This is a place for me to share my thoughts on addiction, recovery, self-love, told in an no-bullshit and down-to-earth voice.
I had waited on starting this blog because my experiences with alcoholism and depression were so throbbingly personal, I wasn’t even sure I could have the courage to share them. But the more people I opened up to, the more positivity came back, and I realized I needed to tell my story.
Just over a year ago, I began posting on social media about “radical self-love”, a list of self-love activities I could do for myself that I had never done before. My intention was to have a place to “collect” my ideas about self-care and self-love for my own reference — I had no idea that others would benefit from this. And I really didn’t realize where this journey of self-love would take me. Or how radical it would be.
I realized that I couldn’t go any further with my radical self love program without seriously cleaning out my own closet and facing my problems with addiction. I felt dishonest and even fraudulent posting this self-love content on social media, knowing that I went home from work every day and quietly got hammered on my couch, because I secretly hated myself and my life.
I am an extremely high functioning alcoholic. I went to the pub most days after work and got somewhere between drunk and blackout, with whichever friend would join me. If I wanted a quiet night, I’d get a bottle of gin and drink the majority of it by myself on my couch watching Netflix. I would blackout regularly and not remember the end of the night on weeknights, and still get up in the morning and put on nice clothes and makeup and go to work. My hangovers had always been manageable so it became a slippery slope.
Weekends were a lot worse. Once Friday rolled around, I knew I was alcohol’s bitch, and it started scaring the hell out of me. I had no idea what kind of shit I’d get into on one of my weekend benders. I called them “lost weekends” because I usually could only remember glimpses of them. I would show up to work on Monday after one of my lost weekends with the worst shakes, but I’d get to work, so I flew under the radar.
On paper, my life seemed good. Everything looks better on paper. I had a great job, a fantastic apartment in a high income neighbourhood in downtown Vancouver, and money for the first time in my life. I had good clothes and I always looked well put-together. I didn’t look like a junkie or an addict. But even in my liquored up state, I knew things were becoming precarious. Inside I was a mess, and it was becoming harder and harder to keep my life together. I was rolling in late, and calling in sick more and more often with mystery illnesses. I had to cancel a photo shoot once because my hands were shaking so badly I couldn’t keep the camera steady. I was drinking in the mornings, then abusing prescription medication to try and level everything out.
Things fell apart, and I intend to tell that story here to help others. The good news is, I’m still here and I’m putting myself back together.
I hope that by sharing my story, I can help others who may be suffering.
