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A Listerine Lush

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Soon after my last alcohol dependency program ended; I begin drinking again. Only this time my drink of choice is listerine. Charlie has been checking where I spend our money on his online bank account and he knows when I spend and where I spend the money. Therefore, going to liquor stores is out of the question. Charlie also can smell alcohol on my breath a mile away so, buying nips is no longer an option unless I’m away from him.

I now go to the pharmacy or grocery store and pick up their largest mouth wash bottle. Once bought and back to my car I begin chugging the harsh menthol liquid down my throat. When the bottle is half gone I begin to feel the soothing effects of a nice buzz. However, my stomach has sharp shooting pains and my mouth feels numb. The minty taste is beginning to make me nauseous.Yet, I keep on drinking. I keep drinking to not feel, make the pain go away physically and mentally. I also pound my pills: Gabapentin and Klonopin. I’m really messed up now.

I continue to exist like this for a few weeks. I still attend drum circle every friday. No matter what I need to go to drum circle…I need to see Brad. I hate being drunk and attend drum circle. My beats are off and I’m paranoid that everyone knows my secret. The breaking point was one Friday night when I made it to drum circle. I had been drinking listerine all day, had a fight with Charlie and sliced my hand up pretty good when I cut myself purposely using my lucky razor blade. I wrapped my hand up, grabbed my drum and headed out to attend drum circle.

I know I won’t see Charlie for awhile so I stop and pick up two grapefruit nips with my two bucks in change. It’s a snowy night and the roads are slippy. I make it to the hospital. When I walk into the room only two people are there: Brad and the drumming instructor. They immediately notice my hand. Brad asks,”What happened?”. Of course I make up some lie about using a sander. I can see Brads concern on his face. We begin drumming. My rhythm is completely off. My hand is bleeding through the gauze. I pause. With tears swelling I speak, “I’m sorry. I think I need to go. My rhythm is all off. I just gotta go.” The two try to convince me otherwise but I gather up my drum and give my apologies once more.

Leaving, I catch Brads eye. I want to tell him how I’m suffering. It is as though when our eyes met he knew what was going on. I know now I had to get better. I want what Brad has…soberity. I wish he could whisk me away from all this. The moment our eyes caught seemed to last forever. I leave and make it back to my car.

In my car I begin to sob. I grab a bottle of Gabapentin out of my glove compartment and throw a handful of pills in my mouth. I wash it down with the nasty listerine I saved in my car. Will this ever end? I think to myself. Maybe it won’t….but maybe..just maybe I could end it all…with just two quick slices to the wrist…

I’ll see what the rest of the week brings. ..

Tranquilized and Certified

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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.

 

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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…