I’d like to see a heroin store on my block.

Today is day three for me, and I am slogging and sifting through the emotional fall-out of Saturday night. I am badly shaken, and fell asleep to myself saying, “You can do this. Thank God the night didn’t end differently. You can do this…” — and, yes, I do truly believe that.

Last night, I was watching my beloved trashy TV on Bravo, when an ad for Bailey’s came on. Now, Bailey’s has never been a drink I enjoyed, nor ever thought much about. But seeing this ridiculous advertisement (seriously, Bailey’s? You have grown women wrapped in swaths of taupe-colored fabric, shimmying around to sell your coffee flavored liqueur?) made me think…now where are the fucking ads for other substances? I’d like to see that heroin store, or perhaps the cocaine billboard greeting me as I drive to work. Maybe some happy actors popping pills to the tune of Christmas carols. No?

Yeah, that doesn’t happen. But it certainly does with the devil on my shoulder: alcohol.

Before anyone gets their knickers in a knot – I’m being a tad facetious. What I’m getting at is the pervasive nature of alcohol; its glimmering advertisements, go-get-’em posters, and  presence at an overwhelming majority of festivities and celebrations. It’s fucking everywhere, especially when you’re learning to leave it the hell behind.

Substance abuse and addiction is a rotten, difficult thing. But I have to think that the level at which we encourage & celebrate alcohol consumption makes alcoholism quite different from battling an illicit drug addiction. If you give up free-basing, I’m guessing your aunt and uncle wn’t ask you if you’d like to partake at Thanksgiving. Champagne? Wine? Beer? These are things I need to learn to be around, much as I’d like to never see them again. SIGH BITCH WHINE MOAN COMPLAIN STOMP MY GODDAMNED FEET.

As I told myself last night, laying in bed, alternating between waves of remorse and blissful moments of confidence – yes, I can do this. And YOU can do this. We can do this.

Back to one.

Here’s a rude awakening, a brutal wake up call I had – after over a month of sobriety, I plunged headfirst into a binge on Saturday. Oh, dear reader, I am feeling like a simmering pot of regret, topped off with a healthy dose of shame. I thought I could handle “just one,” which, lie of all blatant lie. There’s never just one, it’s never enough, and something in my brain chemistry makes me plunge full-force into more, more, more, more.

Let this lesson be learned – if you think you might have a drinking problem, and you think you might want to tread back into those waters – beware! I can’t speak for anyone else, or for your decisions – but I received a resounding THIS WILL NEVER EVER WORK FOR YOU, EVER when I asked the questions of, “Could I handle a drink?”

I know these feelings of shame and remorse and this potent brew of sadness will subside, that my re commitment to it all will remain.

Because it’s different this time. I jeopardized my marriage, my safety (yes, I am ashamed to say I drove in an obliterated condition – in fact got belligerent when my husband suggested that he drive home…thank God he eventually convinced me to pull over. Did you see that? I DROVE DRUNK and that has never happened before), and I very well could be dead today or have seriously injured another person – good God, that thought makes me want to vomit…instead of recommitting myself, with determination and a total sense of shell-shock of what transpired.

Holy shit, guys, that has never happened before and the strength at which it all unraveled still leaves me speechless. Literally fucking speechless.

I have been struggling with quitting – in denial, actually – for the better part of two years now. I would flirt with sobriety, take X # of day vanity challenges, all to prove to myself that I didn’t have a problem. I would “be good” for awhile, and then try to reintroduce wine back into my life.

And it wants me, it beckons for me, to consume, keep drinking, turning into a monster. 

My heart is raw and I’m laying all bare here – what brings me comfort is that I have, by the grace of God, been given another chance at this here. It’s no longer screaming fights after too much wine – it’s quite literally evolved into a game of marriage or divorce, life or death. The stakes are as high as they can get now. And I want this. I want sobriety, I want it so badly.

And so, with my beloved flavored seltzer and coffee in hand, I will do this. I will fucking do this. I will sit on my goddamned hands and whistle bad country music if I have to, but no matter what, I promise myself and my loved ones – I have hit the bottom. Alcohol can beckon and flirt and whisper as much as she wants to – but I know, behind those glistening glasses of libation, creeps something so dangerous and brutal, that I can’t afford to even listen.