Untangling Chains

I decided to start psychotherapy when I admitted to myself that I was an alcoholic. Three years ago, I could not go through a day without a drink. It began with a glass of nightly wine. Then I started drinking a lot more on nights-out. Introverted me suddenly wanted to attend social gatherings so that I would have an acceptable reason to drink more.

Eventually, I found a reason to get a buzz every time. I had lunches with a mojito. Then I had breakfasts with mimosas. And my nighttime drinking in solitude got worse. From a glass a night, I eventually worked my way up to half to a whole bottle of red wine. I said I needed the wine to sleep. But eventually the half bottle wasn’t making me drowsy so I amped up my consumption until I would be spinning and ready to collapse in bed.

There was a time that there wouldn't be a week's worth of
Facebook posts that didn't have me holding a drink. (This is
me with a lunchtime mojito.)

Two years ago, I knew I was in trouble. My liver was dying but, more than that, I felt that I was drinking because I wanted to numb my emotions and thoughts. And, as I got worse, I realized that I was subconsciously trying to kill myself. 

I found her accidentally, my psychiatrist. She shared an office at the hospital with my son’s developmental pediatrician. While I was in the hospital for my son’s regular checkup, I decided to book an appointment with Dr. S on a whim. I figured, "what was there to lose? How could I even get worse than I was already? It was worth a try and, if she wasn’t good, I could always find another. "

My first visit was a bit of a disappointment. I really wanted to stay away from meds to solve my problems but after my hour-long appointment where I gave a briefer on my alcoholism and depression, she did just that. Mood-stabilizer, was what she called it. To me it was just a drug that I feared would simply replace the alcohol. But I took them anyway, just to see what would happen.

After two weeks, I was convinced that I needed them. I was crying less and was functioning better. But my drinking continued. 

For the first three months, my monthly therapy sessions were uneventful. I would whine about my life and tell stories from my childhood. Nothing ground-breaking was happening to me. I was as alcoholic as ever and I now had meds to add to my list of emotional crutches.

At around six months, things started to happen. But only after I began to be more honest about what I was really going through in life. I wasn’t optimistic about her suggestions, though. “Keep yourself busy,” she said. “Indulge in your crafts. Continue with your regular workouts.” What really stuck with me during that time, though, was when she said that I should build a “parallel life.” One where I was happy, doing things I wanted, taking care of myself. An escape from my daily worries. 

It sounded dumb, really. I already had alcohol, meds, cigarettes, now she was telling me to do more things to escape my reality?! I was seeing her to help me deal with my reality, not avoid it. But I followed her anyway and kept seeing her monthly for, what really only seemed like, chit-chat. 

Oh, but what all that chit-chat did! After a year of seeing her, as she got to know me better, as I began to trust her, as I continued to pursue my passions, I started to develop a sense of self. I began to realize who I was underneath all the crap and what I really wanted in life. That’s when the alcoholism stopped. By forcing me to do seemingly psychologically-irrelevant tasks like painting, sewing and exercise, I was weakening my dependence on drinks as a crutch. 

"Surrender" 2018

Costume sewn for a friend

Ran my second NY Half Marathon in
March 2019

The meds were still a crutch but a medically-necessary one. Without the meds to help stabilize my emotions, I would not have had the lengthier moments of sanity that helped me think deeply about my issues without crying and falling into the vortex of depression. Healthy self-realizations happened when I was stable and sane and the meds helped pave way for me to have those quiet moments in my head. 

Finally, after much dissection and introspection, I was able to clearly identify my problems. And, with the strengthening of my inner voice, I was then able to find ways to solve them. I started to make plans. I began to set boundaries. I started feeling like I was finally living for me, not to force myself to fit into societal or religious norms. I may have changed but people around me haven’t and they have to learn to deal with the new me if they want me in their lives. This might sound selfish to most, but I realized that I have one life to live and I will try my darnest to stay true to myself. 

Last week, as I laboriously worked for hours on untangling a bunch of chain necklaces that I haven’t touched in a decade, I stopped myself to write a note on my phone. “Untangling chains,” I typed. Because that is what psychotherapy is helping me with. Everything within me was a mess, a mishmash of past hurts and current problems that all did not allow my true self to come out. I slowly have to unravel the knots and twists to see through the jumble but I’m getting there with patience. 

My mental and emotional chains are more
numerous and intertwined but I'm getting there.

This is not the happy ending. In fact, it is just the beginning of more years of struggle. Until the chains are truly apart from each other, they weigh me down and I won’t be totally free to be truly me. When I can live as me and be oblivious to the way the world sees me without harming them, that is when the journey is complete. This is the happy ending I hope I find before I die. 

Getting a high without alcohol

Finding peace slowly