Rounding Third In One Shoe...

"Hi, my name is Julie and I'm an Alcoholic"

All I could hear was “swing for the fence Wimmer” and “knock it out of the park”, over and over and over. So I did. This was my mantra in life. Go hard. Go fast. Keep a strong work ethic, stay physically fit and always help others before you help yourself. Do good. Be good. Always. I had no boundaries in life and alcohol was no exception. Drink hard. Drink fast. And for God’s sake, don’t let anyone catch on. After all, I had a solid reputation to uphold. I can’t tell you how many times I have been referred to as strong and fearless. To me, this is called Guilt, Shame, Anxiety and Fear. 

Guilt and too many other emotions to list for not being there when my six-week old daughter died from SIDS. Shame when my Dad died at the age of 54 from alcoholism and so much shame and guilt turned inward and pushed to the bottom of my soul when my brother Jeff, passed away in August of 2013. He was instrumental in saving my life back in 2008, why couldn’t I have done the same?! We were literally hours away from intervening when my Mom called and delivered the shocking news. Jeff was gone. I have packed these emotions around on my shoulders for years just waiting for that next traumatic shoe to drop. 

Anxiety and Fear can manifest itself in many different ways. I get anxiety and fear when I don’t feel smart enough, pretty enough, young enough. I get it when I’ve agreed to do too much at work or if I don’t push myself to exercise every day. If I am judged, whether negatively or positively. If I have to meet new colleagues or friends of friends. This big dog creeps in and takes over my entire psyche with the blink of an eye. 

Like many of you, I suffer with chronic depression and have done so most of my adult life. It’s a cruel punishment. It’s the slow erosion of self. It is essentially a solitary experience; a room in hell with only your name on the door. Somehow, I’ve managed to “cope” or “mask” my chronic depression through exercise and sports despite multiple relapses over the past nine years, but for scores of us, it can be debilitating. 

Just as America was rounding the bend to 2017, I decided I wanted a reset button in life. I wanted to make a difference and was determined to hike 2,750 miles on the Pacific Crest Trail on behalf of Safe Call Now and first responders nationwide who suffer in silence from mental illness. I soon began the arduous process of researching, planning and training for this trek slated to begin at the Mexican border, hiking across the entire state of California, Oregon and Washington and ending at the Vancouver border. 

My registered start date:  May 5, 2017. I knew going into this hike the weather would not be in my favor, and for an inexperienced, solo hiker, this was not good news. I watched the weather report every day. I purchased all of my elite equipment and gear online and at REI to ensure I would be carrying the lightest pack possible. I went to classes. I trained and trained. January and February came and went, but Mother Nature continued to deliver her wrath, especially in the Sierra Nevadas and Cascade Range.  In early March, I reevaluated my hike and decided to traverse only the first 750 miles of the PCT, just shy of the Sierras. 

By doing so, I would still gain experience and hands-on training and would not disappoint the many donors who so graciously gave money to support this worthy endeavor.  As in life, our most calculated plans have a tendency to veer off track and on March 17, 2017, I crashed and burned. While running, our one-year old lab, Emma, thought it would be a good idea to join me on the treadmill. The end result, fractured ribs on my right side from hitting the heavy metal and glass coffee table. I knew there wasn’t much that could be done for injuries of this sort, except to let them heal over time. In my head, the game was over. I felt completely defeated. Forget all that I had accomplished over the years and my good intentions of making a difference on behalf of our first responders, my mind went to that place where I felt most comfortable...the dark room.  Three days later, I relapsed. 

This was a two-part series with the binge coming to a screeching halt on April 30, 2017, when my husband and Mom found me face first and ice cold on my kitchen floor. They thought I was dead. By the time I arrived in the Emergency Room, I was at a .40 BAC – nearly five times the legal limit. As much as we would like to keep this disease to ourselves, this is a family disease and everyone gets to play. They are forced to see the wreckage we addicts and alcoholics so selfishly dismiss when we are off in oblivion and all wrapped up with a blackout bow. When the blurred lines are no longer blurry, we are inevitably faced with the consequences. For me, this means my health, dignity and the trust my family had in me when I assured them day in and day out that I was okay.  This is where shame and guilt find their way home inside one’s brain. These negative, recycled thoughts crept right back into my head and took up residency once again.  

I went to Deer Hollow Recovery & Wellness Centers in Utah and am now enrolled in intensive one-on-one and group therapy. It has been one month since my last binge and I still suffer with major memory problems, concentration, blurred vision, tremors and more. Yes, it has taken a serious toll on me; however, it is nothing compared to the reality of your family finding you in a coma-like state as a result of alcohol addiction. 

Alcoholism is a progressive disease; and, if left untreated, many of us die. Somewhere along this game of life, I lost my shoe while rounding third base. Let me tell you, it’s hard to beat a throw headed for home plate without the proper gear and skill set. Despite my setbacks, I am back on the road to recovery with much humility in my heart. I am no longer afraid to share my story as in the past. Who knows, it just might inspire someone else to reach out for help. 

xoxo's to the following:  Sean, Mom, Tim & Susan, Vickie and Thayer

Julie Wimmer
Director of Marketing, Safe Call Now