It's OK to Tell the Truth

Hi everybody, I am an alcoholic and my name is Patty. I have chosen to go by my real name from here on out. The alias Dirty Dishes no longer seems in any way appropriate for me use.

This story in no way conforms to the third tradition of Alcoholics Anonymous. It is my story though, and my blog. This is not an AA meeting. Having said that, I will also tell you, reader be warned, there may be some stuff in here that makes you feel "icky," if you are newly sober, there may be stuff in here that makes you want to drink.

My sobriety date is October 24th 2005. The best day of my life hands down. I set upon a journey that had gifts and blessings that were beyond any expectations that I could have ever had. All I wanted was a new way to live. I got that and so much more. Here is my story.

My earliest childhood memory goes back to when I four years old. I was allowed to walk to the candy store all by myself from our apartment building. The reason I have such a vivid memory of this is my first memory of being molested. God has spared me many of the gory details, but not all. I will spare you the gory details. I do remember that he used to give me free candy and then he would take me in the back room and do bad things to me. I would get more candy before I was told I better go home now. I never told anyone.

At this same age between four and five I was also molested by an older cousin. He would graciously volunteer to take me upstairs to the bathroom at my Grandmas house. I was afraid to go up there all alone. He molested me in that bathroom, while the his parents and my parents and grandparents were downstairs laughing and talking. I never told anyone.

When I was six, my parents divorced. That started a life filled with lots of moving around from place to place. One of the places we lived was way out in the country next door to my uncle. He had two teen-aged sons. Those two sons, who were my cousins, and their best friend, molested me on a daily basis that entire summer and throughout the school year. I was seven. I never told anyone.

My Mom remarried when I was ten years old. We moved to the city. I loved my school. I had friends for the first time ever! I remember during that time, that a good friend of hers had a "nervous breakdown." She was on the fifth floor in the hospital, you know, the "loony bin." All of this was discussed in hushed voices. I remember asking my Mom what a nervous breakdown was. She told me that you go all crazy, and feel like you want to jump out of your skin. You feel all jittery and weird inside. That scared the shit out of me. I felt like that all the time. I did not want to get locked up on the fifth floor and have them give me shock treatments. That is when I consciously started pretending and hiding my feelings. I would lock myself in the bathroom and pull out chunks of my hair, and punch myself in the face and head. I have never told told anyone about that until today, in fact I only recently remembered doing it.

A couple years later we moved to the country in a different school district. We were very isolated. I was unable to participate in any school activities. My relationship with my parents was very strained, as is the norm with most teenagers I guess. I remember when I was twelve, I got my period. I was so excited and so was so my Mom. We went to the drug store together and got all the necessary supplies. I was becoming a woman! A short time after we got home, my Mom took me off to the side. We needed to have a talk, as/per my step-father, I was not to use any of the wastebaskets in the house for my "smelly garbage." I was to keep all such trash hidden in my closet in a paper bag until trash day when the garage was to come, then I could throw it away.
It was shortly after that, the visits started in the middle of the night.

Alcohol was never a big deal in my family. I can never remember a time when I was not allowed to have a glass of wine or beer at a family gathering. I was almost fourteen. I wanted to have a slumber party for my birthday that was coming up. My Mom said it was OK with her, but of course I would have to ask "Him." I was afraid of "Him." My Mom was working the midnight shift then and was getting ready to go to work. He was drinking. He knew I had something that I wanted to ask him. I knew that when he was drinking he was much more approachable and "cool." He told me to sit down and we would talk. He made me a drink. My Mom was on her way out the door. I remember her telling him, I don't want her drinking too much. He was mixing me up another wine cooler and showed her that it was mostly 7-up. I went to walk my Mom out to her car and turned around and came back into the kitchen for something. He did not see me, but I saw that he was pouring a bunch more wine into my drink. We sat and talked and drank for a long time. He said so many nice things to me. He held my hand. He said he wanted to be more like a real father to me. How he wanted me to be able to trust him and love him. How he did not want me to be afraid of him. He also told me that our ages were only 15 years apart, and if anything ever happened to my Mom, I could be his wife. I started feeling a little bit uncomfortable at that remark, and also flattered. I was very drunk. It was my first real drunk. I remember going upstairs to my room feeling very victorious as well. I was going to have a slumber party with all my girlfriends!
At some point in the middle of the night I woke up and he was in bed with me. I started screaming. That's all I remember. I woke up the next day covered in vomit. I have no recollection of throwing up. The next day my hangover was a big joke. I became very quiet and reclusive. I never told my Mom what happened until two years later and hundreds of fights later between the three of us about smoking, my being reclusive and un-affectionate towards my stepfather. I decided I wanted to live with my Dad. My Mom wanted to know...Why? Why? Why? My Dad was in the driveway waiting for me and I just blurted everything out about the night I got drunk. I did not tell her what he had said to me about someday being his wife. I guess I wanted to protect her from that. The first words out of my mothers mouth were, "Who did you tell?" They went upstairs and had a big fight and left me alone downstairs. I was pacing back and forth and crying. I felt so sick. I wanted to die right then and there. They came back down and told me it was all a mistake. A misunderstanding. He had no recollection. I said OK I am sorry. I left with my father and never told him about it. He still does not know about it to this day.

When I went to live my Dad I was 16. Although there were many problems in that household, not all of them revolved around me, and I felt "safe." I was introduced to keg parties and marijuana. I loved it! I had found that sense of relief I had never felt in my whole entire life. Everything just slipped away. All the shame and insecurity. People thought that I was genuinely funny. Oh, yeah, I had arrived indeed! A year later he and his 2nd wife were getting a divorce and I had no choice but to go back and live with my mother and stepfather. I was 17. They had moved and I would be starting my senior year in a new school where I knew absolutely no one. To say that things were strained is such an understatement. I got a part time job and was making pretty good money and attending school, I was even getting good grades. I met a real cool group of kids that all partied and I became "a part of" for the first time in my life. I fit in somewhere. The new school was in the city and it did not take long before I was introduced to the bar scene. This I thought is what I have been looking for my whole entire life! Excitement, drama, loud music,guys, free booze. Yippee! I drank almost every day all day in my senior year. The bars opened up early in the morning to cater to third shift workers. All the windows were painted black so it was hard to tell what time of day it was. I prided myself on being able to hold my liquor. I never drank beer or wine. It was kamikazes for me. We would start at 8 am and drink until 2 pm. I would then go back to school and go to chemistry class. I was planning on going to nursing school at the time. I got kicked out of school 2 months before graduation for not going to gym class. I really did not care. Soon after that I ran away from home. That was one of the happiest memories of my home life. In the middle of dinner my stepfather started started screaming at me and my mom because I had left a wet towel on the bathroom floor. As always he had to put mom in the middle of it. I got up to clean up my "mess" and changed my mind and turned around and said "Hey, you know what? GO FUCK YOURSELF ASSHOLE!!!!" I packed a bag and left.
I remember he and my mom driving around looking for me. Calling for me. I hid in the bushes at the church up the street from our house and cried and cried. I had no where to go, but I could not ever go back there. They had the police out looking for me and everything. My mom was a mess. I did not care. I hated them. I was sick of all the control and fights and brow beating. I went to my favorite bar that night and got really drunk and had a blast! (I have since made amends to my mom for this.)

I remember one winter I had no where to live and no money. I was walking around with what little I had in a garbage bag. My friends were sick of me mooching off them all the time. It was cold, and I remember my biggest concern was where was I going to get my next drink? Oh, I had hustled drinks before, but I always liked to have enough money for at least the first one! But I had to drink, because if I didn't, reality would come crashing down on me. All that stuff I had been hiding all these years would be right in my face. I would actually have to live with who I really was. An unworthy piece of shit. Ashamed hardly covers it. Alcohol was my medicine, my master. By this time alcohol was not the only thing I had come to love. I did every drug except for PCP(that I know of) and I have never stuck a needle in my arm.........yet. I know for a fact I snorted heroine more than once, we used to call it a speed ball. I could party for days on that shit, of course you had mix a little meth in here and there too. Somehow, (by the grace of God) I survived all that shit and much more. I have had guns pointed in my face and escaped so many near misses by a sudden moment of clarity that I always referred to as women's intuition. I realize today that God had plans for me somewhere down the road. I really should not be alive.


The next seven years of my life were spent moving from place to place, bar to bar , man to man. I went from one abusive destructive relationship to the next. One failed relationship resulted in a failed suicide attempt after I tried to kill myself by taking an overdose of pills. That was nothing new, I always felt like killing myself when a relationship failed. And I use the word relationship very loosely here. I would be planning my wedding on the way back to my place with a one night stand. Men were my higher power. If I could only find someone to love me, I would be OK. Why don't you love me? I gave you what you wanted, right? Alcohol was always there for me in the aftermath of these dramas. During this time the only time I saw my family was on holidays usually, and we all acted like one big happy perfect family. We never spoke about the past. Ever. Except for one time...... I was in my early 20's. My parents were going out of state to visit a distant relative and they actually asked me to come along. I said yes and was very excited. Maybe we could be a real family after all. They were to be arriving to pick me up any minute and the phone rang, it was my Mom. She called to tell me that "He" had said that I better not bring any of that "wacky weed" in their car. Why the hell would I do that? The place we were going it was cocktail hour all day. Open bar, top shelf 24/7. No worries, Mom. We got where we were going and it was just like I said, open bar...Yeeehaw! The evening started to wind down and most everyone was heading off to bed. Everyone except for me and Him. He asked me to go for a walk with him, he said he needed to talk to me. We went down to the dock and he proceeded to apologize for everything. I did what almost all victims of abuse do. I not only forgave Him, but I also took all the blame. All of it. It was my misunderstanding because of my past, because of what had happened to me when I was real little. No, Mom did not know, and please do not tell her. After I told him about all that, he started in with his creepy talk about if mom ever died and blah, blah, blah. Then he asked me if I had brought any pot with me, because he would really like to smoke some! I almost fell in the Atlantic Ocean on that one.
The next day my mom was pissed. She told me maybe I better ride home with my aunt and uncle. When I got home that night she called and wanted to know just what exactly went on down at that dock, because "He" would not tell her, because "He" had promised me he would not tell. So I told her, about the past abuse and why that was why I accused "Him." That's right, I tied everything up in a nice, neat little package and put a pretty little bow on it for her and everyone was happy ever after. Well, almost everyone.



At the time this happened I was living with a girl I met at work. She was the first person I had met that had a story like mine to tell. I believe today that she was an angel sent by God. We are not as close today as we were. I am saving a seat for her in the rooms of AA. It was through her that I met the man who would be my husband. He was from out of town, out of state actually. He had a job. I thought he liked to party like me. Six months later when we got engaged and I moved out of state with him I found out different. I felt tricked! So began a huge resentment. Of course I did not know that at the time.

It was a painful thing for me to leave the bar scene behind, although he would take me out from time to time. But he always wanted to leave before closing time. He was a bonified party pooper! I married him anyway, because I truly did love him, and he has a been a good thing for me. We have had our ups and downs that is for sure. Some of them have been written about here. God and the 12 steps saved my marriage.

I also had a big resentment towards God. You see, all I ever wanted was to be a mom and have a family. Not like the fucked-up family that I came from from. I would be a perfect mother and I would have lots of kids and I would love them and you better believe I would protect them. In 1997 I found out that none of this was ever going to happen unless we took out a second mortgage on our house and had them made in a test tube. $20,000. no guarantees, high risk,multiple births, freezing embryos, aborting embryos. It might as well have been twenty million. God had done me dirty and I hated Him for it. WHY ME? I am a woman for God's sake! What the hell else did he put me on this planet to do? I went on two year binge of depression laced with alcohol and cocaine.

Over the years, I had turned into one of those drunks who had to hide now. I tried to drink like a lady in public, until I got drunk, then just did not give a shit what anyone, let alone my husband thought. I loved to drink like a pig. I could abstain for certain periods of time, then I would go off like a "caged animal" on speed. Towards the end I was drinking alone in my home most of the time. By the time my husband arrived home from work each day it looked as though I was on my first beer. He had no idea that I had been at it all day, see, I was still one of those drunks who could hold my liquor, unless I blacked out of course, then you had to tell me what happened. Many nights my last memory would be of us talking at the table having a beer, the next thing I knew, it was two am and I was on the couch fully clothed. There would be evidence that he had cooked himself supper. I never had any recollection. By now he knew better than ask me to do anything besides have another drink when I was drinking, unless he wanted a big fight on his hands.

I was so scared. Every day I had to drink more and more to get rid of the pain, to run away from myself. The alcohol was failing to do it's job. Oh I was drunk alright! But, I was still in so much pain. The pain would not go away. I was thinking about ending it all.
My marriage was a mess. We fought constantly. I blamed it ALL on him. None of this my fault. It was God's fault, It was his fault, it was my parents fault, most of all it was the fault of the people who abused me.

I went to my doctor in August of 2005. I told him I needed something for my nerves. I was hoping for Valium or something, just in case I decided to make a plan. I was sick of running away to other locations, I wanted to run away from everything permanently. That son of a bitch referred me to counselor. THANK GOD! God only knows why I picked up the phone the next day and made an appointment. God only knows why I kept that appointment. And I kept going back. Here's the funny part.... I wanted my husband to be the alcoholic! So this wise, kind lady suggested that I start going to Al-Anon meetings. God only knows why...but I did, and I loved it! But something was just not quite right. I was still drinking, but I was trying so hard not to, and it was very hard not to on most days, so I did. I even bought NA beer and started drinking that, because I only drank for the taste you know! One of those and I was right back into the real stuff fast. In Al-Anon, I learned the serenity prayer. I learned to look at myself. I learned about being powerless over other people. I decided to give God another chance. I did not for one minute think that He would give me one though. I managed to stay sober for five whole days. By the end of the fifth day I was pretty down and out. I wanted to drink really bad. I not only wanted to drink, I was having bad thoughts again, go out with a big bang and end it all. It was going to be an alcohol and drug fest the likes of which no one had ever seen! I got down on my knees that night and said those words that I now know so many before me have said. I said, "God please help me." I no sooner uttered those words from my mouth and I lifted up my head and said, "Oh my God, I am an alcoholic!" Upon saying those words, I felt as if the weight of the world had been lifted off my shoulders, AND the desire to drink that day disappeared. I had experienced my first of many spiritual awakenings. I think it is important for me to tell you that at this point in my life-I was not homeless, I was not carrying my belongings around in a garbage bag. I had plenty of money to buy all the booze and drugs I wanted. I had a really nice car, I was not in trouble with the law, all my bills were paid, I think you get the picture, I had lots of STUFF. It did not matter. I had hit my bottom.
On October 24th 2005 I walked into my first meeting of Alcoholics Anonymous. I stood up and said "I am Patty and I am an alcoholic."
I went to meetings for about two weeks before I ever told my husband. Things in my marriage were not fixed over night. In fact, he had his doubts about me being an alcoholic at all. I still wanted to blame him for everything and wanted to leave him. I listened-God only knows why, to the women in this program who told me to wait at least one year. One year? I'll kill him by then!
I floated around on my little pink cloud for quite a while in AA. I used the people in the rooms as my main higher power. I did not have a sponsor. I had gone through a couple then broke it off when it came to doing any actual action work. At six months sober, I was having thoughts of suicide again. I wanted to get real drunk first though. I went to a meeting that night and heard a woman tell her story. She spoke about her husband and her marriage. She spoke of how now, they pray together every day. Thats what I wanted more than anything in the world. I was so touched by her story, I could not even make a comment. I ran out of the meeting and burst into tears. She came over to my car and talked to me. I asked her to be my sponsor. She said yes, and I started working the steps. I started following suggestions. I started hanging out with the "winners." Soon, I had a whole network of women I could depend on any time of day or night. I became dependable too!
I thank God for this woman, and all of the women of AA who got here and stayed. After I started working the steps my life and my marriage became less of a burden to me. At eight months sober, I began to see my husband in a different light. Things were not perfect, but I was grateful. Things are still far from perfect today, but they have never been better. I had gone about as far as I could go with my counselor. I needed to work on my abuse and she flat out told me that she was not qualified.
When the sponsor I have now began sponsoring me, the first thing she STRONGLY SUGGESTED I do is get back to counseling. She knows this entire story and more. She told me I could stay sober the rest of my life, but if I wanted to recover, I had to do this for myself. So I did.

That is what I have been doing. It has been a bitch!!!!!!!!!! I cannot express that enough! Many of you have been on this journey with me for the last few months. I know I have been evasive at times, and that is all just pure fear.
All of this brings me up to this moment right now today. In my last post, I wrote about how dissappointed I was in myself. But, then I said it was a firedrill. Well, it was a firedrill. Thursday was 9-11.
I have been dealing with a lot of anger having to do with my abuse. Anger at the abusers, mainly my stepfather, anger at my mother for not protecting me. Anger at myself, for lying and pretending all these years that everything is fine. Oh, look arent we just one big happy family? No secrets here! Gag! Puke! Gag!
When I got off the phone Wednesday morning the first time it was with my brother.

"Pat, Mom is upset, she is crying, she said you won't call her back, she's really upset. You need to get over this shit and get on your life, it's over and you can't change it." Very true, only that is not working for me anymore. But, just like the good old days, his manipulation, and that of my mother worked like a good old charm. I picked up the phone and called her.

"Oh, no, everything is fine, you forgot my surgery, that's OK don't worry. Stop crying Mom. Don't worry it's OK, really It's OK. Oh, wow! Golfing with someone famous huh, that's great Mom. Oh, getting a new car, that's wonderful! I would love to see you. This weekend? Oh sure, that would be nice"

When I got off the phone I wanted to pull out chunks of my hair and start punching myself in the face.

I knew I would be getting a call the next day to confirm that they, yes they, her and Him would either be coming or not coming. I had just finished writting this post, and the phone rang. I said a quick prayer. I grabbed a 5X7 index card from the cubby at my desk and wrote this: IT'S OK TO TELL THE TRUTH. That came from God, I just know it did. The statement cam e God, the suggestion to write it came from my friend HOPE.

I began to tell her the truth for the first time in my life. I said Mom, I need to be honest, My brother did call me yesterday morning. She said oh, I know that! It's OK I forgive you honey. I said no, Mom, I can't lie anymore, I have to be honest about everything. She still did not get it, so I gave that up. I said Mom, I have to be honest about this too, I have not been answering your calls because I have not wanted to talk to you. You have no idea what I am going through in counseling, I am dealing with a lot of shit.
Oh, the stuff from when you were little?
Yeh, and there a lot more that you do not know about too, Mom.
There is?
Yes.
I told her everything.
E-ver-y thing.
I told her what he did
I told her what he said
I told her she was married to a predator and a child molester.
I told her I can honestly say that because he molested me.
I told her I lied, because that's we do.
I repeatedly told her that I was not doing this to hurt her.
I told her I loved her.

She asked who else knows?

I told her the only people who know, are the ones who need to know.

Does your husband know?

Yes,of course he knows!

Oh, My god.

Mom, you and your husband are no longer welcome in my home

Mom, I will no longer come and sit in your home and pretend that everything is OK with a fake smiley plastered on my face

Who else knows? Does your brother know?

Yes

OH MY GOD!!!!!

Are you going to come up here and raise a big ruckus?

Are you going to have "Him" thrown in jail?

No, Mom, that's not what I want. I want to forgive someday, that day is not today.

I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry.

Thanks for saying that you are sorry Mom.

You must really hate Him.

No Mom, I hate what he did to me. I hate pretending that it never happened. I hate pretending that everything is OK.

But, let me tell you this, Mom, if there are ever any grandchildren, their parents will know. I will warn them.

You will?

Yes, I will

Oh, my God, What am I going to do?

There is only thing I can tell you do that might help Mom, it's the only thing that has gotten me to the point that I am at right now.

What's that?

Pray to God mom, pray to God.

Well, I better get going, I'm going to be late for my chiropractor appointment.

OK,Goodbye, Mom.

This all happened on Thursday morning. I have been trying to keep myself from running scenarios through my head of what if anything is going on in their home.
That is none of my business.

You might think I am a cruel selfish bitch for "doing this" to my mother.
I don't care if you do, I don't care if they do. That's none of my business too.

I actually had a spiritual experience from this. I feel cleansed. I feel clean.
Yesterday I got all that anger out. I carried on for over half an hour. I have never screamed and cried so much in my whole life. Today, I can barely speak and my arms and shoulders are sore from all the punching. It's worth it.

I do not have to lie anymore.

IT'S OK TO TELL THE TRUTH!!!!