Plum Sake and Pot


I promise we will be okay.

My son wrote this on a page in my recovery book. 

 Words a young child should not have to ever say to a parent. I remember when he wrote that. I felt so small and ashamed. How could I ever have behaved in such a way that my oldest son had to take care of me? Him worried where I was sleeping at or if I was alive or dead? Him barely even a teenager and me a grown woman. I think his dad and grandparents did a great job protecting him and his brother from the alcoholic “her” inside of me. Unfortunately not fool proof and I did a lot more harm than good. Have you ever met a her like me? We are good hiders until we’re not. Not, for me isn’t far out of reach after my day one and like many before me it took another round and a blow to the head to convince me I most definitely do not have what it takes to drink with impunity. 

If you know me you would likely say I am energetic and appear to have it together. Those closest to me know how quickly I can go from put together to violent or barely breathing from too much alcohol consumption.  I get it. We all drink a little too much on occasion. The likes of you that never drink or the alcoholic gene bug skipped you then please understand you are true heroes to me. I admire your abilities. 

If I could go back in time and change one thing; it would be to have listened to my family after my dad died from alcohol poisoning.

C.C. don’t drink. C.C. don’t drink. C.C. don’t drink.

What did C.C. do? Like always, C.C. drank. C.C. was smarter. C.C. wouldn’t ever be as bad or as heavy a drinker as her dad and will not let it kill her or get her arrested and she damn sure will not let it ever be more important than her children.  Alcoholism is a sneaky old bastard like that. It comes in many forms. They were all right and I most definitely did not prove them wrong. C.C. in fact did not need to drink.

A silent killer of all things good, to someone like me.

Who is C.C. ? She is me. The childhood nickname given to me from my family. It started with curtains and a crib. Of-course other people took advantage of it and C.C. was used to humiliate me often growing up. My sister shared a teaser too.  I hated people and my sense of humor was not impressed with the ridiculous inappropriate names they labeled C.C. standing for. When you are a kid though you have to accept a lot of things you do not like. Smile and carry on. That is how I saw things for sometime before I started developing what I like to call the beginning of my resentments list. I was a kid. Innocent, pure, likable, gullible and often wearing a FAKE smile. Not with my Grandmother though. I felt happy with my Grandmother. Some think it’s because she spoiled me. I know it is because she genuinely loved me. I got the kind of love from her that built the heart I have today.  I could talk to her about wetting the bed, if dad didn’t come home or if my step mom was ripping my hair out after my bath. 

I will share many things in this blog from where I come from to where I am and all my thoughts and feelings in-between. I will vent, I will cry, I will curse and I will grow from this. 

I do not expect anyone to agree or to accept what is written in these blog entries. What I share does not come with a PHD. It is solely BTI. ( Been Through It ) 

I do hope that by sharing my experience it can help shed insight as the alcoholic and as the adult child of an alcoholic. Shit, who am I kidding the adult child of a family addicted to all kinds of crap. It is what it is. This blog is not the book but it will shed light on it.  

This blog is my practice page, writing and sharing page, my experience and possibly build a following to take with me in the future page. 

If it fails, well I tried. Nothing more. That IS a lie. I’m going to be so frustrated if I don’t figure this out. I might throw a hissy fit and say a few choice words. I will not quit though. I WILL NOT STOP UNTIL THE LESSON IS LEARNED. Even if the lesson is to hire someone else to do it for me. Soon maybe, but not yet. I love a challenge and to learn new things so where better to start than my future?

I will bring topics about loss of a child, a parent and some shameless similarities. If you watched the showtime original you will know what I’m referencing. If not I can sum it up and simplify it by saying Dysfunction Junction.

I will share most about topics I am familiar with. Feelings I had to have explained to me after years of self sabotaging behaviors. Topics of alcohol, death and death by alcohol. I’ll talk of recovery and what it means to me and how it has changed my life. There will be a lot of that. 

Judges love a good come back story. Today all my sons have a mother they walk proudly beside and never hesitate to reach out for. I had to go through all that tough love from them to be able to sit here and write this today. Honestly, tough is not a painful enough word to describe the experience on any of our parts I am certain. 

Not sure of my direction yet. A memoir is about a specific incident that altered a life change. We all know memoirs are often full of some painful and ugly truths and we anticipate a happy ending. You will receive all of that no matter the route I choose. I will be making big decisions and changes often during this process and I intend to have at least one book in hand within 2 years. The writing part is easy, it is the rest I am spending the most time on now.

I hope you take this ride with me and watch it all unfold.

A seed can grow beneath the toughest of surfaces and still bloom with exuberance ~ LRS

Thank you for all of your support.

Love and Peace,

Lynn Rilean Smith

Sour Cement

I’m still awake because sleeping it off is impossible. Wait. Have I been sleeping? I’m shivering and I hurt from head to toe. My eyes stay closed because I don’t want to believe it. I can’t lift my head. Shit. Jail.

I’m back in a cage. I feel it. I hear it. I smell it. “Dear God, what did I do now?”

I let enough of one eye open that I could see it. The big silver drain in the center of the floor. I wasn’t sick enough yet to use it or if I had I don’t recall. The smell is horrible. Rotten. The cement is stained sour. I can hear male voices. So vulgar. A new girl is in the drunk tank. Me. I’m the new girl.

Think Lynn. Think.

This was round 3. I knew what to do. I just had to have some time to figure out what to do next. Piece as much of the puzzle together as I can and worry about the rest once I get out of this vomit vault.

The only thing I knew I had done was drink. Why is my arm bandaged? Why do my wrists hurt? Short term memory is non existent. Nothing like sobering up in a drunk tank to lead you on a mental scavenger hunt.

The one thing that is even bigger than the pain is the craving. My shakes will go away as soon as I get some Tvarscki. My mind, body and soul will bounce back and I won’t feel like a big cry baby. I will be brave again; if I am being quite frank, I drink enough that I usually don’t feel a thing. It all goes out the window. Right now that is all I can think about. My goal is to get out of here and go get drunk. No time for mushy emotions and replays of the past.

Yet I lay there and think as I hear the plastic tray slide under the door. It’s bad enough I’m surrounded by puke now they want me to eat it? Part of the process. I’m not that hungry yet. I’ll be out of here soon and you can shove that tray of crap back up the ass you got it from. To think, I’m in jail. I’m the one who did something illegal and I’m the one laying here thinking they are the bad guys. The lies I wrote in my brain only to become a bigger problem I’d be facing later.

Long term memory is stronger than the short as I feel tears caving in my dehydrated cheeks. My family. My son’s. My sister and my Mother and few close friends. I can feel the pain I have caused them. I feel embarrassed; not for myself as much as how my behavior reflects on them, but not enough to stop. I do not want to feel this way. It is ugly and it hurts. Every bone in my body is begging me to figure out bail so I can get to the liquor store.

The end.

Not really the end, but a taste of a chapter you will read in my book. My goal is to share the good, the bad, and the ugly side of being drunk like me. I know some people can connect and thankfully some won’t. I am aware of the impunity drinker and that I am not made of that. The fact I am clear headed and able to share this with you today is proof that with perseverance and honesty the impossible is most definitely “ I’m possible.” That is what I want you to take away from anything I share and do today as I make progress into living my best life. The doom and gloom will always be there if you look for it but more importantly than that you can look towards the peace.

Love and Peace,

Lynn Rilean Smith

A memory from the drunk tank.