Fall Down Seven Times Get Up Eight

Fall Down Seven Times Get Up Eight.

Fall Down Seven Times Get Up Eight

Sometimes, even if we are sober, we still need help. That’s a difficult thing to come to terms with. I’m not drinking yet, something is still wrong. That’s okay. When we, as alcoholics, stop drinking we are left with the reasons why we were drinking. It could be a number of things that caused us to drink. A failed marriage, a stressful workload, boredom etc. For me I displaced my blame for drinking on others. It was my husband, it was my schoolwork, it was anything except what was truly going on in my head. Something was wrong and I couldn’t quite put my finger on it. It wasn’t external elements that caused me to drink it was the internal turmoil I was dealing with and still endure to this very day. I needed to take care of the pain within in order to experience the beauty on the outside. This is not an overnight miracle. We think that if we stop drinking than everything will be better. Unfortunately this is not always the case.

This past week I was hospitalized once again. Not for drinking but for my mental well-being. I knew my emotions were out of control and I could no longer take it. I wanted help. I needed help. I drove myself to the hospital during Monday’s winter storm. Nothing could stop me in my mission to seek help. With tears flowing I entered the emergency room. By calling ahead I was taken into the er immediately. I cried for six hours on a gurney in the hallway of the er. I cried because of sadness, embarrassment but also, for getting help. I was somewhat proud of myself for taking this step to better myself. It was the right choice as hard as it was, I knew I did the right thing. I stayed in the hospital for a few days to stabilize my depression and anxiety which is all part of my borderline personality disorder. Next week I will be going through a dialectical behavioral therapy program in order to help me with new coping skills. I feel very blessed when given this opportunity.

Taking care of yourself is the primary objective in recovery. If I did not get help anything could have happened. I may have relapsed, I may have delved into a darker depression or possibly even taken my own life. I recognized my symptoms and knew deep down what I needed to do. After the drinking stops we are left cleaning up the pieces of what our disease has caused. I’m here to say it’s okay to fall once and awhile. What matters most is how we pick ourselves up. Take care of yourself. You are an important piece in the puzzle of this world. This was a hard lesson for me accept…it was hard for me to come to terms with the fact that I truly mattered. Take responsibility for your well-being. Sometime in the future I may be hospitalized again but I’ve realized it really is alright because the bravest thing I’ve ever done was to ask for help. And receiving it saved my life.

A Borderline Boozer

Booze bombards the brain. As you may know, alcohol is a depressant. When we ingest a depressant it affects the neurotransmitter levels in the brain. So why do some people with mental disorders, (whose neurotransmitter levels are already negatively afflicted) specially those with borderline personality disorder, use alcohol and drugs if it’s detrimental to their mental well being? To understand this fully we have to comprehend what it is like to live with borderline personality disorder. This is from a personal perspective and also some references from the book Borderline Personality Disorder Demystified written by Robert O. Friedel M.D.

Take a moment…think back…think back to everything bad or wrong you have ever done in your life. Take a few seconds, then allow the feelings to dissipate. It doesn’t feel good to think of things we have done wrong even for only a few seconds. Now imagine thinking of those moments all day long. This is the routine of my day. I suffer from obsessive thoughts that I cannot fight back. This is all part and parcel of what my borderline disorder puts me through everyday regardless of medication. Dr. Friedel lists the four major symptoms of borderline disorder as the following: ” 1. Poorly regulated emotions 2. Impulsivity 3. Impaired perception and reasoning 4. Markedly disturbed relationships.” Now, wouldn’t you want to escape from these behaviors? Would you want some sense of relief? This is when drugs and alcohol become an outlet.

From Dr. Friedel’s “careful evaluation of a large group of people with borderline personality disorder found that two thirds of them seriously abused alcohol, street drugs, and/or prescribed drugs.” This brings us back to our first question, why drink? To numb, to find that release. I would consider alcohol as my first medication. That was my go to friend. Dr. Friedel states that, “many people with borderline disorder say that such behaviors temporarily relieve the severe emotional pain that they experience when under stress.” This is absolutely true. Many feelings rush at me with no provocation. I sometimes feel like running away, I can get utterly filled with rage and feel like I’ve lost all control. I’ve broken things, I’ve attempted suicide, I’ve cheated on my husband, all things that are conducive to what Dr. Friedel defined in his four major symptoms of borderline. Back when my alcoholism was excelling to new heights my thought process was that I was maintaining my mental well being by drinking. I believed it made me a better person, a better mother. I was wrong because, ” the use of alcohol and street drugs leads to a dramatic worsening of the symptoms of borderline disorder, and also decreases the effectiveness of medications and psychotherapy.”

If you had to live with uncontrollable emotions what would you choose: drink to numb your mental anguish for a short while and affect your progress or will you fight through it, be sober and attempt to live a “normal” life? While drinking I was not diagnosed at the time with borderline, I had no medicine to help me with my neurotransmitter levels. I was desperate. Alcohol would make me happy for a minimal time then the sadness and anger would implode. It wasn’t until, as I have stressed before in my prior posts I was given my psych medication. Then the fog lifted. I still suffer everyday, I have my good days and bad days but I truck on. I drank to be in control but I did not realize how out of control I actually was. I will have to live the rest of my life with my mental disorders and their terrible symptoms. And I have to make a choice everyday…to numb or not to numb… And my choice hasn’t let me down yet.

Tranquilized and Certified

On the cold tiles of my bathroom floor I lay covered in my own blood. My husband Charlie has just called 911. I am beyond intoxicated and have self mutilated every limb with hundreds of little cuts made from a slightly rusty razor blade I have saved and used over the years. I begin to mumble something to Charlie who’s waiting by the front door for the EMT’s. But with his bad hearing and my inability to form sentences, my words get lost in translation. I attempt to say something along the lines of not wanting to go to the hospital. Maybe I should have thought of that before I started drinking.

I hear some commotion by the entrance of my house. The ambulance has arrived. Charlie leads two very strong looking EMT’s into the bathroom. One of the men gets down to my level. “What seems to be going on tonight?” He asks me. With a very slurred spoken tongue I answer, “I think I drank too much” and admit, “I’m a stupid alcoholic too!”. The one thing I have learned: never admit anything to someone unless you are prepared for the consequences. From my experience, sometimes, but not all the time, telling someone you’re an alcoholic whose in the medical field will make them possibly assume you’re hard to handle and will treat you as such. Though, their judgment may be clear and sometimes a boozer does need a stern person to keep everyone safe. Without order chaos ensues.

Meanwhile, the EMT’s gather me up and put me on a stretcher. As I am wheeled out of the bathroom I look at Charlie and say tearfully, “I’m so sorry honey. I’m sorry.” Charlie, with his eyes slightly watering mouths quietly, “its okay. It’s okay.” I’m in the ambulance and the EMT’s are working hard to get things situated. As I’m getting my I.V. in my arm, the EMT named Mike starts talking to me. “Why did you do this to yourself?” He questions. I sobered up a little and respond, “I’m just so sad. My mind, it always thinks of the terrible things I’ve done in my life. I can’t shut it off…I can’t control my brain. So I cut because I’m bad, I cut because I want to feel something other than what my heads making me feel.” Mike nods, “you know what Kara? That makes complete sense. I never understood why people cut themselves. But …I wish you didn’t. You seem to be a very nice person. “I give a quick thank you and lay my head back down on the gurney.

I must’ve fallen asleep because I awake to find a nurse standing next to me. “Hi I’m Julie. I’ll be your nurse. We have to move you onto a different stretcher that’s padded. You told the EMT’s you have epilepsy so, we want to make sure you don’t hurt yourself.” Great, instead of a padded room I get a padded stretcher. I am left in the hall because there are no rooms available. This does not make me happy.

Two hours go by and I’m still in the hallway of the hospital. I have not seen a doctor and just saw my nurse Julie once. The rage is filtering inside of me. “Hello! Anybody? I want to call my husband” I yell as it echoes down the hall. A security guard comes over, “you better settle down. I’ll find your nurse. Just be a good girl.” A good girl? You just sparked the bomb in me buddy. Instead of finding my nurse, the security guard goes and flirts with a different nurse by the front desk. The two look in my direction and laugh. Are they laughing at me? All hell then breaks loose. “Keep laughing motherfucker! Get my husband on the phone. I want my husband!” I scream. The security guard and nurse walk towards me. With unbounded rage I ask them “You want something to laugh at? I’ll give you something to laugh at” and without a second thought I rip my I.V straight out of my left arm. Bad move Kara.

Five nurses come charging at me. Two have needles in their hands. “Calm down Kara” they insist. I thrash around, fighting off their grasps. They finally get a hold of me, pull my pants down and give me shots in both my thighs. I feel like an animal that’s had a tranquilizer. I pass right out. And awake the next day. I’m in a room now alone with a security guard watching me sitting by the door. Out of my haze of being drugged up, I ask the guard, “Can I go home?” Reluctantly the guard confirms I have been certified to stay in the hospital involuntarily. Now I can’t leave. I just hope I can talk to Charlie…I need him now.