It started as a few drinks after work. . .

I asked myself what’s the harm in blowing off some steam a few nights a week with a couple of old friends. It was fun, helped me to relax, and took the “edge” off of work.

A few nights a week became more often than not. . .

It was tough economic times and the pressure I was experiencing at work was weighing on me. Alcohol helped release the tension and I found myself looking forward to heading to the bar after work each night. Over time, two drinks became four, and then four drinks became six. All the while, I was driving home each night.

She became concerned. . .

In the evenings when I came home drunk, the look on her face spoke volumes. It showed confusion, hurt and disappointment. She would tell me that our children missed their daddy reading them to sleep at night. She would tell me that she didn’t know who I was anymore and felt like we hadn’t talked for months. She would tell me how dangerous it was to drink and drive. She would tell me that she wanted me to stop drinking--but I would not listen.

That’s when the fighting began. . .

Our arguments over my drinking seemed endless. She began to resent me for all of the promises I had made to cut back, and I began to resent her for telling me how to live my life. I could only wonder what it was like for the kids to hear us screaming at each other all of the time.

What’s happening to me. . .

It’s when she left to live with her mother that I began to realize the extent of the problem. Alcohol had somehow driven a wedge between me and my family. How could this have happened? My family brought meaning into my life and now they were gone. In their absence, I felt depressed and alone. I began using alcohol to numb my feelings of guilt and shame, which always seemed to come back when the alcohol wore off. My emotions became so overwhelming that I began to change the rules around my drinking. Just a few in the morning to break through the depression, I need to get to work. Work is all I have left.

How could things get any worse. . .

On the day that they fired me, I went to the bar to think things over. I thought about the repeated warnings from my coworkers about the smell of alcohol on my breath, and how my supervisor had offered me a temporary leave of absence to address my “problem”. I thought about how I would pay for my next mortgage bill — or more importantly — my next bottle. Thought about where my family was at that moment and whether they thought about me. It had been months since we had last spoken what I did not think about was how I was going to drive home from the bar. When I saw the police lights in my rearview mirror, I asked myself, “When will this end?”, “Where will alcohol take me?”, and “How much more can I stand to lose?!”. When the police car zoomed ahead of me, I began crying.

I need help. . . I want help!

I told myself that I was exhausted running from my problems, I told myself that I was no longer willing to allow alcohol to manage my life, and I told myself that I want and deserve more. What I could not understand was how to manage the withdrawal symptoms that would occur when I stopped drinking or the emotional distress that I felt when alcohol wasn’t helping to numb my feelings.

It was at this point, that I called KeyStone!