- Alcohol
- Drugs
I am Lisa. I am a mom, a sister, an aunt, a friend, an employee, a role model and a mentor, and I am an alcoholic. There are drugs in my story as well, but my drug of choice is and has always been alcohol.
I was born in 1965. I was the seventh of eight children. The first four children had one father; the last four had another. When our father left our mother, he took his four children from our mother. We ended up homeless.
I spent two years in foster care. The couple that adopted my baby sister heard about the abuse I was being put through. The man I now call my father tells the story of finding me in an apartment, strapped to a highchair, grossly underweight and naked. I was four, and I still remember him taking off his starched white button-down shirt and wrapping it around me. He took me to my new home. His wife was angry and yelled at him for bringing me to their home. I had to learn to endure a new style of abuse. My new mother hated me and had no problem letting me know that I was unwanted and unloved. My father tried his best to make me feel loved, but he was rarely home.
When I was about 13 years old, my parents divorced, and I begged my daddy to let me live with him. He said yes, and we moved to a very nice house. He was not prepared to or skilled to take care of a young lady, so I was pretty much on my own. He kept the bills paid and food in the house. I leaned on my schoolmates and teachers to learn how to be a lady.
When I was 14, my best friend and I found a bottle of vodka in the kitchen pantry. We had heard about a drink called a screwdriver, so we took a pitcher of orange juice and poured about half of the big bottle of booze into the pitcher. We drank it all. I loved the way it made me feel all warm inside. My friend and I laughed, sang and danced around the house until we passed out. After that I cut school often to hang out with the older boys that could get beer. I spent many days riding around the country roads with these boys while we smoked pot and drank the beer we had scraped our lunch money together to purchase. I never got caught, so there were never any negative repercussions for me.
I partied through 11th grade and barely even attended school my senior year. I was fortunate enough that I rarely had to study and still aced my tests. My senior counselor called me to the office and offered me a deal. He said if I could test out, he would keep me enrolled, but I wouldn’t have to go to school anymore. He said I could even graduate with my class. I jumped at the chance. I passed the test and spent my days working and my nights partying.
At 17 I thought I was so worldly. I met a man and fell for him. He was a 24-year-old ex-con. I ran away with him for a week. The entire time I was terrified, because he was robbing people and businesses in order to put gas in the car and feed us. He took me many states away to visit a prison he had been in until recently. I wanted to go home so badly, but I was now afraid of him. He did bring me home, and I never saw him again. I hear he was put back in prison. I am so lucky that he didn’t hurt me and I didn’t go to jail for his crimes.
I straightened up for a long time. I met my first husband, and we had a good marriage for a few years. I was so jealous and insecure that our relationship couldn’t survive. We divorced after our second child was born. I saw this as freedom. I had no father or husband to tell me what to do, and I was on the road to self-destruction again. I got a job in a bar and was drinking again, and I found a new love: drugs and sex. It was the perfect mix for me, or so I thought. While drunk and high, I agreed to marry my second husband. We were both drunk when we said our vows. Doomed from the start, we had a violent relationship: drink, fight, call cops, leave and repeat. We did this for a few months before he left for good. It was fine since I had a new man. He became my third husband, and this was my shortest marriage. The state troopers were called on our wedding night when he was so high that he tried to sodomize me with a broken pool stick. About a week later he seemed to just snap, and he beat me in the face until I was unconscious. I later learned that he was paranoid schizophrenic and not taking his medicine. He was also known to smoke crack cocaine. This was way more than I bargained for, so I escaped that house, got an EPO and hid from him for years until I could afford to divorce him.
I spent years living alone with my children but would have the occasional fling. I still drank and found I enjoyed cocaine a lot. I would only have affairs with men that had the means to maintain my buzz. One of those men that I partied with was my second husband. One night we were high and drunk, and in the heat of passion, we didn’t use birth control. I was sure it would be fine since by now I was 38 years old, and he was 13 years older than I. That was not the case. I knew within a month that I was pregnant. As soon as I learned I was pregnant, I was terrified and felt more alone than ever. I knew I could not party while I was with child, so I vowed to myself and God that I would not use any drugs. I knew that I couldn’t NOT drink. I asked God to help me not drink more than a few beers once in a while. I only had a beer occasionally, and my cravings subsided. As soon as my child was born, I was ready to drink again, and I did for the next ten years.
Over the next ten years I married yet one more drunk, and my drinking increased to daily. I would find myself waking and shaking so bad that I couldn’t even shower. Many mornings I would have to call for a ride to work and would throw up all day until I got a drink after work. I used to be able stop at a decent hour so that I would get enough sleep to sober up by morning. Toward the final years, there was no stopping me. I had a million excuses why I drank so much.
Last winter I became very ill and was hospitalized for weeks on end. I was forced to tell the healthcare providers that I drank every day, and I was scared that if I couldn’t drink, I might die. It was so humiliating to admit what I already knew. I am a drunk and scared to live or die. The doctors gave me drugs that helped take the edge off and calmed my shakes. I knew this was my chance to quit drinking for good. I tried to not drink, but once home I still drank a little but nothing like I had been drinking. On April 18, 2014, I had enough, enough stress, enough drama, enough money problems, enough letting people down, enough feeling hopeless and wishing for death but desiring to live.
I had spent the prior few days researching support groups online, and I knew if I didn’t make an honest effort, I would no longer get to ponder life and death. After being screamed at for hours on end and blamed for everything that had gone wrong in my children’s lives because of my drugging and drinking over the years, I just wanted to run. “Where could I run?” I asked myself. I had nowhere to go and hide. I cried and thought, “What about this support group stuff? It couldn’t hurt right?” I told my friend, “I need to go to a meeting now, right now.” She helped me find one that started in 40 minutes. We ran to the car, dropped off my son at his buddy’s and drove to the clubhouse where the meeting was. We were about 10 minutes late, but I was ready to go inside like my life depended on this very meeting. I later figured out that indeed my life was saved that night. I pulled a jacket on over my bar t-shirt that gave the slogan, “Home of the one more and we’re all out of here.” I quietly opened the door and took a seat near the back so I could escape. I swear everyone turned and looked at us, but they were smiling and not irritated that we were late. I sat quietly and listened and watched these happy people. I thought there is no way these friendly folks don’t drink. They said, “If you want what we have, blah blah blah.” I did want what they had, so I kept coming back like they suggested.
I began going to lots of meetings, up to six a week. I began to focus on staying sober One day at a time. I surrounded myself with supportive friends and family and eliminated those who are negative influences or who are not understanding and encouraging of my quest to live a sober life.
In order to stay sober, the single most important thing for me is faith in my Higher Power and the willingness to accept the things I cannot change without the need to drink to cope. I am a much different person now that I am living a sober life. I am more focused, more responsible and a better mom. I have a new appreciation and enjoyment of life. I plan my life around things I enjoy doing without drinking. I help others that struggle and take great pleasure in helping others get a leg up.
Everyone’s bottom is different, and only you can choose when to stop the elevator and begin to recover. My life today is full of joy and peace. If I can live sober, so can YOU.