Skeletons in the Closet

Tropicana should have hired me for their most recent failed ad campaign.  Why?  Because I know how to hide in closets.  Specifically, I know how to hide certain clothes, negative thoughts, pain, agony, anxiety, distress, fear, and alcohol in the closet.

For anyone who missed it earlier this week, @tropicana_juices put out a controversial ad where celebrities #takeamimoment where they sneak away from their children to get a break. Specifically, Gabrielle Union snuck to her bathroom where she had a vanity which was really a mini fridge filled with orange juice and champagne.  Molly Sims went to her closet for her hidden mini fridge because she needed her mimosa in order to “be the best mom.”  Jerry O’Connell’s mini fridge was disguised as a toolbox in his garage.  All three of them sent the message that they needed to drink in order to deal with their children.

The ad was taken down, otherwise I would have posted it for you.  The recovery community went bat shit red zone crazy, for good reason.  This ad stated that it was OK to sneak away to drink HIDDEN alcohol in order to cope with your children.  If someone has a drinking problem, one of the biggest red flags is hiding alcohol and sneaking away to consume it.  Relying on alcohol in order to cope with your kids/life/day/morning/anything is also a huge red flag.

Tropicana encouraged alcohol abuse with this ad, whether they meant to or not.  And frankly, it triggered a lot of us.  I could have easily written the script for this ad and starred in it, had Tropicana asked.  All they needed was a snippet of my life...

I hid my vodka in water bottles in my closets.  I would make sure it was in a gym bag or a pool bag or something like that so that it looked legit.  I had special water bottles that I liked to chug out of; they became sentimental almost.  Hiding vodka was like a game.  I knew I was doing something wrong, dangerous.  I enjoyed knowing that I was getting away with it.  This was my secret.  I thought this was the one secret that I would take to my grave.  After every vodka chug, as I washed my mouth out with Listerine, I would look at myself in the mirror.  Sometimes, I would laugh and think “you go girl.”  But most times, I would think “What the fuck Ellen.  When are you going to end this game?”  It was a game to me.  And it made me feel good.

I never minded the fact that my vodka was warm. In fact, I preferred it that way.  My friends would joke about it; it became a thing.  “No Ellen never needs ice, remember, she likes her vodka warm!”  The ice just made it watered down, less effective.  I mixed it with flavored seltzer waters or club soda in front of people.  But in the closet, I drank it straight from my water bottle.  It started as mini travel shampoo bottles and progressed to full water bottles that could fit an entire fifth of vodka.  Eventually it got to the point where I needed more than one bottle because I was buying a handle. One time, I went through a handle of vodka in two days.  

The closet became my sanctuary.  I knew exactly where my bottles were, and I enjoyed the fact that I got away with it.  I loved sneaking up to change my clothes or brush my teeth.  It was really my time to chug vodka.  I would count how many chugs to control it. Some nights, I never got the effect I wanted.  I would sigh to myself and just think “you’re not getting the drunk you want tonight.”  I hated those nights.  It made me depressed to not get the drunk I love.

Most nights went well.  I would chug vodka from the closet in secret.  And then I would drink vodka sodas or wine in front of everyone else.  Some nights, when I didn’t pace myself well, or I mixed it with too many other things, I would get that testy, sometimes angry, close to black out drunk.  And those nights never ended well.

My friends knew how I loved my booze, buying me humorous gifts like a massive bracelet that fit at least two shots of vodka in it.  Then there were the fake tampons that fit vodka in them.  There were also the flask gifts.  Everyone knew I loved vodka.  But no one knew I was hiding it in water bottles in my closet, chugging from them everyday.  Nobody knew that I had this secret because I lived two lives.  I was good at showing people I was functional.  

I’d been happily drinking since I turned 21.  I’d been UNhappily drinking for the past few years.  It had gotten pretty bad; bad enough that I knew there was a problem, but was terrified to admit it.  I knew that getting pregnant would be the ultimate decision that would determine how serious of a drinker I was.  My marriage was already on the rocks, due to the drinking mainly, but also because we wanted to start a family so badly and it was not working.  Which led to more drinking.   It was just an endless circle of destruction.   I finally reached another bottom, which is a whole other story in itself.  

I admitted I needed help to stop drinking…I finally admitted out loud that there was a problem.  We found a rehab facility in town in which I would do a 28-day treatment plan.  I was so irritated that I would have to pause fertility treatments my husband and I had tirelessly been going through because I was becoming impatient and it had already been years of trying. But I knew that I had to be sober in order to get to that part of our journey.  I finally realized that I could not bring babies into this world drunk. 

The saddest thing was, I had already purchased a onesie with a little elephant on it that said, “Daddy I can’t wait to meet you.”  I was going to present this onesie to my husband once we got a positive pregnancy test.  I had this whole elaborate plan designed for how he would open the gift and see the onesie.  I hid this onesie well.  As already established, I also hid vodka well.  (This is perfect for Tropicana so far right?!)  

Unfortunately, when you’re in a drunken stupor and tell your family that you need to go to rehab, they do a serious search for bottles of alcohol to eliminate.  In this search, my husband found the onesie…with all the empty water bottles of vodka.  I can’t imagine how devastating this was for him to find.  I kept asking him if he had found a certain box during his search; he kept saying no.  I was perturbed that I couldn’t find the onesie because I still didn’t want him to know about it in case we ever did get pregnant someday.  Finally, the day before I went to rehab, he brought the onesie up to me and said, “I found this and it made me start to sob.” I had to tell him the whole elaborate plan I had if we were to ever get pregnant, and how I was going to surprise him. We were both sobbing now, knowing that so many things were going to change.

We never realize how selfish we are in addiction.  I had no idea how I was hurting those around me.  Until this moment with my husband, I thought I was in this all alone, completely wrapped up in my own ego.  I finally saw what pain my husband was enduring as well, the pain I had caused all those times I was drunk, and he was scared.  The pain he had because he knew we couldn’t raise kids in a household filled with alcohol.  The pain he had because he knew who I was deep down and he wanted me to be the best person I could be.  We were going through all of this together…. I was not alone as I thought.

He told me he wanted me to take the onesie with me to rehab so that I could look at it and always remember why I was getting sober.  I kept it in my drawer, and I looked at it to remind myself of why I was trying to get better.  I had to get better for myself if I ever wanted to bring children in this world.  I had to do this for myself, for my husband, and for my future family.

January 12, 2017 was the last day I drank alcohol.  January 25, 2019 our twins were born.  I was able to go through infertility treatments, IVF, a twin pregnancy, twin delivery, a son with significant health issues, NICU time, PICU time, 50 days of hospitalization, 4 death scares, CPR resuscitation, 911 calls, ambulance rides, twin babies, postpartum depression, and my new life.  All sober.  The skeletons from my closest were now wide open for everyone.  People knew I was no longer not drinking only due to being pregnant; it was a lifelong thing.

So there you go Tropicana!  What do you think?  Why didn’t you just ask someone like me to make the ad for you?  After all, you wanted to glamorize closet drinking, didn’t you?  What you didn’t think about were the consequences.  The aftermath. What happens after the #mimoment?  Well, I just showed you.  And this is what you were promoting.  Closet drinking is not sexy, is not OK, and should not be something we encourage.  Our children should not think that we need alcohol so that we can bear them.  And Tropicana should know better than to make it seem like it is OK to sneak away to the closet for a drink.  It is not OK.  I am an expert; I know what happens when I take a #mimoment in the closet.  I hid skeletons for too long.  It’s nice to finally have it all out.

What’s in your closet?  What are you hiding?  What can I do to help?  Are you ready for a new lifestyle where you can be yourself without hiding, without lying?  I am here for anyone struggling with addictions or infertility.  I am here to show you that life does go on, it does get better, and you are not alone.