Hitting the Pavement Face Down

I was asked this last week: When will I know I have hit my rock bottom? I cannot answer this question medically for you but rather give you insight from my own personal experiences. When I was in the midst of my alcoholism I would often look up on the internet the symptoms of being an alcoholic and alcohol withdrawals. I clearly fit the bill but wanted to know more. I wanted to know firsthand what others were going through instead of a medical website telling me what my symptoms were. I wanted real authentic answers.

So, when will I know I have hit my rock bottom?

I knew I hit my rock bottom when I lost absolute control. I was only after that high. Whether it was alcohol, opiates (any opiate), or benzos I craved only that high. The day I hit rock bottom I was lying once again on the bathroom floor dry heaving. I had spent the previous day drinking nips but just enough to get a good buzz. I was involved with a man at the time who was withdrawing from opiates and I wanted to help him. I could not get him any pills, no vicodin or Oxycontin. I could get heroin though. I picked up the heroin and that night I snorted two lines with him. Biggest mistake of my life. I had always thrown up when taking opiates and knew I was allergic to them but took them anyways. I understand now why people get very addicted to heroin. It is an amazing high. Every anxiety, every pain in your body, every torment that dwells within is washed away once the heroin hits. It’s the most incredible high in the world and the most sinister.

I threw up within minutes but the high was so intense that being sick mattered little because I felt nothing. I would proceed to throw up repeatedly. I stayed up all night, it was as if I didn’t want to miss out on the high. I had drifted off to sleep at some point in the early hours of the morning and awoke to what I thought would be my last day on earth. I was sick beyond anything I had ever experienced before. I just kept throwing up and my muscles ached to the point of being immobile. The man I was with offered me to snort another line in the morning thinking it would help. Well, it didn’t, it made matters worse. I remember lying in bed and darkness began to close in on my eyes. I could barely see. I thought this is it, I’m going to die. My son was with his father luckily and did not see me in this condition. I said my goodbyes under my breath and closed my eyes. My breaths were deep and slow. I fell asleep once again. Fortunately, I woke up but only to throw up again. The only thing that saved me was marijuana. Once I inhaled my savior, my illness was relieved and I felt 100% better. But it was just another drug in my system. I needed to break free from using drugs to cure me. A never ending struggle.

This was my rock bottom. Not only was I an alcoholic but I dived into the scary world of hard core drugs. I could not believe my life had come to this point. I knew I needed to get away from my current boyfriend. A man in his mid fifties who could not control his addictions was not a smart choice to have in my life… not to mention he was an enabler. I cannot say from that moment on that I was completely better because I wasn’t… but I was terrified. I had to gain control again over my life and from my experience with heroin I knew I needed to get my life on track. It would take some time to get away from the boyfriend but in the end I eventually did and I am much better off. This was my rock bottom and I hit that pavement hard. Everyone’s rock bottom is different. If you are questioning if you’ve hit your rock bottom, take a peek in the mirror. If you have no respect for the person you see in the mirror you may have reached your bottom.

Running to Recovery

Running to Recovery.

Running to Recovery

 

I am suffering. The withdrawals from drinking listerine are excruciating. My blood pressure dropped to the lowest it has been and my breaths are short as well as rapid. I can’t breathe. The stomach pains weaken me to the point of moving around becomes almost impossible. I awake throughout the night. Nurses come and go keeping an eye on me. Occasionally I crawl to the bathroom to find my porcelain friend and throw up some more. The pain…unbearable. I lay on the cold tiles of the bathroom and grasp onto the shower curtain in an attempt to get warm. I weep. “Meds!” I yell. My roommate Joyce who is withdrawing from coke understands my torment and rushes into the bathroom. “Hey, you alright in there?” She asks. “Help…I need meds” I whimper. “I’ll go get a nurse…I need to get me some meds too”  Joyce replies with her thick Rhode Island accent.

As she leaves I keep whispering to myself my son’s name over and over again. I wonder, in that moment, what kind of mother does Jonah think I am. I am going against everything I believed a good mother should be. I wanted to be that role model mother. Show him to right way and set a good example but, alas, I am failing. I hope someday  he will understand why mommy was sick. I pray that he’ll comprehend that I have a disease. And this disease, this alcoholism, it’s killing me. A thought crosses my mind…maybe Jonah will be better off. But no…not this time. No pity party. Time to tighten my boot straps and walk into recovery. For Jonah.

A nurse returns. She helps me off the bathroom floor and gets me back into bed. Of course I am given my withdrawal medicine and the pain dissipates. I thank her repeatedly. As I drift off to sleep I am filled with motivation. I’m going to get better this time…Right?

Two Bottles of Mouth Wash and 42 Nips Later

Two Bottles of Mouth Wash and 42 Nips Later.

Two Bottles of Mouth Wash and 42 Nips Later

In the midst of my chugging listerine I still attend my college classes. Remarkably,I still manage to get high grades in four of my classes.They always say peppermint makes you more focused so, in my sick mind, maybe the mouth wash is helping me.Then again, the tremendous stomach pains tell me different.

I have no class on Friday and I am driving around aimlessly drunk. I have had it. I make a call to the alcohol dependency program thinking they may have a spot for me again. The social worker named Bob picks up the phone. “Hi Bob it’s Kara. I was just wondering if you have anymore vacancies in the program? ” I ask with a slurred tongue. “Been drinking Kara?” Bob asks. “Yes…all day. For the past few weeks” I sadly admit. “Are you driving? ” questions Bob. “…yes…” I respond. “If you can come down to the hospital please do. We can talk then.” He calmly insists.

Stupidly I drive myself to the hospital. I walk up to the ADP wing. Bob’s waiting for me in the hall. We walk into his office and sit down. “Kara I’m going to have to give you a breathalyzer. ” I blow into the plastic tube and end up being well over the legal limit. “Okay. Kara I’m going to have to take your keys. I am bound to do this.” I comply with his orders.

Bob looks at me sympathetically. He too is an alcoholic but has years of soberity. “We are going to have to admit you, you know that right?” I nod in agreement. “Well we are going to have to go through your car to make sure you don’t have any alcohol in there once you are released from inpatient.” Two female social workers walk down with me to my car. One is carrying a garbage bag, she is well prepared. I open my car and empty nip bottles basically pour out of my car. In all, we collect 42 empty nip bottles and two empty bottles of listerine. Once everything is taken out I am escorted to admission.

I’ve done the detox rounds before and just go along with the procedure. Once in the unit I sit in the common area. I haven’t had a drink in 4 hours. The pains in my stomach become unbearable. I run to my rooms bathroom and begin vomiting blood. I tell no one and fall on top of my small twin bed. Something bads approaching. I’ll soon find out when I awake…

A Listerine Lush

A Listerine Lush.

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.

 

RELAPSE

RELAPSE.

RELAPSE

As I step out the front entrance doors of the hospital, I pause for a moment. Having been indoors for almost a week my eyes attempt to readjust to the sharp rays of the sun. I breathe in very deep, taking in all the scents: the wet pavement from the rain, the cool crisp air and wet leaves gathered on the ground. Amazing how these simple things go unnoticed typically. I am beyond grateful now for all that surrounds me. Holding Jonah’s hand and Charlie’s, we make our way to the car. I am not as apprehensive as I thought I would be driving home. When we arrive at the house everything falls back into routine as if I had never been in the hospital except now there’s no booze in the house.

We go about our weekend and it flies by swiftly. Excluding when night time comes, so do my cravings. My typical routine was to get shitfaced after I put Jonah to bed in order to subdue my tension from the day. Anxiety engulfs me. A simple slip up during a conversation or being clumsy and dropping something, my mind will stay on constant repeat over my petty blunders. I obsess about the small things that I may or even may not have done wrong. There are times I will also take on others blame as my own. Alcohol would help to extinguish my sweltering torment. I hunger after only release and will do anything to have it. Although, I can’t have that now. I am not sure about others who are sober but I feel lost out in the real world without alcohol. I feel naked.

I make it through the weekend without drinking. A small achievement, but an accomplished goal nonetheless. Monday arrives and I have to go to a weeklong outpatient therapy program for alcohol dependency. The day starts early around 830 – 9ish and ends at about 3. I see the same doctor I met in detox everyday. He gives me basically everything I want. I can manipulate him. You name it, I got it. Klonopin, Gabapentin, anything to ease my tension. A therapist visits with me daily and we have several group meetings to attend. The worst part for me has to be the meetings. Not so much what they are teaching such as meditation or functional analysis which explains our behaviors and what the consequences of that behavior produce whether good or bad. Those topics are of interest still, the people in the groups and their drinking stories make me yearn for a shot of my beloved Patron. The vivid description of their drinking days sets a fire ablaze within me. I want those days again. Regardless of my promises I’ve made to my beloved ones, I will find a way to feed my craving.

I made it through the week of therapy and today’s my last day. I space out mostly through the meetings. My minds preoccupied. There is three dollar’s waiting in my jeep. Three dollars, three nips. At the end of the day we need to explain what our plan is for the weekend. I talk about Jonah and the fun things we will do but tonight… tonight will be all mine. I head out to my jeep after the last meeting. I hop on in and catch my reflection in the rear view mirror. “Are you sure you want to do this?” I question myself. I am no longer in control. My craving overpowers any logical resolution to my current situation. I start the engine and head home. I spot my first package store. I find a parking spot and walk inside the liquor store. Three dollars gone and I have three nips in hand. In the car, I take a deep breath and down two nips in one minute. I want to save the other for later.

I make my way back home. In the driveway I swish some Listerine around in my mouth, trying to mask my booze breath. When I walk in I can tell Charlie notices I have had something. I go about my business, taking care of Jonah and start supper. I am at the kitchen counter peeling potatoes. Charlie comes up behind me. “Has somebody been drinking?” he asks. “No way” I reply. “Hmm …let me smell your breath” Charlie insists. He brings his lips close to mine and breathes in. “What did you have Kara?” Charlie calmly questions. He caught me, no more lies tonight. With my eyes lowered I respond weakly, “Just two nips…I was just really tense…I fucked up again as usual.” Charlie shakes his head, “Don’t beat yourself up about this. It was just two nips, it’s not like you drank an entire bottle.” He’s not mad. I know Charlie doesn’t believe I am an alcoholic. “Kara I just don’t want it to get out of hand is all,” Charlie goes on to explain. He just gave me the free to pass go card. Or free to pass out card.

A week later…the chaos begins again. This time is much worse than before. I am lying on the bathroom floor. The doors locked. I have taken a razor blade to my wrists, hands, arms and legs. The cuts are not deep but deep enough for my entire body to be covered in blood. I have ingested two and a half bottles of wine. Charlie’s pounding with his solid fists against the door. “Leave me alone! I’m going to do it! I’m going to end it Charlie. I’m a waste!” I scream from down on the floor. “Kara! You better open this door or I’m calling the cops!” Charlie yells back. I manage to get myself up and unlock the door. I lay back down and Charlie storms in. He takes one look at me, “What have you done?” At this point I become unable to function. I can’t even make sentences. Nothing feels real. I float away. “Am I going to die?” is my minds last thought. Charlie steps over me to check if I am still breathing and walks out to the kitchen to call an ambulance. It’s all happening again. I’m back to square one. I suppose this is what they call a relapse. Because my past has begun to reoccur and the worst has yet to come…

My Alcoholic Boogeyman

An unzipped and opened red duffel bag rests on the floor next to the desk in my room. Close to the bag lays a large amount of wrinkled clothes. Standing near, I reach down and begin to neatly fold each article of clothing and place them inside my carrier. Today’s the day. I regain my freedom once again. The last day of detox has arrived and I am beyond elated. Yet, my elation also coincides with a sense of fear that floods through me and brings my excitement to a standstill. I sit down on the floor next to my small hill of apparel. I cross my legs and cup my face in my hands. “You can’t fuck up this time Kara. You promised Jonah and Charlie you would be better. Don’t fuck up” I say to myself.  I become compelled to pray, seeking some sort of guidance I suppose or just a desperate attempt for help. “Please. ..If there is a god…make me better…don’t let me mess up this time…for Jonah. ..I beg you.” Praying is not one of my fortes. Clearly, this proves that I am terrified. As a child would be of the boogeyman, I too am afraid of a lurking monster. My boogeyman lives in no closet nor under any bed, rather, the beast dwells inside of me. It overtakes and controls my body. The name of my terror? Alcoholism…that’s the demon inside… and it’s a complete bitch.

After a few deep breaths, I take control of my fears and put my worries up on the back shelf in my mind. I regain my composure and finish packing my bag. I make my way out of my room and check the clock. The times 1100, Charlie should be here to pick me up with Jonah. Having not seen Jonah since my hospital stay, I feel my heart in my throat and my trembling excels to new heights. Jonah believes my stomach has been sick and that has been the reason mommy’s been away in order to get better. Even as young as my three year old is, I have an incredible amount of remorse over lying to him. Well, at least I know I have a conscience.

At the front desk I am pacing back and forth akin to a lion in a cage. Tick, tock. That blasted sound again begins pounding my ear drums. Finally a single ring from the door bell chimes. Charlies here and my smiley Jonah. My entire body has weakened. The kind of feeling of being an hour glass as the sand slowly moves from the top and out through to the bottom. I feel drained so to speak. My heart pounds and my eyes begin to swell up. Jonah quickly charges right for me. I squat down with my arms stretched wide. He runs into my warm embrace. I pick him up and we hug as tightly as we can. I never want to let go. With Jonahs chest pressed against my own I can feel his little heart beat. Evocative of the very first time I heard the rhythm of his heart when he was growing inside me through the ultrasound. I whisper softly in Jonah’s ear and ask him the same question I always ask him, “do you know how much mommy loves you?” Jonah raises his head off my shoulder, kisses me on the lips and looks me dead in the eye. He says, “you love me mommy up to the moon and stars and I love you up to the moon and stars and all the planets.” Tears fall from the outer corner of my eyes. I have heard it said somewhere, maybe from the play Les Miserables that, ” to love is to see the face of God…” I have seen the face of God and he loves me up to the moon stars and all the planets…yet, will that be enough to keep the boogeyman away…

 

The simple things are beautiful when released back into the world. Like looking at the world pass by through a car window.