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“Why Do I Drink?”

This is a question that I have asked myself time and again over the years. Why do I drink, and why do I drink so much?

The simple answer is, of course, that – like it or not – I am an alcoholic. I can deny this all I want, but denial won’t change the facts. I drink for comfort; I drink to kill hunger pangs because I don’t want to put on weight; I drink because it’s in the house; I drink through habit; I drink to kill anxiety in social situations.

Regardless of reason – legitimate or not – I have a problem.

But now I want to tackle the problem head on. Continue reading →

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Compass Meeting

After my flat-out refusal to take drugs for my “addiction” to alcohol in order to become tee-total – I do not have a physical dependancy and I would like to become a social drinker – I was referred on to a charity called Compass with dire warnings of imminent failure to beat my issues.

Please excuse the French here, but this is a big “Fuck you” to Changes.

Why? Because I am not even remotely like a Changes client and I’m stronger than anybody at Changes would ever believe. Some of you wonderful people following me have known me for many years and can attest to this fact, I know.

Choosing Compass as the way forward was exactly the right thing for me. I knew it as soon as I met Sheila, who is a big, bouncy, gregarious personality whose presence both fills and lights up a room. Continue reading →

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Demons

Pure Temptation

Such an elegant, genteel kind of drink isn’t it? So many different wines to go with aperitifs, starters and main courses. The gentleperson’s drink, if you like.

However, when this delicious drink leads to finding yourself in a small waiting room that stinks of despair, stale cigarette smoke and bad body odour, where the receptionist has to slide back a security panel to speak to you through armoured glass, you know you have problems.

You see, I’m not like my peers or any of the social group that my husband and I mingle with. I don’t drink with a meal – I drink to avoid meals. Continue reading →

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The Road To Recovery

Last week I had an emergency appointment with my Epilepsy Nurse because the medication I was using just wasn’t controlling my condition any more. Because we were discussing medication options we had to run down the list of drugs that we had already tried.

This meant that I had to be reminded of the horrible weight gain and water retention I suffered with a previous drug; he just had to use the term “a lot” and stress it, didn’t he?

Nice man, but a little lacking in tact. It was like a punch in the gut. On the other hand it also served as a reminder that I lost all that weight and that it didn’t appear through anything I’d done.

Whilst waiting in the atrium for my prescription to be made up, I always like to people watch. Everybody does it but pretends not to – it’s human nature.

I was sat there waiting for my name to come up on the screen, when in walked a painfully skinny young woman. Her arms and legs were like sticks and I could see her shoulder blades even through her dress.

Usually, seeing a girl like this would cause me to feel fat and bloated and ugly straight away – to say nothing of envious.

This time, however, all I felt was pity and concern for this young woman who – judging by her calm composure – still doesn’t realise that she’s very ill. I remember being as thin as her and believing that I looked really good too. I silently wished her well and I hope that she will realise and ask for help soon, before she begins to feel the physical pain that so many of us with eating disorders experience.

I still have my bad days (I was naughty yesterday and didn’t eat at all) but I do try. This particular not-quite meeting of two polar opposites tells me by my lack of reaction and paranoia that I am getting better.

I still have some misconceptions about my shape and size and it’s a struggle for me not to end up going in the same direction as this young woman – I can’t do that again – but I’m currently holding my own.

I just wanted those who live with eating disorders to know that it does get better. It takes time and effort, but if you genuinely want to be well again, it will happen.

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First Therapy Session

Image from Google

Yesterday was my first therapy session, which I had been extremely concerned about. I don’t manage particularly well in new situations, and find it difficult to deal with strangers.

Also, the thought of dredging up some truly horrific memories from my past was incredibly daunting.

As is usual for me though, I arrived for my appointment to discover that I had worried needlessly. I was greeted by a lovely, softly-spoken Indian lady wearing a beautiful sari top and loose pants (I can never remember the name of this particular style of ethnic dress, but I always have loved the beautiful colours and designs that Indian women wear). When she shook my hand I noticed that her hands are tiny – even smaller than mine!

We wandered into her office, where she proceeded to – very gently – take me through a list of the things she needed to know about me, my past and my family/social/relationship/medical histories. There were some tearful moments, but she was very gentle and understanding, and I got through it.

She says that I can’t have counselling until I’ve stopped drinking for six months. Between us we have worked out that, over the years, my consumption of alcohol has become such a safety blanket from emotional pain and so ingrained as a part of my daily routine that – due to my autism – suddenly stopping would be like taking any other part of my routine away from me. Change causes me fear and anxiety, so this needs to be handled carefully. Also, from the epilepsy point of view, I will need to be closely monitored so that I don’t risk a fatal seizure by stopping too abruptly.

So I have been referred on to a service called Changes and have to wait for them to get in touch with me. She is also contacting my doctor advising him that – because of the liver damage I have already sustained – he should prescribe me a strong dose of thiamine. I’m not certain, but I believe that thiamine is needed to help my liver to repair itself, and protect it from damage caused by my epilepsy medication and my fondness for wine. I shall have to look this up for more information.

So I have a long, long road ahead of me. Years of therapy consisting of getting me alcohol-free, seeing my counsellor every three months or so and after six months free of alcohol there will be therapy for however long it takes to talk through what might be causing my food issues.

This time I can do it. This time will be different. It will be different because I have a good life, a good medical team and a wonderfully supportive husband, who will help me up if I should fall down.

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I Don’t Know That I Can Do This

This coming Friday I have an appointment at my local hospital.

It is not an appointment with my epilepsy nurse, and it is not an appointment with my neurologist.

This is an appointment with a psychiatrist.

It’s been a long time since I updated this particular blog, but you may remember that the doctor I spoke to at the local Adult Eating Disorder Clinic wrote me a letter dismissing me, and referring me to a psychiatrist instead. She felt that my food issues are far more deep-seated than an eating disorder.

I was bullied relentlessly throughout childhood and throughout some of my adult years.

I suffer from anxiety.

I was neglected when I was a child, right up until I left “home” at the age of eighteen. I moved in to an attic room in a condemned building, because my mother didn’t want me any more and there was nowhere else for me to go.

I still have nightmares about my two previous marriages and some of the abuse that I have survived.

I am epileptic and autistic.

I don’t want to meet a stranger and discuss any of this. I just don’t. I feel as though my disabilities alone have singled me out for this dismissive treatment.

Yes, I had a tough life until five years ago – but I cope as long as I don’t have to talk about the past. I want to live in the now.

And yet… I will go to this first meeting. I may well have an autistic meltdown whilst talking about things that I’ve spent a lifetime trying to forget, but I’ll go. I trust my husband after all, and he will be with me.

Having said that, I am so very frightened of having to dredge up a painful past.