Fighting Anorexia and Alcoholism: Alison's Recovery Story, Part 2


This four-part article series was written by Alison Smela. Alison offers more insight into addiction and eating disorder recovery on her blog.

Click here to read Part 1.

I married the love of my life. For the first two years the drinking and unhealthy eating behaviors were manageable, yet the secrets and lies were unending.

And then, on a cold Wednesday in January of 2002, after my husband left for work I grabbed my keys to go get my wine supply at whichever store I hadn’t visited for a few days – I certainly didn’t want the employees to think I was an alcoholic.

When I got home, I had a few glasses of wine without eating anything and thought I’d have time for a quick nap before I began hiding the wine supply I purchased that morning. I woke up to see my husband at the foot of our bed with 16 still full, airplane-sized wine bottles surrounding me.

A Chance to Change

The next morning, as I pried my eyes open, for the first few seconds I’d forgotten what had happened the night before. And then I remembered. This time I had no idea how I was going to talk my way out of what he saw and what I had done. All of the possible scenarios quickly ran through my head. I couldn’t string together any of the words I’d used in the past to get me out of a jam – this time I doubted they would work.

I was right. What happened next was nowhere near what I could have anticipated.

My husband was already up, showered and ready for work. As he walked into our bedroom, I studied his face. I looked for any type of body language that would give me a clue into what was he was feeling. Nothing offered me a hint to his emotion.

As he quietly sat down next to me, my blood ran cold. He was looking straight ahead rather than at me. I knew from experience he was orchestrating what he wanted to say. When he finally turned to look at me I still could not read the face I’d looked at for years. There was no anger. There were no tears. There was nothing. He was emotionless.

He took a deep breath and said, “Don’t be here when I get home.” He stood up and walked out of the room. He reached the top of the stairs and, without looking back at me, said, “I hope you find the help you need.” As his words resonated, I heard the back door slam shut. He was not only gone, he was done.

I could not move from the edge of my bed. Suddenly the room was totally empty, leaving me completely alone. Not knowing what else to do, I went to my closet, found a self-hidden bottle, poured wine into the glass next to my bed and called a woman I’d been talking with about sobriety. In rapid fire, the story tumbled from my lips as the tears slowly fell. She listened with full intention. When I finished, she gave me the phone number for a treatment center. I hung up with her and hung onto hope. I haven’t had a drink since that day.

Click here to read Part 3.


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