krex wrote:
Merle....I question the reality of everything all the time...a bit unsetteling but I keep being wrong and noticing how other keep being wrong and it's not that I don't believe there is a TRUTH but that I am jst not sure any of us bright enough to see it ?
I questioned if I was an alcoholic by the deffinition that AA defined it. I drank because I wanted to go see bands and dance and could only do those things drunk. I drank because I wanted to find a boyfriend and it was the only way I could stand to be around people...and they seem to like me better when I'm drunk (and I am more tolerant of them as well cause it shuts my brain up and I stop analysing everything...sweet release) When I stopped even trying to do any of those things I no longer thought I needed to drink,so I was obviously NOT an alcoholic....So it was OK to have a Mikes Lemonade...only one a night with my sister as a taste treat and reward for working hard that day..yummy, reminded me of my favorite drink...ameredo and lemon. But Mikes got so expenssive to buy, so I figured the most economic thing was to buy a large generic bottle of Ameredo and mix in a bit of lemon flavor to make my own "Mikes"....When I was drinking Mikes I never got a "buzz",slow drinker but I eventually noticed when I made my own I was "vibrating" and the hours were just flying by(my sister had moved out so no one to notice). I stopped. Maybe I'm not an alcoholic as the warned me....(fallying down,slobbering,starting the apartment on fire)but I was using a chemical to stop feeling and thinking....close call.
Every day I question being aspie...am,am not,am, am not....it is my brain ..to doubt and question...if that isn't aspie I don't know what it is.
Yes, Krex, if that isn't being aspie I don't know what is, either. And alcoholism is the disease that tells you you don't
have a disease. That always gave me pause, because I saw through it at an excuse to anything, and proof of nothing. When it finally got to my brain that I was allergic to alcohol, that it was like poison oak, a terrible rash that screamed to be scratched inside and left a trail of destruction just like on my skin when I scratched the itch to a bluddy pulp. I don't know who I became when I drank, and when it took over my body it increasingly put me less in remembering what happened when it was in control.
For years I ran ahead of that monster within myself, horrible and terrible she stood in front of cars racing towards her on the interstate highway, strenuously breathing in the gas an oil fumes and roiling exhaust, demanding they clear a path for me with halting hand outstretched. They quailed before my imperiousness alright! they honked and screamed and swerved and later, when the thing had left my body, I would be tossed to the side of the road in the ditch, shivering in the pines, in the cold night , forced to walk just to keep from convulsing with the cold. All this stopped when I stopped drinking, but I had no idea that it was the alcohol that loosed the demon within me. That was the 'connection' I didn't get. that is why they call alcohol 'spirits', because you can really them up in your Aspie Radar.
Merle