So I am a recovering alcoholic. My mom is an alcoholic, my bio dad was addicted to multiple substances, along with grandparents, aunts, uncles and cousins. I quit drinking at the beginning of 2010 after a series of unfortunate events. I started drinking when I was 12 and quit when I was 29. The series of events that led to me checking into the behavioral unit (aka a psych ward) on January 26, 2010 are as follows: I got a DUI in August for going the wrong way on the freeway and lost my license. Then I got dumped. Then I lost my job . Said guy claimed to love me and we got back together. We drank so much I barely remember dating him for nearly 3 months. Then I lost my place to live. Then he dumped me again via email like the fucking snake he was. 3 weeks later I was a shadow of my former self; drinking as soon as I woke up and planning my suicide. I was drinking around other people and silently thinking of ways to kill myself . I even wrote it in my journal. Someone saved my life when I spoke up and finally had the guts to admit I was drowning in despair. They took me to the hospital and said “this is my friend and she has a suicidal plan”. I spent the night there and was transferred to another hospital where I was admitted under a 72 hour suicide watch. They took everything I owned and put me in a room. I did not want to leave the room at first but I slowly started participating in everything they asked me to do. I had my parents visit and bring some of my things. When I left after the 72 hours I had been diagnosed with alcoholism and severe depression. They asked me to do inpatient rehab and gave me antidepressants. I declined inpatient and said I would do the outpatient with the caveat that if I took one drink I would go to inpatient. I still have not relapsed to this day. I went to outpatient rehab 3x a week, AA once a week, and therapy once a week. Fast forward to September 2010: I’m in my bathtub looking back on my sobriety so far. I’m thinking about the first few steps:admit your life is unmanageable, alcohol rules you and come to believe in a higher power. It hit me like a bolt of lightening: I finally believe in God! ( I was pretty much an atheist at this point). And so it began: my life as a child of God, for lack of a better term.
I still believe in him. He brought me to Jim in a very strange way, and he blessed us with Grace. But for him to allow my beautiful daughter to die? When she was literally made from love, and all she knew in her short life was love? That is so fucked up dude! I hate him for that at times. Most of Jim’s family is Catholic, which I personally view as basic brainwashing. So they are always trying to shove Jesus down our throats …ugh. But they mean well, so I try to keep that in mind. It was pretty cool when my mother in law told me how she felt that God sees Jim and I as strong, amazing and precious people, and that Grace’s life was a gift. I was moved to tears as we were on the way to my six week check up. My father in law saw her and spoke to her in a dream the night she was born. We had a chaplain bless her , and we had a memorial at my in laws. The place was filled with people who loved us, and who loved her so much. God was there too. So yeah, I still believe, maybe more now than ever before.