By Gillian May: For More Info, Go Here…
I was a heavy drinker since my teenage years.
Drinking was not only accepted in my family but also a right of passage. I still remember the sense of pride I felt when I was allowed to have a rum and coke for my thirteenth birthday.
You heard that right, I was thirteen years old when I was introduced to the favorite family past-time. Alcohol still is our family crutch, friend, and unfortunately, our demise.
My father died of alcoholic cirrhosis, along with his first cousin. Other family members have died from biliary disease, heart disease, diabetes, and malnutrition — all of which are related to alcoholic liver damage.
I’ll explain more about why these health problems are related, but first, let me tell you that I knew alcohol was damaging my liver too. And even with that knowledge, I still didn’t quit drinking for many years.
Somehow, our alcoholic brains make us believe that we’re all good and perhaps, even invincible. Or, we just don’t really care. Because life without our best friend doesn’t seem worth living when you believe that’s all you have in the world. Or when alcohol is you’re only self-medication.
The signs didn’t really show up until I hit my thirties. It takes time for the damage to reveal itself. This is why I feel sad when I see young people drinking so heavily. They don’t know what I know now, those weekend binges that turn into daily drinking catches up later on.
The initial signs were constant fatigue, foggy brain, and some indigestion issues. Of course, I just popped some antacids, just like everyone else did in my family.
Next, came the slow arrival of neuropathic pain in my joints, feet, and hands. I also found my hands shaking during activities that required dexterity like sewing, or writing with pen and paper, or even picking at a pimple on my face.
Soon enough, I found my memory lapsing, my face and hands were puffy, I had constant anxiety and depression, my toes wouldn’t bend without jittering, and I had trouble digesting fats and proteins.
