On October and Justifying My Drinking

Poor me, pour me another drink

October is a busy month for our family. My husband Chris and I celebrate our wedding anniversary on October 19, which also happens to be our son Raymond's birthday, which also happens to be my brother-in-law's birthday. My sister-in-law's birthday is two days before, and their wedding anniversary is right around the same time as well.

October is also the month when, in 1996, my older sister Julia decided to swallow all the psychotropic drugs she had in her possession. For reasons that are too cumbersome to explain here, she didn't die right away. She lived for eight months before passing away in June of the next year. On a Friday the 13, to be exact.

So, back to October. The hospital where Julia lay comatose in the intensive care unit sits on the banks of the picturesque Navesink River in Red Bank, NJ. I can distinctly remember gazing out the windows in the family lounge area at the beautiful autumn leaves on the other side of the river. This memory is so vivid because of the juxtaposition of nature's beauty outside the window and the suffocating air of dread in the lounge area. As a result, this moment is imprinted in my psyche, and as the leaves begin to change every fall, I flash back to that time, and that feeling of "this can't be happening."  

Back in my drinking days, when autumn's arrival triggered this memory, I would start pouring the vodka. But October isn't the only month that stirs up feelings of grief for me. My brother William also died tragically. If I wanted to (and in my drinking days, I did), I could find a reason almost every month to wallow in grief.  

June – the month Julia died

July – Julia's birthday

August – the month my brother William died

September – William's birthday

And so on. 

An alcoholic doesn't need a reason to drink, but let me tell you, having a reason to justify the purchase of that bottle of vodka makes things w-a-y easier. 

"Poor me, pour me another drink." 

However, I was an alcoholic before these losses. What these tragedies provided me was an excuse to drink and they also shielded me from the consequences of my drinking.  

When I tell my story from the podium and explain this situation, I get nods from my fellow alcoholics in their folding chairs. They understand the justification dance I would do.

But when I try to explain this to non-alcoholics (sometimes we call them "normies"), they believe the reason I am an alcoholic is because of these tragedies. I was self-medicating my grief.  

I remember a conversation with a relative who said, "Well, your drinking got so bad because of your family's tragic history." 

An emphatic NO.  

I drank alcoholic-y BEFORE my brother William died. If you don't know what it means to drink alcoholic-y, let me explain:

1. I have a physical allergy - If given one drink, my body/brain immediately wants another drink. Even before the last sip of my first drink, all the nerve endings and synapses start dinging "more, more, more." Not giving my body/brain that second and third drink is actually painful. 

2. I have a mental obsession - As a result of my allergy, my mind ponders, "How and when can drink?" Over and over again. 

I had that physical allergy and mental obsession at age 17 when I partied with my friends before the deaths of my siblings. 

These tragic losses offered me an opportunity to give myself a pass. "You'd drink too if you were me." They also gave me some leeway with those who care about me. For example, I failed out of community college when I was 18 years old. Was it my alcoholism or my brother's recent death that caused me to drink beer in the parking lot instead of attend class? My parents weren't about to come down hard on me at that time. I mean, my brother just died. I received no consequences for failing.  

That I used my hardships as an excuse to drink is deplorable and has caused me years of shame. But you know what helps with guilt, shame, and remorse? A tall glass of vodka cranberry. 

Feel sad > drink > feel shame because you used your sadness as an excuse to drink > drink to get rid of the shame > feel shame because you drank, and so on. I spent years stuck in an alcoholic cycle of self-pity and shame.  

One of my most shameful moments when I was drinking was on September 11. I was at work in midtown New York City, nowhere near the attacks, but like everyone else, I was frantic to get out of the city and to safety. My sister Roseann got through to me by phone and told me the commuter ferries were running, so I ran over to the 34th Street pier and jumped on the ferry to NJ. It was around 10:30-11 a.m., but the ferry's bar was open. I ordered myself a vodka cranberry and downed it in seconds. I wasn't the only one ordering drinks from the bar, and sure, one could justify a drink at that moment to calm one's nerves. But I knew I was an alcoholic at the time, and I knew that, once again, I was using a tragedy to justify my drinking. I'm embarrassed to admit all this here. 

But if I am to accept my alcoholism as a disease, then I need to forgive myself for this behavior. My deplorable justifications were a symptom of my disease. 

By sharing this now, I'm taking away the power secrecy and shame can have over me. And maybe someone will read it and think, "Me too," and their shame will also be lifted. 

Regarding my feelings throughout the year about the anniversaries of a loved one's death or a deceased family member's birthday, of course, I still feel sad on those days. When I see the leaves change every year, I miss my sister terribly. But that's okay. Thanks to my twelve-step program, I have the tools to deal with the sadness and stay away from a drink. The sadness will pass. I'd much rather feel sadness than shame.

If you are struggling with alcohol or addiction, AA can help. Visit AA.org to find a meeting near you.