It Really Is That Intense – Part III(b) – The Single Years


In the last blog, part III is a retrospective of what being in a career and navigating the ladder of success while maintaining and active and alcohol filled social life. What is missing is what I did on the days and hours I wasn’t joining my cohorts on Thursday night drinking binges and conferences.

As mentioned, these were what I called the khaki days. Gone were the multiple earrings, the belly button got pierced and I began to hit the Top 40 / dance clubs with my younger sister. I also dated. I also spent a lot of time enjoying my condo and being “alone.”

To recap: I was ashamed. I had shame of myself, my actions. I changed everything.

What was I ashamed of? I lived a pretty raucous life in my early 20’s. I fought with my boyfriends fueled by alcohol but two of them were also drinking pretty heavily. One of them was an angry, abusive and foolish drunk and the other was a cocky, cerebral and just plain disgusting geek. (they exist) I was still settling for both.

Lets add on Friday and Sunday nights into my drinking habits. There were the few times I’d go out but normally I would hunker down in my cozy condo and grab a bottle of wine, eat something “Friday-like” (pizza, fish & chips) and watch my favorite shoes. Usually it was Ghost Hunters. Sometimes I would rent some movies. I would drink the whole bottle. No problem. Sometimes beer would follow. Most Fridays were OK. Then Sunday with the Sopranos. Bottle of wine. Maybe more. Sunday dinner and bedtime. I was OK.

If I had a boyfriend, they filled in the rest of the time usually. Now, I was leaning on the age of 30. Now that I think about it, I turned 30 on Martha’s Vineyard with a boyfriend that was questionable (settling, not truly loving) and I was trying to lay low. I knew my alcohol was annoying him but he was annoying me.

That guy from before. The one I fell in love with? The one that broke my heart? When we dated, we were wine drinkers. When he returned (because they always do), it was my turn. I drank harder and loved him from a distance. It wasn’t the same. I knew he didn’t love me. He loved the idea of what we had and not what we were suppose to build the first time. I basically got drunk. I got mad and I cried. We tried this TWICE.

Then I smartened up with men and how to choice ones to continue to date vs, the ones that lingered for the wrong reasons. However, my drinking at this time was full on habitual. I would drink conservatively on first dates but when the party was on; it was on. I started to find my alone times more comforting too. I needed my “alone time.”

When I hurt inside, I would drink and smoke and get quiet. I would ride it out. There was only one more man that hurt me. He hurt me worse than anyone. He lied.  I would have stopped drinking in a nanosecond if I thought for one moment he didn’t like it. I was that comfortable with him. I was also very comfortable with myself. (See future blog on Therapy) He made me laugh.  It was a natural fit but sadly, his soul is spiritually corrupt in its own way. His lying was something that could never fit with me. So I got rip ROARING drunk. I drunk dialed him and cried. He told me he was falling in love with me. That was the last time we spoke. After that, the drinking went back to the normal patterns.

Sunday. Tuesday. Thursday. Friday. Saturday. Sunday.

Layer this on top of work. The ages of 28-33 were productive and filled with heartache. Nothing worse for an alcoholic to deal with than stress, OCD and men.

Next Part. Part IV. Getting Married, Having Baby


Author: jenA.

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