As he walks in the door I can’t help but exclaim, “I was just asked to write for Second Road”.  He gives me a hug and says, “That’s awesome..”. Then he looks at my face, “What’s that look?”. “It was suggested my first post be an introductory…” raising an eyebrow. We both know how well I do in that arena. When it comes to writing, there is a simple flow of thoughts to fingers, onto the page before me. Introducing myself…brings out hesitation, a reminder of my first AA meeting, or the lone aspect of my personality. I spent a lifetime avoiding people, not interacting with them. No, it’s not who I am now. So in light of that - let’s see what kind of introduction I can pull off.

I can give you the basic rundown : I’m a Deaf Cherokee woman, who lives in upstate NY with my husband of almost 6 years. We rescue strays (shots, spay, neuter, and re-home); there are way too many to keep an accurate count. Our home is filled with love, 4 inside cats, 4 outside (strays that couldn’t be domesticated), 1 working dog for the Deaf -Pickles, and one Fancy Goldfish. I have a married daughter who’s husband is currently deployed to Iraq. Sounds idyllic and peaceful doesn’t it? I would like to think it’s what becomes of recovery, finding that space to breath. If I pause to think about it, it’s only a 1/5 of my life - those years of drowning myself because the simple act of breathing brought about memories, a past I couldn’t escape…things that still haunt me, seem like another lifetime.

Six years ago I felt the lock slide off, the hinges creak, the door burst open and I couldn’t stop the flood of what escaped. You see…in life eventually you get handed a bad deck of cards; no matter how many hands you gamble with, you’re going to end up broken. That door that sprang open, was my past catching up to me. No amount of drinking, no amount of abuse was going to shut that door again.  A lifetime of human depravity overwhelmed me in one fell swoop. It almost killed me…  Some days it’s hard to live with the knowledge I can’t shut that door, I have to slowly wade through the memories and come face to face with my demons.  Not exactly what you would expect to go hand in hand with the simple introduction above is it?

Hi, I’m Indigo, I’m an Alcoholic…that’s another familiar introduction. The first time I had to utter those words, my mouth was dry, my tongue felt like it weighed a ton - swollen in my mouth. I found myself gasping for air, melded to the metal chair I was sitting in. It literally took several halting tries to finally get that word to escape - Alcoholic. Up to that moment I had been what is called a functioning alcoholic. I had no problem keeping a job; I was a workaholic, easily working 60-70 hours a week. I had no problem working those hours, coming home and having the house spotless, along with dinner on the table. It was the quiet moments when the noise in my head abated and there were no distractions that I couldn’t deal with. Those moments when sleep would threaten to offer up a key to unlock that door that imprisoned me. Those moments when I was alone…I couldn’t drown myself, numb myself enough, fast enough…Eventually no amount of Alcohol could/would save me.

I was fortunate enough to make my first year of sobriety with a great AA home base. Unfortunately…I went Deaf soon after. Following the meetings became almost impossible. I didn’t know sign language at the time (still don’t), even with the ability to read lips rather well it was difficult. How do you ask someone who is hanging their head, struggling to get the words out, to look at you so you can follow what they say? You get the idea. For me, that first year gave me the tools to breathe, to want to remain sober. I keep a picture in my head front and center. It’s not something everyone would want to remember on a daily basis. It’s my saving grace in all it’s ugliness.  I’m looking at my reflection in the bathroom mirror, I raise the wine glass to toast surviving yet another beating. The mirror reflects back to me a woman with mussed hair, black eyes, blood running from her nose and a split lip. Yet here I am toasting my reflection…The picture changes faces in different scenarios, yet it’s still me beaten - broken. That’s my reminder, the picture I hold close to me. Alcohol wasn’t saving me, it was helping imprison me in a world of abuse.

Yes, it’s a sketchy introduction. Life doesn’t give you drawn out definitions of who you are, who you will become. It’s a fine example of how certain memories reinsert themselves in my life of sobriety. Eventually all the pieces of the puzzle will find a way here. From time to time I still relive them. It’s my hope, over time those moments of haunting reflection lose their potency in my life. Slowly the more recovery time I put behind me, I’m learning to deal with life on life’s terms. I hope you will continue to join me each week as a little more of my story breaks the surface of who I am. Hi, I’m Indigo, I’m an Alcoholic.