Upon This Rock Bottom
by
The Small Bow Family Orchestra
This month we’ve got scary relapses, crazy-making work drama, disordered eating, disordered thinking, and all sorts of other messes and milestones.
Upon This Rock Bottom
by The Small Bow Family Orchestra
*****
“It’s been a couple of days since I hit the bottom of a three-week relapse after two years and one month sober. It started with one drink at my first work event since the pandemic, and, well, here we are. I kept it together, for the most part, sneaking drinks here and there, staying mostly under the radar or creating wild distractions in an accidentally too-tipsy moment to throw anyone off my scent (oh god, the baby just put a dead spider in his mouth!!!).
A few hours before I went ham, my therapist practically yelled at me to throw out the small amounts of booze we still kept in the house (my husband’s, tucked away in his workshop) to prevent an imminent relapse with a capital R.
In an emboldened-yet-harried state, I decided I would end the session and go dump all the booze. I drank it all instead. I left my house at peak buzz and went on a rage that I’m not quite ready to delve into. After three days of shaking and vomiting and crying and hiding from my children–there’s just no possible way I can ever do this again. It will destroy me, it will destroy my family. It’s just not an option.”
– Anonymous
*****
“A colleague accused me of "destroying their career" today in a widely-CC'd email and thankfully/predictably, nobody gave a fuck, myself included, which feels like progress. I still want to own it and quote it liberally in a stupid future memoir or personal email signature or something.
I feel lonely and to the left of misunderstood socially. Things I say get buried, things I need to address are at the forefront of my mind. Plans are ever-so-slightly askew and things I consider immutable about me are sort of dismissed. It's vague but a broad trend. I want someone to hold their hand out and offer it to hold, even for a few minutes or a few words. Just hey, I'm here. Squeeze and I'll squeeze back.”
– Anonymous
*****
“I'm in a spot right now, trying to kick a food addiction. The mechanics aren't that different from other addictions, from what I've learned talking to others recovering both at the hospital and in groups. but I'm in tight right now, having to fast for three months so I can have bariatric surgery to help me size down. I'm dangerously large right now. my family has always been supportive, but after 40 years of this, they probably aren't very hopeful of my recovery. my partner, she's amazing, but I sense her weariness, too. I'm exhausted by this as well, needless to say. I'm in week 4 of being "clean," and there have been a few slips, and I'm not sure how I'm getting through the next three months. Everybody says, one day at a time, and I'm trying. But I'm hungry, and the body doesn't understand anything else.”
– Anonymous
*****
“In the spring, my mom went into heart failure. She was also in the middle of a divorce, which led to me being her medical power of attorney. We spent the weeks she was in the hospital getting her affairs in order. She’s had a terminal type of heart disease since I was a kid (I’m now in my twenties), so it wasn’t like I didn’t see this moment coming–it’s just that you’re never really ready for a moment like that, no matter how much you prepare. Anyway, she didn’t die–she had surgery, made a full recovery, and we’re now back to where we were: She’s living her life with her disease as fully as she can. And I am standing in the background, watching, worrying, waiting for the call again.
I always spiral after her health events, but something is different for me this time. I have a support system of my own, of friends and a boyfriend and a lovely little dog. And they caught me when I came home, and continue to let me lean on them when the anxiety hits and I start checking my phone every ten seconds or when I zone out into the memories of ventilator alarms and gasping.
All of that to say: I am on the up-and-up and continuously learning how to ask for help. I started writing this feeling kind of desperate, and am wrapping it up feeling grateful that I‘m not checking in with the full weight of grief just yet.” – Anonymous
*****
“August is my birthday month, and I had planned for it to be so much better than last year when I spent my birthday alone and by myself (booo!). But instead, I spent my birthday flying across the country for work, and then, because apparently, I caught Covid the weekend before, flying home two days later as the symptoms revealed themselves and laid me low. I felt terrible for getting on that plane and exposing my fellow passengers, but what could I do (except wear a mask)? Because my partner caught it too, we had to cancel our vacation to Maine, and because we didn't get travel insurance, we were out $2,300.
But when I reflect on my reactions this time (acceptance and surrender) as opposed to what my reactions would have been last year (resentment and anger), I'm overwhelmed with gratitude. In other words, I'm running on a pretty good recovery high lately, and I'm here for it. Four years after discovery, the gifts of recovery are really shining through. And I'm so fucking grateful and relieved.”
– Anonymous
*****
“My sister just had a stroke. She lost vision in one eye and seems unconcerned with the several clots still in her brain. She wants to get home. She wants to pet her dogs. She wants to smoke a joint.
I text from across the country: “another way to look at this…” and I try not to sound judgmental. She’s doing the best she can, and I fear it is nowhere near enough.” – Anonymous
*****
“My life is just fine, the meds are working, and I've been sober for much longer than my current stretch (6 months). I may still relapse soon. It's like I'm wading into the water inch at a time, but I can feel the sloping beach under my toes.
Why? Honestly, I don't really know. I'm definitely on the milder end of the alcohol use disorder spectrum, making it harder to justify not drinking again. I've never lost my job, driven drunk, or woken up in an unfamiliar bed thanks to alcohol. I could have a drink or two at a party and be fine. Unfortunately, I'd be pounding back beers night after night a week later.
I should probably go to group, but I always hesitate (even though my one time in group, years ago, was wonderful). I'm six months sober, have literally written about addiction professionally, and am–outside of weighing the pros and cons of chugging a gallon of rum–more stable than I've ever been in my life. What is group going to tell me that I haven't read about or given as advice before?”
– Anonymous
*****
“I recently hit a big milestone: 1,000 days alcohol-free.
1,000 days of no hangovers.
1,000 days of remembering the day and night before.
1,000 days of being me, whatever that might mean.
1,000 days of not turning to alcohol.
1,000 days of keeping a promise. No matter what.
1,000 days of feeling the feelings.
1,000 days of finding what actually brings me joy.
1,000 days of trying to be a better me.
1,000 days of building a new life.
But I still remember Day 1. And the Day 1 before that. And the many, many Day 1s before those. Ok, most of those Day 1s I don’t actually remember because 2019–the year I first tried my hand at sobriety–is mostly a hazy blur. But there were many Day 1s and even more moments of ‘fuck it’. Getting to here from there feels improbable. If you were to write the story, your editor would send it back full of red marks saying ‘this character’s plot just feels unrealistic… I don’t buy it.’ Sometimes I don’t either but here we are.
I still try to find a good balance between living in my life now, but not forgetting where I’ve come from. The drunken fights and the regular blackouts and the rising morning nausea are my origin story. I make myself remember because I can’t go back. Now I actually have something to lose–which wasn’t the case for a long time. I’m grateful but mostly, I’m surprised. I still sometimes look around my life, searching for chaos that no longer exists. Now I feed on gossip and stranger’s drama. It’s nice.”
– Anonymous
*****
“I started going to Al-Anon meetings, my first one on July 21st. That night, as I attended via Zoom, my camera off and mic muted, I sobbed. I cried the entire time. Not because my life seems to be falling apart - my husband left me almost three months ago, I hate my job, and I have $23 in my bank account until Monday. But because I was hearing the things that I'd been feeling and thinking for so long, the things that I thought were incurable disorders I'd inherited from my boozy bloodline, only tempered by some magic pill. An adult child of an alcoholic...controlling, a bonafide people-pleaser to my core, a 36-year-old stranger to herself. They tell me to keep coming back, that I am in the right place, and that more will be revealed, and even though I am freaked out by working the steps and feel overwhelmed at finding a sponsor, I think that I am in the right place, and honestly, I will keep coming back, because, what do I really have to lose at this point?” – Anonymous
*****
“There is a lot about AA that I don't connect with, hence why I found the Small Bow, but one AA "saying" that I do value is "just make the next right decision/take the next right action." It's good advice but it can still be strange to view the accumulation of decisions all at once. I just turned 40 and when I look back at my life since getting sober, it can be disorienting. With each decision I made I tried to make a good, sober decision and now I find myself in a life I don't always recognize as my own. Not a bad life, in fact, it's pretty good most days, but a life that feels so different from who I was when I was drinking.
So I'm trying to regain my footing. As I said, it's a good life, I just need to feel comfortable calling it mine.” – Anonymous
*****
“It's been 2 1/2 months since my dad died. My mom would like me to visit again, but I don't have the energy right now. I'm usually in a bit of a depressive slump from midsummer until after the 9/11 anniversary passes, and then I generally perk up when it starts to cool off in the early fall. I feel okay if a bit shut down. Like I don't have a very full reservoir of emotional energy, which is maybe why I haven't been doing many meetings lately.” – Anonymous
*****
“August 15 was two years without drinking. I slowed down and then stopped during the first lockdown for several reasons, but the big ones were because a) being hungover while working from home every day seemed more miserable somehow than being hungover at the office, and b) I’d started working out again, fairly intensely, at the beginning of 2020 just before COVID landed, and it started to become clear that getting up stupidly early to bust my ass to the extent that I wanted to was not compatible with even casual boozing. After twenty-ish years of being an extremely talented and prolific drinker, I was surprised at how easy it was to cut it out; I was loath to use terms like “sobriety” because it felt cheeky and disrespectful—I didn’t feel like I’d bottomed out necessarily, and thus hadn’t earned the right to frame what I was doing in that way. Of course, the more I thought about it, the more I saw patterns and behaviors in my drinking that I chose to see as harmless for many years that, on reflection, were at least setting the stage for more serious trouble down the line. It felt good to let it go, especially combined with the exercise regime and a healthier diet. The world might have been an absolute piece of shit at the moment, but I was thriving in the pandemic.
I decided to start working out again when I weighed in at a bit over 200 pounds at the end of 2019. Started an intense seven-day-a-week video program that I’d done a variation of years before with what felt then like pretty good results; by the time COVID blew up, I was deep enough into this new plan that it felt fortuitous—I could focus on the nutrition and diet component now and get into incredible pandemic shape. I finished the program in twelve weeks, thrilled with what I saw, then started over but doubled the workouts and narrowed my diet even further. I was getting shredded. By the time I took my last drink, I’d probably lost 50 pounds. My wife had been getting less shy about voicing her concerns about the intensity with which I was approaching this, which I, of course, rejected out of hand. I felt like I was being persuasive: we’re in the middle of an unprecedented global health crisis, and you’re…worried that I’m being too healthy? That I’m saving too much money?
By Christmas, I was down about 70 pounds and thought I looked amazing. When was the last time I weighed this much? High school? I was tripling my morning workouts at this point and eating possibly enough calories to sustain a sedentary 12-year-old girl, my tight-ass skinny jeans were falling off my body and my hair was thinning and my skin was constantly dry and cracking and bleeding, but god what muscle definition. Springtime, down 80 pounds: I’d eat my wife’s discarded bread crusts out of the organic waste bin when she wasn’t looking and my legs pretty much didn’t work past 6 p.m. most days, but what extraordinary control I had over my body. I was laboring to shit pellets on the occasion my bowels actually moved and had started eating banana peels, but I hadn’t missed a workout even once. My wife would only openly cry in front of me sometimes. I was sure that was only when photos of me taken at bad angles would end up online and because every friend and family member with internet access messaged her, concerned that I was dying. Whose fault was that?
Then in November 2021, I got some kind of stomach bug and started having what can only be described as catastrophic diarrhea. For weeks. I could not work out. I could not do anything. One day I thought I was feeling better, but I almost fainted while walking the dog and had to run home half-blind before I shit my pants. At this point, I’d lost about 85 pounds since the beginning of 2020, or, you know, close to half my body weight.
But now I saw it. I saw what everyone else had been seeing: I was a fucking skeleton. I should not have been alive. I’d told my doctor about the stomach bug and filled her in on the broad strokes of what had been going on, and she insisted on a series of blood tests. At the very least, it seemed as if I’d made myself anemic, and some other cell counts seemed a bit off, but somehow I’d avoided the major organ shutdown that I, by all accounts, had more than earned. It was right around this time that you published your interview with Casey Johnston, which made me go read back through her archives, and things started clicking into place with humiliating speed. For the first 35 years of my life, I had never had anything resembling what I would have considered a complicated relationship with food. For the last two years, I had been erasing myself from the fucking planet: hours of punishing strength-and-body-and-brain-dissolving cardio, one single almond, and a few handfuls of literal compost at a time.
So, yes, as of August 15, it’s been two years without a drink, but it’s also been a month since I wrapped up a series of sessions with a therapist who specializes in eating disorders and seems pretty satisfied that I am not about to relapse. I’ve put on about 50 pounds, focused on lifting weights and getting big and strong as hell, and started eating like a horse to accommodate it (thank u, Casey). I do not make my wife cry anymore. I feel extremely, powerfully alive, and I am so glad I’m sober to enjoy it.”
– Anonymous
******
“I checked in for the beginning of July but then forgot about August. Why am I apologizing? I have no clue. I’d like to stop doing that. I’m in my home country for two weeks seeing family which is lovely, because I miss my family, but hard, because my family is unbelievably dysfunctional. Currently trying to deal with the fact that my stepfather bullied my mother into changing her will and has now moved out of our childhood home without telling us, disposing of several extremely loved family heirlooms. And I might not have been homeless for the last three months if he hadn’t spent our inheritance, hundreds of thousands of euros.
How do I strike a balance between feeling the emotions of this heavy, heavy betrayal and letting go of the justified anger? I don’t want to be weighed down. I have no money for therapy, and feel too ashamed of what a mess my life still is after 17 years in recovery to go to meetings in my hometown. Need to look into Zoom meetings in, I dunno, somewhere English- speaking anyway. This helps. I wish my life was less of a shitshow. I am incredibly grateful for the bits that fit together: my nieces, my friends, my gorgeous partner, the sunshine, the countryside. I’m really tired but glad to be alive.”
– Anonymous
*****
“I started a new job today after losing my career pinnacle job late last year. And then I lost another one after six weeks, because of the economy or some such thing. Anyways, the new job is full of lovely nerdy people who are excited I'm on their team, and they are paying me just fine to work part-time hours. So, of course, I came home and cried a bunch because my ego is having a temper tantrum and my gratitude game is not as strong as I tell people it is. But right now, I'm on the deck listening to the neighbor kid practicing piano, and he's gotten pretty good at it, so my pity party has a very dramatic soundtrack going. It'll all be fine.
I celebrated nine years sober on September 1. Cheers to that. “
– Anonymous
