Chapter 8: Carrie

As soon as I finished my drink, I looked at the empty glass and panicked. Oh my God, what had I done?

Then, the truth hit me like a freight train. I was truly an alcoholic! My marriage was hanging by a thread because of my drinking, and I had just had one! I was ready to drink my life away. The demon inside me was growling for more alcohol.

Then, the voices started, “You don’t deserve to be married to your husband”; “You can’t stay sober for more than a month.”

The reality finally registered in my mind. I wasn’t any better than those people at A.A. I did have a problem. I did need help.

I let out a loud cry, paid my tab, and ran out of the bar as fast as I could.

“What have I done? What have I done?” I sobbed, as I walked to a nearby park. “Ernie is going to divorce me! God, no, please!”

A pang of overwhelming guilt came over me. I started hitting my head with my hand and chanted, “Stupid! Stupid! Stupid!”

The urge to drink was so strong I sat down on a bench, broke down and cried. In desperation, I took out my phone, called Cindy, and told her what had happened. When I finished, the phone was shaking in my hand.

I was afraid of what Cindy would say. However, she didn’t chastise me.

“Okay. How bad is it, really? Are you drunk? Do you need a ride?”

“I truly had just one vodka martini. One! I swear! Then, I freaked out and ran out of the bar.”

“Calm down. It’s not that bad. The last time I relapsed, I attempted suicide because I couldn’t bear to lose my six-year-old daughter to Social Services. Do you have plans to go totally off the deep end?”

“No, but how many recovering alcoholics do you know, who plan to start drinking again?” I asked.

“Okay, point taken, but you are fully committed to not letting that happen.”

“To be honest, half an hour ago I wasn’t convinced I had a problem. But I am now.”

“Better late than never. Stay away from bars. And stay away from the people you used to drink with. That was my downfall. Do you have any alcohol in your office?”

“Not anymore.” I had emptied all my bottles the first day I came back to work.

“Good. Walk back to your office and stay there until you are clear to drive. I’ll stay on the phone with you. Don’t beat yourself up. Wipe the slate clean and move on.”

I started walking back to the office. Tears fell silently down. I felt like crap.

“What if I start drinking again?” I might as well get my worst fear out in the open. “I’ve only been sober for a few weeks, Cindy. What if I can’t stay sober? Oh, my God, Ernie is going to divorce me,” I sobbed.

“Carrie, calm down! Take a deep breath and exhale slowly. You can’t live your life in the what-ifs. We’ll deal with that IF it happens. You are in training and learning a new skill, and you need to give yourself the space to try and fail, and try again; the way you would with any other great endeavor you attempt. Practicing sobriety is exactly as it sounds; it’s like any other thing you need to learn. You start where you are, you try, and if you fail or miss the mark—instead of beating yourself up, or telling yourself you’re a weak-willed piece of crap and always will be—you remember that success is built on failure. I believe in you, and I think you can do it.”

“I wish I had the same faith in me that you have. I’m a disaster right now.” Tears fell on my desk. Good thing I was alone at the office.

“Take it easy. You are not alone. We won’t let fall as long as you keep fighting. We have a saying, ‘We A.A.s all carry umbrellas that we put up over each other’. I believe in you.”

Her faith in me made me cry again.

“You need to find new ways to deal with your stress,” Cindy advised me.

“When I left the office today all I could think of was having a drink to relax,” I mumbled. “Old habits die hard.”

“Then, make new ones. Are you seeing a counselor, Carrie?”

“No, not yet. I’ve been postponing it.”

“It would be a good idea if you start. When I gave up drinking, and the weeks of sobriety turned into months, I began to think a lot about stuff that I had interred, long ago, in the depths of my consciousness. I became aware that most of the sad or painful life experiences that had occurred earlier on in my life had never been ‘dealt with’ – instead of feeling emotional pain, living it, working through it, and then moving forward, I had just drunk those emotions away, blotting them out like an eclipsed sun. I had, effectively, never known true pain.”

“Ernie did ask me to seek help.”

“You should listen to your husband. I know a psychologist who has treated some people from our group. He works mainly with married couples, but he has experience with alcoholics, too. His name is Yaron Beilinson. Don’t let the way he looks fool you, the guy is a genius. I’m sending you his number right now.”