Vice Versa

The one upshot to "the whole anorexia thing" was that it definitely kept my nose clean as a teenager. My parents never had to worry about drugs, drinking, wild parties, or anything else, because I was too busy killing myself to get into trouble. I did have a boyfriend, but I was both ultra-religious and ultra-unhealthy, so there were no real worries about pregnancy. Considering the over-acheiving atmosphere in my family, everyone pretty much lucked out that I "picked" a mental disorder that led to extreme focus and perfectionism. I may have been creeping out of the world one day at a time, but at least I wasn't making a negative scene as I did so.

It should be noted that my family tree is so heavy with alcoholics that all of its metaphorical branches are probably dragging the ground. Every generation on both sides of my family has had several people deeply mired in the disease. By the time my biological father was my age (22), he had already been in and out of medical detox three times, and had pretty much fried his liver. He started the habit when he moved in with his biological father, also drunken and divorced, and they apparently bonded by just intoxicating themselves all the time. He was 15.

So, ever since I 1) started college and 2) started making progress in recovery, my mom has been very concerned about alcohol. Lectures, lectures, lectures. I would assure her that it was one of the last things she needed to worry about ("Do you have any idea how many calories are in vodka, Momma?"), but she would just give me that furrowed-brow look.

Not that I can blame her. Her dad, both of her grandfathers, many of her uncles, and sort of one of her brothers were all alcoholics. She got married when she was 19, and he turned out to be not just a drinker but a nasty, violent, hateful drinker from a family of drinkers himself. And when I say hateful, I am not exaggerating. She had a dog that was every bit as dear to her as my G. is to me (he was also the same breed, incidentally, I must have imprinted on the breed as a baby). Truly that dog was her first child, and her only friend because her husband kept her isolated most of the time. And then one night, when he was very drunk and violent, the dog got protective of us, and he killed it. So I would say she is justified in being vigilant about drinking issues.

And yet I still thought she was crazy for ever thinking I would develop an alcohol habit. But lately I am starting to see her point. I haven't mentioned it at all before, because I didn't want to admit it was happening, but I feel guilty for hiding things when so many people have been so awesome with their support and advice.

I think that I need to put a foot down soon. Liquid calories used to be a huge taboo for me, according to my ED overlords, and now I am learning that the more I actually like alcohol, the worse it can be for me, although in ways much different from the reasons I initially avoided it for so many years. Vice A used to protect me from Vice B, and now I've fallen into the trap of using B to manage A. Vice versa.

In a nutshell, I've discovered that alcohol can be very "useful" in some situations, probably a little too useful. With addictive substances, the line between use and abuse can be very fine indeed. I have been so wound up and stressed about so many things over the past few months, and it is more and more tempting to just let go and let myself forget about everything for a while. Also, I've been trying to stay on track with eating and everything, because I can't afford to slide backwards right now. Drinking 1) helps loosen my anxiety about food and 2) adds calories so that when I do eat, I need less food to meet my daily minimums. Feel calmer, have an emptier stomach, what's not to like? I don't go on drinking binges, don't pass out, don't get sloppy and stupid. I've only thrown up a couple of times. Basically, I have just enough to get me in the "zone" without making me feel to crappy to work out the next morning. But I'm afraid I'm getting too used to the buzz, too needy for that chemical comfort. And I know from past experience that if a problem is at the point to which I'm actually admitting it to myself, it is probably reaching a significant level.

I have read enough about alcoholism to know that you don't have to get drunk in order to abuse alcohol. It's like the myth that all anorexics subsist on nothing but lettuce and coffee. It's not so much the quantity of the substance, but the mindset and manner in which it is used, and the degree to which you are dependent on it. And dependence at level A often does lead to levels B, C, and so on, until the situation is unhealthy in both overally quantity and psychological quality. And I'm afraid and ashamed of letting myself cross that line. I don't want to be my father, and I don't want to crush my mother. But sometimes, everything is just so tiring.