A Narrow Escape From Relapse

Today is day 48.  Not your typical celebratory milestone, right?  Until this morning, I had no intention of even acknowledging this day, let alone celebrating.  But last night, I came within seconds of ending this streak I've worked so hard to keep and it’s left me shaken up and humbled.

I don’t want to write about this.  I've battled with myself all morning, going back and forth between doing it or not.  I’m ashamed that I came so close, embarrassed to admit it and physically sick at the thought of sharing it with the world.  But I don’t want to sugarcoat my experiences or this blog.  I don’t want to portray a path that is full of rainbows and butterflies, acting as if I've got it all figured out, when in reality, I’m an amateur.  I continue to underestimate the power of this disease.

So what does the anatomy of a near miss look like? It started with a concert. Royal Bliss and Candlebox were playing down here in little old Price. It was the biggest show since they brought in Ultimate Midget Wrestling (yes, I went to that…yes, I got invited on stage…YES, there is video footage…) and we weren't about to miss it. Our shift ended at 8 pm and we couldn't think of a better way to wrap up the day. Candlebox was one of my high school favorites and I was giddy knowing a trip down memory lane would be detouring through Price.

Let’s be clear.  My co-workers know my situation and are incredibly supportive.  Before we even left, the guys asked me if I was OK going.  It’s held at a bar/club where everyone would be drinking and they said they wouldn't drink if it made me uncomfortable. I had thought long and hard about this, starting long before last night.  While in rehab I had decided that it was unrealistic of me to avoid every place that would ever be serving alcohol for the rest of my life.  It would be unfair and unrealistic of me to expect all of the people I know and love that don’t have a problem with alcohol to never drink around me again.  I knew it would be a challenge at first but I knew if I stuck with my program, I would succeed.  I even had a plan…a written down plan for events and parties with alcohol. I felt confident in my ability to go and have a sober, good time.

I did OK the first little while.  The guys weren't drinking in front of me, although the other 500 people in the room were.  But most of them had beer and that doesn't have the same allure that my beverage of choice does.  I was able to just sit back and enjoy the spectacle going on around me.  (I’m not exaggerating when I say Wal-Marts around the region must have had tumbleweeds whistling through them because all of their regulars were with me at the show.)  For some reason unbeknownst to us, the show didn't start.  For 2 ½ hours, I sat in this room watching these strangers get more and more wasted, feeling my anxiety creep up by the second.  My palms were sweaty, my thoughts were jumbled and before I even had time to wrap my mind around what was happening to me, I was trying to figure out if I could sneak one shot in without the guys seeing.  I was telling myself that one shot was nothing compared to what I used to drink and it probably wouldn't do anything for me anyway.  These thoughts were involuntary.  I didn't intentionally start down this path.  I felt completely and utterly powerless.  And if you've never truly been addicted to something, be it alcohol, drugs, food, sex, whatever, I’m afraid you just won’t understand.

I am ashamed to admit what I did next.  I told the guys I was going to the bathroom and then going to get a Diet Coke.  I was standing in the line at the bar, still horrifyingly unsure of whether I was going to ask for a Diet Coke AND a shot, or just a Diet Coke.  I actually thought, “What the hell?” and headed towards the bartender when I felt B’s hand on my shoulder.  He smiled, asked what I was getting, (though I suspect he had a pretty good idea) and offered to get my diet coke for me.  In that instant I felt a rush of hot air leave my body, like I had been breathing in noxious gases and holding it in.  The relief was indescribable.

We got our drinks (my Diet Coke) and headed back in where, gratefully, the show started not long after. We had an amazing time.  Nothing was ever said, but the guys never left my side at the same time again and they made sure I never ran out of my drink.  B is my pilot and J is my mechanic.  I literally put my life in their hands every time we fly, but last night, they legitimately saved my life, with a smile and a hand on my shoulder.

I did everything wrong last night.  EVERYTHING.  First of all, it was too soon for me to surround myself with alcohol.  I got cocky and it almost derailed me.  I had a written plan for such events that had me calling my sponsor before and after, keeping a diet coke in my hands at all times, keeping a sober friend with me and having an emergency plan to leave if I felt myself starting to slip.  When I wrote that plan, it all sounded very responsible and “alcoholic” of me, but I let myself believe I didn't really need all of that hullabaloo for one little concert!  Even worse, at one point I had texted a friend and told him I was really struggling and he told me to leave right then.  But I didn't.  I just put my phone away instead.

At our last appointment, my “real world” therapist, who shall be referred to as Dr. G from now on, showed me the results of a massive study about why people relapse.  9% relapse simply because they are testing their personal control, 11% because of cravings, 3% for celebrations and 18% for social pressures.  Although I never felt pressured, I was certainly surrounded and if you add up all of those, I allowed myself to be vulnerable to nearly half of the reasons for relapse, all in one night.  I lost my inner gazelle.  I stopped to take a break.

I still hate that I had this post to write today.  I’m still sitting here debating whether or not to even publish it.  But the shame, the guilt, the lies and the secrets are what got me here.  I can’t help myself or anyone else if I go back to isolating.  I lose accountability if I don’t admit when I fail.  I lose the chance to grow if I don’t pick myself up and start running again, despite my imperfections.

I am so grateful that I get to continue counting my days; that I don’t have to start over.  I am indebted to a Heavenly Father that knows ME, knows I’m still weak, that I can’t do this alone, that I needed a friend at the bar at that exact moment, even though I hadn't thought to pray and ask for him.  I’m becoming more and more aware that this program only works if you work it, and boy, do I have some work to do!  And with that, I’ll {gratefully} take another 24.

Having hope is an effort.  Having hope may require you lean on others.  You can still have hope, even if you do stumble and fall.  There is always hope.  Hold on to hope.