Meet Amy

Meet Amy.

I'm Amy, and I'm an alcoholic.  It’s going to be awhile before I can introduce myself and not want to subconsciously tack that on.  I’m an alcoholic.  I've announced that in countless groups over the last 5 weeks and it’s become second nature.  I started every morning and every 12 step group meeting with that very introduction that has come to define me in ways I never would have guessed the first time I had to verbally label myself as such.  It’s easy now; part of who I am.  But I’m guessing if you’re reading this and know me at all, your jaw is a little slack and you've already thought, “I had no idea!”.

SECRETS KEEP US SICK…and…I was very good at keeping this one.  You see, if you know me at all, you also know I’m a Mormon, a single mother to four of the coolest kids around, an air med nurse, and the girl who seemed to have it all together.  I’m the girl people like to talk to, vent to, get advice from.  I’m the girl who will drop everything to come to your rescue, who will cry with you, laugh with you and hold your hand as you walk down your darkest alleys (all while cleaning your house, filing your taxes, coordinating your outfit for family pictures, feeding your cat while you’re on vacation and ripping down that hideous wallpaper in your master bedroom).  That’s the me you know.  The me you don’t know is the girl who has slowly lost herself over the last 5 years, trudging through divorce, loss, death and one too many broken hearts. 

My story is not tragic.  Quite the opposite, actually.  I've had a good life.  The stories of the people I've come to love in rehab make my life look like a bad day on the set of the Brady Bunch (Marsha, Marsha, MARSHA!!). I can’t tell you any stories that will stop your heart, bring tears to your eyes, a lump in your throat and cause you to gasp in shock.  I've heard those stories and they will haunt me forever.  But what I can tell you is the story of a seemingly average, ordinary woman who, bit by bit, got so overwhelmed with life that she started to disconnect from it.  The story of a woman who decided numbing was easier than dealing, that a 90 proof bottle hidden in a closet was the simplest way to escape, and that no one needed to know about it, including her very best friend. 

You might be wondering why I’m sharing this if it’s never going to make the NY Times Bestseller list or get optioned as the next great Hollywood blockbuster. You may even be reading this with a glazed over look on your face, asking yourself how you will ever get the last five minutes of your life back.  Luckily, I’m not writing this for you.  I’m writing this for me.  I am an alcoholic.  It is “a disease of the mind and an allergy of the body” (Alcoholics Anonymous).  It is chronic, not acute.  I will battle this every day for the rest of my life.  Writing about it helps me, makes me accountable, prevents me from hiding, stops the secrets.  And I’m not alone!  Maybe you don’t hide liquor bottles in your wedding dress bag, wall sconces, shoe boxes and suitcases.  Perhaps you hide Twinkies and Ho-Hos and sneak extra bowls of ice cream in the middle of the night.  Maybe, riddled with guilt, you throw it all up afterward.  Maybe you don’t eat anything at all, just to prove you are in control.  Maybe you take too many Percocet.  Maybe you can’t get enough of your married co-workers’ affection.  Maybe the internet is more interesting than your wife.  Maybe social media demands more time than your husband and children.  Maybe you are finding ways to disconnect and numb just like me, and maybe my story will help you. 

I am officially 35 days sober.  This is just the beginning.  I wish I could tell you I was cured, that alcohol doesn't cross my mind every few minutes, that I’m no longer heartbroken or overwhelmed or wishing I could hide just one more day.  I wish my kids didn't learn to introduce themselves as “the child of an alcoholic” during family week at rehab.  I wish I didn't have to tell everyone I know and love that I have a problem and I need help.  But if I could tell you all those things, then I wouldn't be able to tell you how much I've grown over the last 5 weeks.  I wouldn't be able to tell you that I have reconnected with my higher power, the God of my understanding and my Savior,  Jesus Christ.  I wouldn't be able to tell you that in a room full of Atheists, Agnostics, Jews and Catholics, I rediscovered my own faith.  That when no one was there to tell me what I believed in, I had to decide for myself and I realized, for maybe the first time ever, that I had known all along.  I wouldn't be able to tell you that I am grateful for these trials, that I have found strength I thought I’d lost, solace I thought impossible, and the courage to make a change.

This was written by Amy on May 19th.  She fights every day for sobriety and for the hope a new day brings.  Sometimes finding hope is a battle, but a battle definitely worth fighting.  Hope may also require humility, admitting your weaknesses and seeking the help you need.  Sometimes hope might be found with professional help.  Whatever it takes, it's worth it.  More from Amy tomorrow.