The unbearable heaviness of being overwhelmed.....

Sunday afternoon and my oldest and I head for Barnes and Noble. He goes one way I go another, grab a coffee, and we meet by the comfy chairs. He with an armful of contemporary art books and me with a copy of Melissa Gilbert's "Prairie Tales" - I knew from various magazine articles that Melissa is a recovering alcoholic. So I read the last five chapters of her book. I grew up watching her on "Little House on the Prairie, envied her when she dated Rob Lowe, and always liked her. I like her even more. As I read her spiral downward into final surrender there was a piece that really struck home with me: she talks about her husband being gone, her marriage hanging by a thread, being president of the Screen Actors Guild, being a mother to a pile of children, and being an alcoholic. She tells the tale of walking into her bedpost in the middle of the night. She knew she had done some damage so she heads to the bathroom to check it out. A large flap of skin is haning on her nose, but rather than wake her son to go to the hospital she slaps a bandage on it, sufferes through the night, and has her dermatologist stitch it up in the morning. She confesses that even at that point, when everything was flying out of control she would not admit that she was overwhelmed, she would not ask for help, and she would not surrender. What is it about us alcoholics that we can be so broken and yet refuse a helping hand? So many times people tried to help me, offer a hand, and I would smile and say "I've got it under control" but "thanks anyway". I never wanted anyone to know that I had a vein of weakness. I didn't want to confess that I wasn't superwoman. In other words I couldn't admit to myself that I was a flawed human being. So like Melissa I just kept plowing along. Denial has to be of the toughest laws of the universe. But then she went on to share her moment of clarity. She was up to three bottles of wine a night. She always kept her glass full so she could convince people she was still on her first glass. She had gone to the frig. was filling up her glass, and was caught by her son Michael. He confronted her about her drinking. She said she dumped the glass out, ran upstairs, and sobbed her soul out. She was so ashamed that her child knew she had a problem and she couldn't admit to it. Alex was my moment of clarity. After Grace and Sam would go to bed, I would grab the Vodka bottle and head for my glass. I would dig in the freezer for my ice,. clink, clink in the glass and start my nightly ritual. One night Alex had come upstairs to grab his books, as he was picking them up he looked at me, looked at the Vodka bottle, grabbed his books and left. At that moment a thought crossed my mind ,"whenever he hears ice clinking into a glass he will think of me and my drinking". That was it. I called AA then next day. I no longer wanted to be that souless person. I was in so deep that there wasn't any shred of light or hope visible. I was broken and I surrendered. This Thanksgiving Alex and I went and helped at the AA club, to help cook, and set up for a Thanksgiving dinner. He also attended a meeting with me, met many of the people I sit with a lot, and he heard me speak. I wasn't embarassed, or nervous, just myself. I hope he realizes what a huge part of my recovery he is. Now I recognize when I'm getting overwhelmed. I ask for help. I love my flawed and very human self and I hope you do too......