Twenty-four years ago today I woke in the morning and my first thought was: ‘I’d rather be dead’. Then, I remembered what had happened the night before. This was the miracle. It was the very beginning of a new life; I didn’t know it then, but I had just been reborn.
Why do I say that the miracle was remembering the horror show of the previous evening? Because, given all my past experiences, I shouldn’t have: I had had a blackout.
I want to explain what this is for the benefit of all those lucky people who have never had one. A blackout happens –sometimes, not always- after a certain amount of alcohol has entered your system and, instead of getting drunk and passing out (which is the other possibility), the memory center in your mind shuts down completely -the movie being projected never reaches the screen- as if suddenly the lights
had gone out. But the lights do not go out, not for you or for anyone else; the movie continues being projected, but the memory screen in your mind does not receive the images. This may happen 
while you are sipping your umpteenth cocktail before dinner or just as the dessert is placed in front of you on the table. At that moment, whatever it is that, in your brain, receives the movie so it may project it back for you the following morning, shuts down, blacks out, so to say. But you continue functioning as if nothing had happened; you are not aware that the receiver of memory has shut down. You finish your dessert, you converse or fight with someone, you thank your hostess and leave as if you were fresh as a daisy and then you insist on driving home because it is clear that your husband has had too much to drink.
The following morning you remember that last instant, say, when they put the dessert in front of you and then nothing, absolutely nothing, until the moment you wake up; there is a black hole in your personal history which you will never fill, a stretch of time during which a chapter in the story of your life is omitted. You have no idea who you fought with, how you managed to drive home, if anyone noticed. There was not one morning after a blackout that I did not awake terrified of asking what I had done the previous evening. Sometimes it was terrible; sometimes –surprisingly enough- no one had even noticed that I was drunk. But even on those luckier occasions, the horror of having a black hole in one’s existence is no less. I had long since given up the hope of ever recovering even a second of that lost time.
By that morning of the 26th of March, twenty-four years ago, I had been having blackouts for a long time, and they were becoming more and more frequent. On the previous evening, my husband and I were at our own personal bar at home and I was mad at him, so I had decided to get blind drunk to show him (I am not even going to try to explain the alcoholic logic of that thought). The last thing I remember before the blackout was a slow, festering anger and this illogical decision. That should have been all until the following morning, but it wasn’t.
Around 3a.m., for reasons I will never be able to explain, I suddenly snapped out of the blackout and saw myself. I was standing on one side of our king-size bed, glass in hand, vomiting insults expressed in the vilest language possible from my mouth. My husband stood on the other side of the bed and I will never forget the pained look of despair on his face as he reached for the gun he kept under the mattress. I ran from the room, locked myself in the bedroom that had been my son’s when he lived with us, and went to sleep.
That was the scene I remembered the following morning when my only thought was ‘I’d rather be dead’. That was the miracle I needed: to wake up and see myself, to see what I had become and the hopelessness of the life I was leading. I felt dead, hollow inside, beaten.
I dragged myself out of bed and called a friend who was a psychoanalyst. When she answered, I uttered the understatement of a lifetime: “I think I have a problem with my drinking”. She set up an appointment with a doctor specialized in addictions who, in turn, called the clinic where I ended up the following Monday the 30th of March. I thought I was dying; actually I was being born.
Today, 24 years later, I can look back on the simple miracle of a moment of memory that gave me new life.
cake, that’s selfish of you.” “You never think of anyone else… you’re so selfish.”
cafeteria (which meant, market for the coffee service, make sure everything was washed up and put away after each meeting and serve coffee to newcomers). Somehow, this sounded just like what I had done during all the years of my marriage and finally, I balked.
men and that the program had been made for men based on a religion that was basically paternalistic. Men, with women taking care of them, beginning with Mother, then Wife, then Daughter, had developed quite an ego. Women, I believed then, had not developed an “ego” (at least, I thought that I hadn’t), we had not learned to say: I, I, I, me, me, me. So I set about developing my own ego (I was 50, mind you) which in my mind was: learning how to be selfish.
whatever you want. What I discovered was that I didn’t even know what my wants and desires, my likes and dislikes were. I didn’t have the habit of asking myself anything! I was accustomed to ask other people: Where do you want to go? What movie do you want to see? What would you like to eat? But… ah yes, there was a big BUT… I expected other people to think of me first, know instinctively what I wanted, and choose for me. Now if that’s not a Lose-Lose proposal, I’ve never seen one! Fastlane to frustration!
What movie were you thinking of?
After about a week or so during which I really checked with myself every time there was a choice, I discovered that I did have likes and dislikes and that some of them were very definite. I also found that when I knew what I wanted it wasn’t so hard to get it for myself or to convince the other to give it to me. I also found that when I had satisfied myself with what I had chosen one time, it was easier and felt better letting the other person have what they wanted the next.
when the whim hit me; watched the movies I enjoyed, left the room and went to read a book elsewhere if I didn’t… I was unflinchingly selfish in every possible way, determined to grow a good (male) ego before facing the inevitable chore of undoing it.
versa).
prerogative. Being responsible for my wants and likes and giving them to myself whenever possible, also opened me to the unexpected pleasure of being unselfish whenever I felt like it, something that suddenly was much more frequent than before.
I stood for a moment looking into his eyes and then a very wide smile crept over my face.
Writing a life 