescription meds, and taking as much LSD as I could get my little paws on. In between, I smoked a lot of pot, too. I would keep a bottle of bourbon in my drawer at school and fill up my Pepsi for study hall. I always thought I was being a good girl and taking my meds all the time (well, most of the time), but I was adding so much other stuff on top that no wonder they never seemed to work. I overdosed at age 18, two weeks before graduation, and got kicked out of boarding school. I went on to be the proud owner of a GED. Hooray.

Amazingly, I stopped taking drugs (well, mostly) after that. I just moved on to sneaking the booze out of my dad's cabinet, or meeting people who could get me beer. Once I was 19, I moved out and went to live with an alcoholic boyfriend and went out every night to get drunk after work. One night I ended up sleeping in the bushes. Another, I had to yell for the cab driver to stop so I could vomit. Another time, I woke up in a ditch next to my cousin's car with people calling all over the place for me. Apparently I'd been gone a while.

By age 21 I'd found my bar. A nice little karaoke bar not far from my house, where I lived with the dj at the bar. The bartender was my best friend (really) and my boyfriend was another alcoholic regular. Every night, rain, shine, snow, school, I was down there drinking shots and beers and smoking like a chimney. The only thing to do in a smokey bar is to smoke, otherwise it just gets too much.

And I continued in that manner until I was 26. Suddenly, I had the chance to move to California (the rest of my life was in the shitter, so why not take my problems somewhere else?). This time, I moved on to wine. In California they have good wine. Napa, Sonoma, Santa Barbara, all great places for perfect wines. So I drank them. And since I didn't have the metro anymore, I drove myself from winery to winery, or from parties to home. I started off with a glass a night, until I moved in with another alcoholic (see a pattern emerging?). Then I drank to keep up, until I surpassed him and he had to drink more to keep up with me. I lost my job and spent every day of those four months drinking from sunrise to sunset. Sure, I sent in resumes too, and eventually got a job, but I was a drunk and 40 pounds heavier.

I joined Weight Watchers and limited my wine again. I would have a glass a week, or maybe two, but I kept within my allotted calories. Then, I would plan out my day so I had more calories to use on booze. I stopped eating so much, and lost those 40 pounds. When I began just trying to maintain my weight, I went back to one and two bottle nights twice a week.

By the end, I was drinking something every night, having "4 Bottle Fridays" with a friend, half bottle Thursdays with the girls, and weekends of debauchery. I ended up blackout drunk most nights, and hungover every morning.

And then it hit me: this is no way to live. I don't have to go on like this.

And so I stopped.

Without fear, insomnia, I can't get no sleep.

I can't sleep. I try, really I do. I lie there and think about sleep, about my cool pillow and my favorite comforter. (A favorite comforter, you say? Like I have two? Not really, I just love this one because it's old and reminds me of home.)And then I start to think. I can't help it. I think about this book I'm reading called Living Sober. They call it a pamphlet, but anything over 50 pages qualifies as a book to me.

So what's it say? Well, it's like a newcomers guide to being sober. Why is a sponsor good? Should I get rid of all the alcohol in my apartment? What's "closed meeting" mean? Oh, yawn, you say. Well, not really. Mr. Anonymous is actually pretty funny, for being a "pamphlet."

And all the alcohol in my house? It taunts me. Those four bottles of really good wine purchased in Napa Valley sit on the kitchen counter and say: Wait, you're going to waste us and give us away? But we're $30 bottles of wine! And man, that bubbly one is GOOD. Maybe just one bender. Maybe we just meet one last time in the kitchen and you can finish us. Alone? Alone. In my kitchen. Chugging.

How pathetic. It's times like these I reach over and grab that 24 hour chip. I knead it between my fingers, twisting and twirling it in my palm. 24 hours. Someone had the foresight to give me, ME, something precious like a constant reminder of what I'm doing. And why.

Why. Why? Because I'm scared. I'm scared for myself and I want something better than being a kitchen drunk. I want to live in the best way possible. I want to thrive, not just live. And I can't do it in the bottom of a bottle.

Day 8, and I have insomnia. I reach out for that chip instead of that bottle, and I know it'll pass. I'll sleep again one day, but for now, all that matters is ignoring that bottle until I can pass it on to someone who will sip it and appreciate it. Not me. Not today. One day at a time. Not today.