slippery slopes Part I
Note- This one feels like it’s going to be pretty long, so I’m going to try something new today, and just share Part I:
I’ve written quite a bit about drinking here and elsewhere. Off the top of my head, topics have included: a sobering thought and a drunk texting blog (as in, it’s replaced drunk dialing). Oh, and I also detailed a night out with friends several months ago where I drank way too much and sent a verbally abusive email to a friend in the middle of the night. Charming, right? The blog was meant to be an apology of sorts to him. He was pretty good about it, but our friendship wasn’t really the same after that. Can you blame him?
I was reading a favorite blog today and the author wrote about his own struggles to try to quit drinking. Actually, he brought up a very salient point that was the crux of the piece: Should he try to quit altogether or just attempt to slow down, e.g., become a social drinker?
Salient, because a lot of people bemoan drinking as an evil and wicked thing, that should just be banned altogether. I don’t want to point fingers at any support groups, but members of afore-not-mentioned groups have very flatly told me there is no such thing as social drinking; e.g., you’re an alcoholic or you aren’t. I don’t think everyone who pops out of an AA meeting subscribes to that, but it is a popular theory.
Regular readers know that I’m the youngest of eight kids. Yes, we grew up Catholic and yes, my father’s side is Irish. Alcoholism plays a big role in our family. There’s nary a get together without big dramas, tears and recriminations. But I’ll talk more about my life with drinking some other time.
Today, I have another story.
I dated someone who was an alcoholic. Here’s how naïve I am: trying something new, I wanted to “really get to know each other” before we “got serious.” Try to “start off as friends for once.” To put it plainly, I wasn’t spending the night at his house for some time into the relationship. How was I naïve? We’d spend the day together, maybe go to dinner, whatever, and then I’d go back to my place. And he’d go to the bar. Every. Single. Night. Literally, I had no idea he was doing this until a month into the relationship. None whatsoever.
Sure, he was sending me texts at 1 or 2 in the morning telling me I’m crazy/beautiful. It didn’t ring any alarm bells. I just thought it was sweet. Romantic. In fact, I started to really look forward to them. I thought he was finishing up his work day. I never dreamed he’d been sitting at a heads down bar around the corner from his place for 3 solid hours. Drinking jager in rocks glasses. Not shot glasses. Rocks glasses.
So finally (I say finally, because seriously, it seemed like a long time for someone who used to jump into relationships with both feet), we “got serious.” The first night I stayed at his house, we went to the bar. “I feel like going out, spending time with you,” he sweetly said. A few nights of that and I told him I’d rather stay in. “Well,” he said thoughtfully. “I’m going. You can go home if you like.”
And so the line was drawn.
I could accompany him to the bar, and spend the night, or, I could go home alone. Nice guy, right? And before you tell me, you should have dumped his ass right then, Lisa. Well. Hell. By that time I’d invested several weeks into the relationship. And I knew I was falling in love with him. I decided to stick around to see if he would cycle out of it. I'd seen similar cycles within my own family; even within myself. I thought he could do it too.
He didn’t.
I’ve written quite a bit about drinking here and elsewhere. Off the top of my head, topics have included: a sobering thought and a drunk texting blog (as in, it’s replaced drunk dialing). Oh, and I also detailed a night out with friends several months ago where I drank way too much and sent a verbally abusive email to a friend in the middle of the night. Charming, right? The blog was meant to be an apology of sorts to him. He was pretty good about it, but our friendship wasn’t really the same after that. Can you blame him?
I was reading a favorite blog today and the author wrote about his own struggles to try to quit drinking. Actually, he brought up a very salient point that was the crux of the piece: Should he try to quit altogether or just attempt to slow down, e.g., become a social drinker?
Salient, because a lot of people bemoan drinking as an evil and wicked thing, that should just be banned altogether. I don’t want to point fingers at any support groups, but members of afore-not-mentioned groups have very flatly told me there is no such thing as social drinking; e.g., you’re an alcoholic or you aren’t. I don’t think everyone who pops out of an AA meeting subscribes to that, but it is a popular theory.
Regular readers know that I’m the youngest of eight kids. Yes, we grew up Catholic and yes, my father’s side is Irish. Alcoholism plays a big role in our family. There’s nary a get together without big dramas, tears and recriminations. But I’ll talk more about my life with drinking some other time.
Today, I have another story.
I dated someone who was an alcoholic. Here’s how naïve I am: trying something new, I wanted to “really get to know each other” before we “got serious.” Try to “start off as friends for once.” To put it plainly, I wasn’t spending the night at his house for some time into the relationship. How was I naïve? We’d spend the day together, maybe go to dinner, whatever, and then I’d go back to my place. And he’d go to the bar. Every. Single. Night. Literally, I had no idea he was doing this until a month into the relationship. None whatsoever.
Sure, he was sending me texts at 1 or 2 in the morning telling me I’m crazy/beautiful. It didn’t ring any alarm bells. I just thought it was sweet. Romantic. In fact, I started to really look forward to them. I thought he was finishing up his work day. I never dreamed he’d been sitting at a heads down bar around the corner from his place for 3 solid hours. Drinking jager in rocks glasses. Not shot glasses. Rocks glasses.
So finally (I say finally, because seriously, it seemed like a long time for someone who used to jump into relationships with both feet), we “got serious.” The first night I stayed at his house, we went to the bar. “I feel like going out, spending time with you,” he sweetly said. A few nights of that and I told him I’d rather stay in. “Well,” he said thoughtfully. “I’m going. You can go home if you like.”
And so the line was drawn.
I could accompany him to the bar, and spend the night, or, I could go home alone. Nice guy, right? And before you tell me, you should have dumped his ass right then, Lisa. Well. Hell. By that time I’d invested several weeks into the relationship. And I knew I was falling in love with him. I decided to stick around to see if he would cycle out of it. I'd seen similar cycles within my own family; even within myself. I thought he could do it too.
He didn’t.
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