One Shot, Two Shots, Three Shots, MORE

There are no local support groups for my disease because it is rare. So, I found
solace in a group of others online.  We communicated through Facebook and
twitter: sharing information, commiserating with each other through hard days,
throwing each other pity parties, and trying to support each other the best we could.
After a series of particularly bad vertigo days, I had enough! Someone in the
support group mentioned that alcohol will take the vertigo away because it
suppresses the nervous system. He said, “Take a shot of whiskey and get some
relief.” So I did.  

Since I had never drank alcohol before, the one shot of 100 proof liquor knocked
out more than the vertigo.  It felt so good to get relief. Alcohol became my medicine.
Of course, tolerance being what it is, one shot was soon not enough.  Then two
shots weren’t enough. Then three shots… Along came something much bigger than
I was able to handle on my own. The euphoria of complete escape became
something I craved so deeply it almost destroyed my life.  

After about six months from the journal entry above, I was drinking about one
liter of 100 proof liquor a day.  Soon, it wasn’t enough to completely escape anymore.
I did lose a certain sense of reality, but I couldn’t completely disappear.  Then in
one of my falls, I had a major injury and was given pain pills. At first, I didn’t drink
when taking the pills. The pain pills took away both pain and vertigo.  But then
the craving for escape became so strong, I couldn’t deny it. My depression was so
great, and the yearning and pull of disappearance was so strong, I drank just a
couple of shots with the pain pill.  

Soon, I thought I was a Pfizer chemist or something. I reasoned I could take x
number of pain pills with x shots of liquor and still survive.   “Still survive.”
I didn’t even hear myself thinking this way. I was plainly gambling how close I
could get to death just to feel escape.

My prescription didn’t last forever, but I knew people on prescription pain pills.
I stole them.  If I went to someone’s house I looked in the medicine cabinet. If the
pills had an old date on them I reasoned they weren’t being used anymore.  
If I didn’t have the alcohol, I drank a whole bottle of NyQuil, Listerine or
vanilla extract.

Once, the self-proffered Pfizer chemist position failed me.  I ended up in the
hospital from an accidental overdose. I almost died.  I lived in denial about that
incident for years. But the truth is, I almost accidentally killed myself from taking
too many pain pills.  Later, I would try to kill myself on purpose with sleeping pills
and alcohol.

I robbed people of relief from their own pain and took away from my children the

mother they deserved.  I was lying, stealing, and destroying my body. I gained
170 pounds from abusing. I pickled my brain to the point my personality
changed and my depression worsened. I was unrecognizable except for this
really great mask I learned to expertly wear.    

It was easy to fool people because this behavior was so uncharacteristic of me.  
I drank secretly, and everyone just believed I was really sick from my illness.
I barely functioned. I never let on to the true disabling cause.  I don’t know what
addiction is like for anyone else, but I would have done anything to grasp the
escape lever. I was doing anything.

I disturbed the still waters and dove into the depths.  I’ve brought up into the
light what lurked beneath the surface.  I confessed, on paper, my
still-water-once-stagnant life. Confession is part of the recovery process
for addiction, and now it is so obvious to me why.  Praise God, I am in recovery and
the freedom this brings is amazing.

Christians dealing with alcoholism or addiction suffer silently because of the shame.
How can you confess this to someone? How do you bring it up in a small group
prayer time? You feel like a failure as a Christian and you feel your prayers for
deliverance get no further than the ceiling. But until the problem is brought into
the light. Until it is confessed, not only to God but to the people you have hurt
you will remain in your dark, silent struggle. God has the power to deliver you
but you have to surrender, confess and create the path for his Spirit to work in you.

I have heard stories of miraculous deliverance. But I feel most of the time it
will be a struggle. A battle. An all out war. But there is hope of victory if you
put on the whole armor of God and practice the disciplines of surrender and
confession. All one day at a time.