gatinha's blog

"God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference."

This prayer gets me through most days. Also, in A. A. there is a saying "Let go and let God."

Promoted from the reader blogs. I want to thank friend and contributor gatinha for her insightful posts. Be sure to check out the rest of her blog.

I spent years trying to drink normally. After a few days or weeks of staying dry, I'd convince myself, yet again, that I could have a few drinks and stop, just like other people could.

After I went to A. A. the first time, and admitted that I was an alcoholic, I stayed sober for six months. I remember how casually I reached for the glass of wine that was set in front of me. This time it would be different, I thought. Of course it wasn't. I didn't get drunk that night and was real proud of myself. That first drink, however, started many more years of getting drunk and waking up after a blackout.

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The most sobriety that I had achieved in many years was six months. At the beginning of 2008, I wrote my story here. I was determined to get one full year of continuous sobriety. I'm on track with ten months now.

In A. A. they say that have you have to help others in order to stay sober. I was touched by Nicolew yesterday and her first blog "Day Zero." I would love to help you, Nicole. They say that talking to someone each day is important.

Promoted to the front page from the user blogs. I want to thank Gatinha for posting this update to her series aptly titled My Story. You can find the previous postings from My Story here at Gatinha’s blog.

I can't believe it's been since January that I last posted. Where has time gone? The good news is that I haven't picked up that six pack. Something rather miraculous has happened since I posted my story. Telling it and letting it all hang out has apparently removed the obsession to drink.

I'm not saying that I am cured, because that is not possible. But whenever I think of alcohol I can only remember the pain, trauma, rapid heart beats, the sweats, the trembling and panic the day after, sleeping all day hoping that the fear and guilt would go away.

How different life is today. I'm on vacation for the summer, but I actually get out of bed around 8 a.m. For me that is early. I guess that I look different also, because people are complementing me and asking what I have done different with my hair and so on.

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Promoted to the front page from the user blogs. I want to thank Gatinha for posting this series aptly titled My Story. You can find the previous postings from My Story here at Gatinha’s blog.

My beloved mother was gone, way too soon at the age of 49. I had failed at two marriages. I was only 29. My life went into a complete tail spin and drinking was the only way out of the pain, loneliness and regret. I resented everyone: God, my father and my two sisters. The Big Book says that resentment is one feeling the alcoholic cannot afford to let get the best of him/her.

I couldn't believe that God would let such a horrible death befall a good woman like my mother who had loved everyone and given her life as a missionary. I blamed my father for her death since he had been cold and unresponsive towards her. I blamed my youngest sister for being such a rebellious preteen and for making my mother's last days on earth so sad. I blamed my other sister for going back to California only two days before Mom died because she said that she could no longer stand the smell in the room.

I don't know how I continued to teach. My classes were three days a week and the rest of the time I drank. Somehow I remained one of the most popular teachers on campus and no one knew of my private nightmare. I was always able to put on the make up and the smile. Everyone raved about my talent. I was the one that others went to to discuss their troubles. Even when I finally went to A.A. for help and declared myself an alcoholic, my friends and family said they had no idea.

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Promoted to the front page from the user blogs. I want to thank Gatinha for posting this series aptly titled My Story. You can find the previous postings from My Story here at Gatinha’s blog.

Stan had moved to Paris and I had moved to another state to be with my mother who had cancer. She had a double mastectomy and it appeared for a time that the cancer was gone. It was great being back with my family. This time they were not returning to the mission field and we were able to spend Christmases, Thanksgivings and Easters together! The mother that I adored was back in my life. Everyone mistook us for sisters and we spent a lot of time together. Life was good again and I was happy.

My sister introduced me to Rick, a guy who lived in her apartment complex. We started dating. I wasn't physically attracted to him immediately but he was so wonderful that it didn't matter. After Stan, he seemed like the most caring and perfect man in the world. He waited on me hand and foot, cooked for me and made great drinks. My taste in liquor expanded beyond wine and beer. Rick and I immediately started spending most nights together. I felt that we were perfect for each other although he expressed feelings that he wasn't good enough for me.

He had gone to college for a year but had never graduated. He had lost his mother at a young age and his stepmother had rejected him. He had been kicked out of his house by his father and stepmother at the age of sixteen when one of his girlfriends had accused him of getting her pregnant. He had "made good" however, and had an excellent job as a traveling salesman for a large men's clothing store. He had served his country. He was a Marine. In my mind all he needed was love to make up for his unhappy past, and I was the one who could give him all he needed.

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Promoted to the front page from the user blogs. I want to thank Gatinha for posting this series aptly titled My Story. You can find the previous postings from My Story here at Gatinha’s blog.

Up to this point I had had a few drinks. Will and I had gone to some of his fraternity parties and I remember having a drink. Also during our marriage we had champagne on several occasions.

My mother used to say that if she had ever had a drink that she would be an alcoholic. I never asked her what she meant. The Big Book of A.A. explains that alcoholism is an allergy and that sooner or later, if a person has that first drink, the allergy will trigger the craving for more alcohol. The first drink is what the alcoholic must avoid because sooner or later he/she can't stop at one or two. The challenge is set forth in the Big Book, that if you doubt that you are an alcoholic, try some controlled drinking for a period of time. If you succeed, then you don't have a problem.

Back to my story. Will was finally accepted into Dental School and we moved to another state. I applied for a scholarship at a local university and was accepted to work on my Masters and teach. I believe that I had grown to love Will, like a brother, and I was content with my life. I never even thought of the possibility of someone else. That all changed suddenly. I was grading papers in my office one day when I heard a voice with an accent say, "I've seen you around but we have never met." I turned to look up and my legs went completely weak. I was looking into very blue eyes and could not manage an answer. I guess I finally said something and found out that he was a Professor. Then he asked if I wanted to go to lunch. I managed to say, " I can't, I'm married." He laughed and answered, "I'm not asking you to marry me, I'm asking you out to lunch."

We did go to lunch and I fell madly in love. Stan was also attached, though not married. I would go to his apartment in the afternoons and we would have wine and cheese and talk. I thought he was the most interesting person that I had ever met. He had immigrated to the U.S., fleeing communism, and was a world traveler. I never got tired of hearing him talk. I couldn't eat or sleep and could barely breathe when we were together. The wine made me less tense. I told him of my problems with Will and he was very patient although he made it clear that he and I would make love sooner or later. One of my friends knew Stan and told me that he was a real "Don Juan" and that as soon as he got me into bed, it would be over.

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Promoted to the front page from the user blogs. I want to thank Gatinha for posting this series aptly titled My Story. You can find the previous postings from My Story here at Gatinha’s blog.

The first part of the year back in America was wonderful. We spent time in different places with relatives that we hadn’t seen in years. Everything was exciting and new. Then we moved to the town where I would attend College. I lived with my parents the first semester. Since I had never studied in English, my grades that semester were terrible. My only good grade was an “A” in Spanish.

A few months later I watched my parents and two sisters disappear into the sky as they left to go back to the mission field. The bus ride from the airport to Campus was almost unbearable. I remember thinking that there must be something that could take the pain away. It would be two years before I would see them or even speak to them. At that time there were no emails and phone calls between the two continents were expensive. Letters took several weeks.

I had moved in to the dorm but found it difficult to relate to the American coed. I didn’t join a Sorority and had one close girlfriend who had also been a missionary kid. I was friends with several girls in the dorm but not really one of them. During my sophomore year one of the track stars asked me out and then suddenly I was “Ted’s girl.” He was a senior and proposed marriage right before he graduated. I had gone home with him to a little town to meet his mother on one occasion and had never felt so out of place. I tried to let him down gently. He had always been a gentleman. We had kissed a few times but that was all.

When I was a Senior, one of the most popular guys on campus mistook me for a Freshman and asked me for a date. He was a Junior. He stumbled and fumbled when he found out I was a Senior. I felt rather sorry for him. We dated until he graduated and then decided to get married. My mother flew back to the U. S. for the wedding and the night before the ceremony she told me that it wasn’t too late to change my mind. She sensed that I was making a mistake. I rationalized that I loved Will and would fall “in love” with my tall dark and handsome prince on our wedding night when he would gather me in his arms and finally conquer me. We had never made love even though we had spent nights together and had “made out” quite a lot. I had been brought up to believe that sex outside of marriage was an unforgivable sin.

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Over the years I've heard many stories from other alcoholics and I've read the ones in the Big Book. One common thread is that each alcoholic seems to remember his/her first drink. I don't remember my first drink. It was sometime in College, probably my Junior year.

My parents became missionaries when I was seven and we moved to a country in South America. The biggest sin we MK's (missionary kids) committed, was to dance. When we were alone we would close the curtains, put on music and DANCE!

It was great to start the New Year sober. I stayed home, got thoroughly bored with the shows counting down to midnight, so finally hit the sack about 11:30. By the way, what has happened to music? The new groups and singers that were paraded on the "Hit Parade" were terrible. I couldn't understand any of the lyrics and they all sounded alike.