Maggie: From Blackout to Breakthrough

My friend handed me a bottle of bourbon, and I drank it. I didn’t want to drink it. I didn’t want to drink at all. Yet, I still couldn’t stop myself from bringing the bottle to my lips. I had no defenseagainst it; I was powerless against that drink.

I had woken up that morning and realized I had no memory of the three days before. I barely remembered anything from the last twelve days, but I had zero memory of the last three days. I did remember that I hadn’t been to one class yet that semester. Papers and tests had come and gone and I, the A student and bi-varsity athlete in high school, now had a 2.07 GPA that was declining rapidly. I thought, well, that’s not so great. Maybe I should take a day off. That’s it, I’ll take one day off alcohol, then I’ll be good.

Growing up in New Canaan, I drank casually, socially, and rarely. Then some bad things happened in high school, and alcohol became my solution. When I got to college in New Orleans, it took one week to discover that I could go out, getblackout drunk, and forget (regardless of being underage) every single day.

I drank all day (my rule: I had to finish my eighth of bourbon before I could go out to the bars and clubs), and I blacked out every night (if I didn’t black out, I “didn’t party hard enough”). I’d often play a game with friends and numerous men’s sportsteams called, “Who can outdrink Maggie?” We’d go shot for shot and, although I was barely 105 lbs, I’d always win. I started waking up with a raging headache and “the shakes” every morning, and I’d need to hit my bowl and take a shot or two just to get out of bed. I had no idea the shakes were from alcohol withdrawal, that I’d completely lost control, or that I was an alcoholic. I just thought I had discovered the world’s greatest hangover cure: more.

So, on that fateful day when I woke up, didn’t want to drink, and then couldn’t not drink, I was terrified. I didn’t understand what was happening, but I knew something was wrong and I needed help. I called the only people I knew who could help: my parents. That was January 31, 2011, I was 20 years old, and I’ve been sober since.

That’s not to say my recovery was easy or certain from there. It was anything but that. I hung up that phone call with my parents in an absolute panic, “WHAT did I just do?!” Nonetheless, I came back to my parents’ home, fell onto the couch, and proceeded to detox at home. I had DTs: shakes, tremors,sweating, fevers, all with no medical support. My parents and I thought I had the flu. We just didn’t know. 

My parents immediately sought help from professionals and listened to their advice. They took me to my psychiatrist, whomI lied to profusely, yet she still sent me to a drug and alcoholcounselor. I lied to the counselor even more profusely, yet she still sent me to rehab. I showed up in rehab 10 days soberintending to drink as soon as I was released. I completely deniedthat I was an alcoholic until I realized I had to “walk the walk and talk the talk” to leave. 48 days into a 30-day program, I was discharged.

From rehab, I was sent to a sober house. I didn’t have a choice. My parents said if I didn’t go, I couldn’t come home. They set their boundaries and refused to enable my drinking. While sobriety was a terrifying concept, homelessness was worse.

That house forced me to go to 12-Step meetings, but they couldn’t force me to comply with the suggestions. They said get a sponsor (I didn’t), they said do the steps (I refused), they saiddo 90-in-90 (I rebutted, “You and what army?”), and they saidfind a higher power (I just scoffed at that). 

Eventually I realized I needed to stay sober for JUST long enough to get my parents and everyone else off my back, then I could drink the way I wanted to. I also realized that, to achieve this, I needed to do the work. Around that time, I met Abby. She was awesome and had that inexplicable something I wanted, so I asked her to sponsor me.

Abby was perfect for me. She didn’t shove the program down my throat or insist I do this or that. She accepted me as I was and allowed me the space to come to her. In time, I did come to her. I found my Higher Power and I did the work, and that work worked for me. It was critical that neither Abby nor 12-step programs have rules (they have suggestions), because I never did it the “right” way. I still don’t. I did what works for me and, 14+ years later, that’s still working. I’m still sober.

A lot has happened since I called for help. Most is greater than I could’ve imagined, while some has been… less great. I finished my bachelor’s degree and then earned two master’s degrees. I backpacked solo through 19 different countries. I cultivated amazing relationships with amazing people (both in and out of recovery communities) and am closer to my family than I ever dreamed. I’ve fallen in love, and I’ve known heartbreak. I’vebattled serious and life-threatening health issues. I’ve had so many seizures that I barely remember entire years. I’ve lived quite a life, and I learned the most valuable lesson: being in recovery doesn’t mean life is perfect. Life still happens on life’sterms. It just means that even when life is really, truly hard, I don’t have to drink anymore. For this alcoholic, that is the miracle.