NoJoMo 6 in Dreams And Nightmares

I Am An Alcoholic

I was recently asked by my friend if being around alcohol and drunk people bother me? Considering on the nights my friends and I gather for our weekly movie/vlog where they are all drinking, the question was more directed to the Halloween party we would be attending the next night. At first I really didn’t know how to answer that. I have my urges, yes, but then I remembered that I had already been to two other parties as a sober man. I mingled, met some cool folks, saw some people that I had not seen in years. All in all I know how to take it and what to expect. Someone will always have pot (snicker) and drunk people are funny.

It was April or May 2010 when I finally admitted that yes, I am an alcoholic. I was on my way to work one sunny afternoon. I had spent most of the day waking up on the hour of the hour, hungover. Sadly, I had many mornings/afternoons like this with many more to follow. On that day to work I felt like curling up and dying. I felt lost and scared. Later that night I spoke with one of the managers about the employee handbook, specifically about assisting with counseling for substance abuse problems. A few phone numbers were actually supplied to me but they all were for something else and not specifically for substance abuse. Some odd months later I attended my first A.A. meeting, and ironically it wasn’t for me, but for my friend Eric.

He had a really bad auto accident a seven years ago after a night out with the boys that broke his leg in three places. He had to have surgery and major recovery time. Years later on his way to my house he was pulled over for having a headlight out. While sober, he had a warrant for his arrest for a DUI from that incident. Instead of being arrested he was taken to the hospital. As a sober man, he was forced by a probation officer to attend A.A. meetings and get a signature. Being the friend that I am I said I’d go with him, plus I had wanted to see what the meetings were all about. I’m going to skip over all this, it’ll be another entry at a later date.

Summer 2013 had rolled along, I had tried to stay sober a lot at the beginning of that year and had managed…two?…months I believe. During Spring Break I relapsed. Then later on my old friend Jessica had her power shut off at her apartment. By this point I was up to a twelve pack a night. In fact, I only remember this because L.A. Confidential was on and I blacked out before the end, I had gotten to the point where I could slam down four - six of them within ten minutes. Why so fast so sudden? I wanted the effect and I wanted it five minutes ago. So my alcoholic female friend needed a place with things like lights and air conditioning so I let her crash her for…on and off a few weeks. I even gave her a ride to and from work a lot. She had the pot connection, I worked at the grocery store and would pick up her favorite beer. Some nights she brought her own where I would supply the bad cocktail of a four pack of Guinness tall boys and an entire pint of Evan Williams green label whiskey. Fuck what was I thinking. She said I was annoying, yet funny as hell, when that intoxicated. She disappeared for a while so I was left alone. (She’s since had a baby and is with a super cool dude and more or less happy now.)

I’m going to derail for a moment and tell this part. There was at least…two?....three?....times where I woke up after one of my nights and feel sharp pains from my wrist only to discover I took a blade to myself again in an attempt to purge the deep sadness I felt on the inside. Well, the last night I drank, I flushed down a twelve pack in that manner. And somehow caught a ride to the store to pick up another six pack. (This behavior wasn’t unheard of with me, either.) I had consumed eighteen beers. I don’t quite recall what was all said. Usually I had what they call, “brown outs,” where the next day I can piece together what happened but on this night I went off the rails. Mom said I was threatening to kill myself again and getting scary about it. Can’t remember what she said but I do remember finally snapping and saying, “Well fine! Take me to th’ fuckin’ hospital then!” She put me to bed for about two hours and when I got up I was sobered up some.

I was laying in a bed in a waiting room area for the psych ward patients when I had sobered up more. That’s when I started to get a little scared and tried to back out of the whole thing but I’m glad she said no. That week saved my life. After the initial first few days I was moved out of the new in patients area to another where the patients were more relaxed and for once I felt peace. During some of the group sessions I noticed a pattern, besides the two college aged girls that were there most of the people in this room are all alcoholics. Depressed they couldn’t get their lives straight. Couldn’t put down the drink. They were in their forties and beyond. Suddenly a window to my future was opened before me. If I didn’t stop I was going to be like this or dead.

I got out, ten months later started seeing a therapist, and have been working hard to rebuild my life from there. People keep saying that I am strong and brave. I don’t feel it. At all. I’m just bumbling one day after the next trying to do what I think is right. Still a work in progress.

Last updated November 07, 2015