IN THE END IT WAS SOUL SICKNESS
How like herrings and onions our vices are the
morning after we have committed them. . ..
Samuel
Taylor Coleridge
The hangovers, oh, the hangovers! The churning
stomach, the head made of lead, the thumbs that quivered, all accompanied
by an eerie feeling of disembodiment.
But even worse was the soul sickness, which included
remorse over what I had done, when I could remember what it was, or when
I couldn't remember, a chilling fear of what I might have done. Where
had I been, and with whom? How did I get home? I still remember
clawing through wallet, purse and clothing looking for clues to events
that the brain had failed to record.
The title of Florence King's autobiography accurately
describes what I was - a failed southern lady. When quite young,
I was often referred to as "a nice girl," which may have been the start
of my problem, as the description set me apart from many of my peers.
I didn't want to be a nice girl; I wanted to be like the ones who
were having fun. While I don't know what became of them, I know
what became of me. I became an alcoholic.
After graduation, I went to work as a secretary. Vowing
to behave myself, I only got drunk on weekends. I married a man who also
only got drunk on weekends, and a year later a baby boy arrived. If there's
anything a drunk hates, it's responsibility. Soon we were drinking more,
fighting a lot, and the marriage ended in divorce.
I got a better-paying job, but it was boring. Another
thing a drunk hates is boredom. I was not closely supervised, so
I began to drink heavily during the week, and often wore dark glasses
at the office to hide my bloodshot eyes. No one seemed to notice.
Now the hangovers were so severe that I took an occasional nip from
a bottle I kept in a file drawer.
One night after work I met a man in a bar. He
wasn't much to look at and had no polish, but we became drinking soul
mates. We met at the bar each evening, and things worsened at the
office. Only my resignation to get married saved me from dismissal.
After the wedding he took me and my son to his hometown,
which proved to be a hamlet in the backwoods of Virginia. Soon my
second son was born. By this time my husband and I couldn't stand
each other. I couldn't stand his hometown, and we rarely drew a sober
breath. The hangovers were daily, and the soul sickness was always
with me.
I knew a normal wife and mother didn't go through
life falling-down drunk, but by then I was truly addicted. The knowledge
of what I should be, contrasted with what I was, kept me in a state of
anguish, but I seemed powerless to change.
Though alcohol was ravaging my body, in the end it
was the soul sickness that brought me to my knees. I always knew
there was a God, but I never thought of asking Him to save me from the
consequences of my own actions until I reached the point where there was
simply nowhere else to turn.
It has been years now since I left the Virginia hamlet,
got my second divorce and had my last drink. Only in complete surrender
to a loving God, who sent me the help I needed, was I able to emerge victorious
from the deep, dark pit of alcoholism.
Thank you, God, for allowing me to become sick enough
so I could begin to get well.
Nancy
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