Once an Alcoholic, always an alcoholic

They say, "once an alcoholic, always an alcoholic".

So, I guess I'm an alcoholic.

It started, when I was 21 and my childhood sweetheart broke up with me. We'd been together just over 4 years and I was devastated. I don't deal well with being dumped, I get reeeeeeally ugly. Except in this instance, it hurt so badly, I didn't tell a soul.

Life was different back then, there was no Facebook, Instagram or Twitter to ventilate to. 'Talking about it' meant picking up the telephone and calling someone, but there's no way I would've done that. It was my final year of university, so during the daytime, I studied and come 5pm, I started drinking. I was a fairly high functioning alcoholic, who managed to get decent grades and hold down decent jobs.

I lived alone in those early days, no one could've known how much of a grip alcohol was starting to have over me. Even if they had, I was too hellbent on a path of self destruction to have cared. When I eventually started going out again, I chose friends and boyfriends who didn't mind me drinking. We all had our own demons, and none of us really cared.

I spent the majority of my 20's either working, or drinking. I made a lot of bad decisions, I lost a lot of good friends, and I did some really stupid things, which I still pay for today.

By the time I reached my late 20's, I could out drink most grown men. All my friends were drinkers, every night we'd polish off a slab of beer or I'd drink half a slab on my own. I knew I had a problem but I felt completely powerless to stop. There were days, I literally felt pain in my liver.

I felt so ashamed of myself for not being strong enough to quit, I tried so many times to stop, but only ever lasted a day or 2. Every failed attempt at quitting, only fueled the addiction even more. What was the point in even trying to stop, when I was only going to fail?

Then one day, I discovered I was pregnant and I stopped drinking. Just like that. It was hell. The pregnancy hormones were raging and although the physical withdrawals didn't last long, the psychological withdrawals lasted well over 2 years.

When Max was in ICU, I wondered how I was going to get through, without alcohol. For almost 10 years, I used alcohol to block out every emotion imaginable. Yet, here I was, living a total nightmare with no way of numbing myself.

The ICU nurses often encouraged me to leave his bedside, in order to maintain my own sanity and prevent burnout. I always denied that I needed time away, but in reality, I did. On two occasions that week, we went to a pub not far from the hospital. I drank a bit on those nights, but made sure I stayed sober enough to still know what was going on.

Those two nights of drinking, only reinforced, my drinking days were well and truly over. There was something far more important in my life now and I needed to find a new way of coping. From that point onwards, I stopped craving alcohol. I'm still not entirely sure, how I coped during the early stages of this journey. There's every possibility I was completely batshit crazy but no one was brave enough to tell me.

Nowadays, I still have the occasional drink and have no problems stopping after one or two. I'm extremely cautious about the amount I drink and how often, because there is no chance in hell I'll let alcohol control me ever again. I'm happy for Max to know who I used to be, but he will never meet the person I was. That person went out the trash, along with a few hundred empty beer bottles.

My name is Faith and I'm an alcoholic.

10 weeks of normal

The first 10 weeks of Max's life, is something I've mostly avoided writing about. Partly, because it feels irrelevant, compared to our lives today. In the lead up to the 2nd anniversary of Max's stroke, I've found myself reflecting back on those first 10 weeks. 10 whole weeks of being 'normal' parents, with 'normal' worries. A time, which Max deserves to read about one day, if he chooses to. This post is for him....

Max, I was completely floored and unprepared for the intensity of the love I felt for you. It frightened the be-Jesus outta me and made me a little cuckoo (nothing has changed). For the first few weeks, I couldn't sleep, unless your father was awake to watch you breathe. One night, I busted him fast asleep during his 'watch'. Initially, I was furious but then realised, I was being irrational. Nonetheless, the sleeping routine that followed, was also a little bit nutzo. Your father and I slept on the couches, with your little basinette in between us. I couldn't fall asleep, unless both of us could see you.








When I was pregnant, I told you that once you were born, you should only poop for Daddy. You timed your first major poop explosion, for when I'd ducked out to a doctors appointment and poor Daddy copped it. When I got home, your fathers face was white. His retelling of the events, made me laugh so hard, I nearly broke a rib.

You first smiled at me when you were 4 weeks old. It came on the exact same day, I was so exhausted and had started wondering if you actually hated me. That one little smile, was the most amazing thing I'd ever seen and it melted me completely. I'm so happy I was the first person, to see your beautiful smile.



Gorgeous newborn smile



The first proper smile I got on camera



What were you thinking little man?

You had your first Immunisations when you were 7 weeks old. You cried and then I cried because I felt like a total meaner. We'd bought along a bottle to pacify you afterwards but I didn't put it together properly and it spilt all over your face (you cried some more). I was horrified!

You loved bath time, but for the first few moments you always pulled the 'Charles Manson' face....




.....then you remembered that baths were awesome and you'd relax....




You were a total mummy's boy and always wanted me to hold you. You spent most of the day and half the night in my arms, despite many people warning me not to 'create a monster'. After the stroke, you hated being held like that. I'm so glad I spent those first 10 weeks snuggling with you.




Your favourite song was 'Reminiscing' by Little River Band. I used to play it to you, when you were crying and it almost always settled you. I heard that song just the other day and the emotions it bought back gutted me.

A lot has changed since those first 10 weeks. I look back at the photos of us, your father and I look so different- so young, so unaware, so completely innocent. We could never have known how close we'd come to losing you. I still wish I could go back in time and prevent you from going through every shitty thing you've gone through.

Even though I knew you were destined for greatness, you've astounded me with everything you've achieved in only 2 years. I guess you're not really a baby anymore, you're a little boy with an amazing ability to cause mischief.

I like to think I can teach you about the world but in reality, you teach me far more. You helped me find strength amidst the chaos. For that reason, this will be the last anniversary related post I write. I'm burying it in the past where it belongs. I doubt June 2nd will ever pass entirely unnoticed but there's no point dwelling on it when the future is so bright.




Onwards and upwards little man. Don't let anything hold you back.


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