Starting over once again

Hi. My name is Rhonda and I’m an alcoholic. I’m also diagnosed with bipolar I w psychotic features. I’ve played medication roulette for years. Had several hospitalizations in the last 3.5 yrs when I had to face my demons and truly get help. I relapsed last night. In a big ugly way. I so desperately wanted an escape from the madness of my mind. I could no longer handle the anxiety and suicidal chatter that was plaguing me. I have a full time job that is testing my ability to stay sane. A few days ago I was in tears at 8am as I sat at my desk and surveyed the scene. By 4pm I felt invincible and of master importance. Being thrown around the roller coaster is exhausting. Holding all the stress, anxiety, overwhelm, uncertainty and fear behind my mask becomes too much. The burden that is me becomes too heavy.
Instead of picking up the phone, going for a walk, or jumping on the treadmill I drove straight to the liquor store. As he put the bottle in the black plastic bag I knew I was digging my grave. Thoughts of washing all my medications down with this forbidden poison flooded me. Ashamed of making such a purchase, knowingly and willingl giving up sobriety, I barely looked at the man behind the counter. I wonder what he thought of me.
The voices in my head were rumbling. My head was pounding. I took my first sip and almost gagged. But, the rest went down a little too smoothly. I am not a dainty drinker. Much like everything there is an underlying frenzy to how I move in the world. Swiftly I filled my body with what I was certain was medicine. It was going to help me calm down, relax, want to be in my shoes. The talk of a true alcoholic. The misguided thought process of a desperate soul seeking peace. Respite. Escape from the doldrums of mental illness.
The reality is I do not handle alcohol well. It’s like a chemical reaction. An explosion of pain, hate, and anger erupts. I point fingers. I yell, scream and stomp around. You would probably never believe what kind of monster I become. The words I spew are evil. I don’t find peace. I don’t find respite. I create a storm swirling around me so powerful things go flying in the air. My poor husband an innocent bystander and receiver of the evil words. It’s not pretty. Soon enough I am on the floor sobbing. Begging for forgiveness. Trying to explain I need an escape.
When will I ever learn? Alcohol is my enemy. It can never be my friend. It can never “help” a situation. I know others who have 20+ years of sobriety and some of the same issues I do. They manage to stay sober. I know it’s possible. People do it everyday. I’ve done it and I’ll do it again.
So here I sit. Starting over once again.