Remembering my last drunk won’t keep me sober…so…
Why the hell won't my LJ Cuts work? Bizarre..
Remembering my last drunk won’t keep me sober…so…
Twelve years ago today was pretty much like just about any other day in the years preceding.
I woke up, depressed, feeling horrible, lonely, sick. Every day was like a constant hangover. Even getting drunk didn’t alleviate that.
I had decided the previous day to ask my ex- to take me to the hospital. Charter Hospital, it was called, though they don’t exist any more. I remember hearing commercials on the radio all the time…something like…if you don’t get help from us, please get help somewhere. I remember having called the number for Alcoholics Anonymous a few times, here and there, and hanging up. I couldn’t see how they could help. That’s just a bunch of people who sit around and do counseling, right? They wouldn’t understand. I knew my problems weren’t the alcohol. I could stop if I really wanted to, right? I just needed some psychological help because there was something wrong inside me. I was sick. I needed medicine. I needed for someone to lock me up and fix me, then I would be ok. Some doctor would do some xrays and blood tests and give me the right stuff. And I’d be all better.
So at 6am before my friend arrived I decided to finish the drink I passed out to the night before. And then I decided it was pointless to leave the Stoly in the freezer. I mean I was going to quit, right? So I may as well finish it. No reason to let it go to waste. Ice cold Stoly. In a glass. (Who needs to water it down with ice, right?) And may as well make it a “breakfast” drink…add a little frozen OJ concentrate to it. And when my friend arrives, I’ll just tell him it is orange juice.
At the hospital, at my intake, I vaguely remember being asked when the last time I drank was… “Last night.”
What a liar.
“How much do you drink?”
“Not much. A few times a week.”
Liar.
“Well, when you drink, how much do you drink?”
“What do you mean? A few.”
Bad attempt at being evasive…and lie. He didn’t need to know that one drink was often a 32 oz glass with vodka and a splash of something. And I ain’t never just had one or a few.
That’s perhaps a vague recollection at best of how things transpired. So is remembering this going to help me stay sober?
I mean…I remember the first time when I was 13 or 14 and got soooo sick. And kept drinking. I remember at 16 in Panama drinking rum at a wedding until my host family embarrassingly carried me home. And kept drinking. I remember passing out in High School..well..down the street in the bushes because I was skipping school. And kept drinking. I remember wrecking cars, breaking into buildings, yelling, fighting, indiscriminate sex, hurting people, getting hurt, passing out in bushes, cars, strangers homes…. And kept drinking. One time, I passed out in my car, in below freezing weather, with the car running. It ran out of gas and I barely awoke in the morning, with vomit all over me, the steering wheel, the door, the window. And the doors were frozen shut and I pissed myself because I couldn’t get out. And kept drinking for about…oh…13 years after that one.
I remember deciding I should “stop for a while”. And kept drinking. I remember making a stronger decision to stop for a while. And kept drinking. I remember deciding: Ok…enough is enough. I can’t drink. I will quit for good! And kept drinking.
So what fool decided to say something like, “If you don’t remember last drunk, you’ll drink again”? Or something to that effect…
I mean, isn’t it obvious? No matter what, I drink again. No matter what I do. I drink again.
So here it is one day short of twelve years later….twelve years since that last drunk. Will I drink again? I have no idea. Sure hope not. Sure feel like I won’t ever drink again. But how many other times was I so sure I wouldn’t drink, and drank?
What’s different?
Maybe that’s why it might be good to remember my “drunks”. So I can tell you. So I can show you that we are more alike than we are different. So we can both see that we have this same thing, that no matter how great the necessity or the wish, that neither of us have the power within us to “not drink”.
I was given a compass early in sobriety. A hypothetical compass. It is round, with a triangle in the center. No matter how lost I feel, no matter how hopeless I feel, no matter how much pain I am experiencing… anger, fear, confusion or hopelessness… that compass has never failed me.
When I look at it I see where to go. I see which direction I need to go.
One side, Recovery, tells me that I should continue in the path of practicing the twelve steps, ALL of them, in all areas of my life. I should continually revisit my powerlessness and unmanageability. I should continue to seek out a God of my understanding. I should rely on Him in all areas. I should inventory my life, examine it closely, look at it from a different angle, and make restitution wherever I have caused harm. I should practice prayer and meditation daily and work on these same things with someone else who wants the same thing. Show them the path I am walking. Shine a light on it.
One side, Unity, forces me to look at how committed I am to the fellowship of people that I can walk this path with…am I going to meetings? Regularly? Do I have a home group? Do I have service commitments? Am I accountable to others in the fellowship? Do I allow myself the privilege of being available to others who need to be accountable to me?
And the third side is Service. Service is not a ‘service commitment’ in the fellwoship. Service is making myself of service to another who suffers as I did, and at times still do. Service is working, one on one, with another person who has this same thing. Who relates. Who hasn’t been given or shown the kit of tool I was given to clear the path. Someone who wants what we, who are walking this path, have.
Where is this path going? What’s at the end? Not really sure. But I do know this: this path is better than the one I was on. This one is surrounded by beauty. Its wide, and usually easy to traverse. (Though sometimes I have hills and challenges) I meet many others on this path who are a joy to be with. Sometimes I see others going the other direction. I may offer them suggestions for them to turn around, show them my compass, give them one… But only they can decide which way to go. Along this path I feel freedom. I am happy. I struggle less. I am never alone. I find all I need to be happy. I have an understanding of the totality of it all, the love and joy of it all, and I understand it as God.
But I have a sneaking suspicion that the end is much, much less important than the journey.
Remembering my last drunk won’t keep me sober…so…
Twelve years ago today was pretty much like just about any other day in the years preceding.
I woke up, depressed, feeling horrible, lonely, sick. Every day was like a constant hangover. Even getting drunk didn’t alleviate that.
I had decided the previous day to ask my ex- to take me to the hospital. Charter Hospital, it was called, though they don’t exist any more. I remember hearing commercials on the radio all the time…something like…if you don’t get help from us, please get help somewhere. I remember having called the number for Alcoholics Anonymous a few times, here and there, and hanging up. I couldn’t see how they could help. That’s just a bunch of people who sit around and do counseling, right? They wouldn’t understand. I knew my problems weren’t the alcohol. I could stop if I really wanted to, right? I just needed some psychological help because there was something wrong inside me. I was sick. I needed medicine. I needed for someone to lock me up and fix me, then I would be ok. Some doctor would do some xrays and blood tests and give me the right stuff. And I’d be all better.
So at 6am before my friend arrived I decided to finish the drink I passed out to the night before. And then I decided it was pointless to leave the Stoly in the freezer. I mean I was going to quit, right? So I may as well finish it. No reason to let it go to waste. Ice cold Stoly. In a glass. (Who needs to water it down with ice, right?) And may as well make it a “breakfast” drink…add a little frozen OJ concentrate to it. And when my friend arrives, I’ll just tell him it is orange juice.
At the hospital, at my intake, I vaguely remember being asked when the last time I drank was… “Last night.”
What a liar.
“How much do you drink?”
“Not much. A few times a week.”
Liar.
“Well, when you drink, how much do you drink?”
“What do you mean? A few.”
Bad attempt at being evasive…and lie. He didn’t need to know that one drink was often a 32 oz glass with vodka and a splash of something. And I ain’t never just had one or a few.
That’s perhaps a vague recollection at best of how things transpired. So is remembering this going to help me stay sober?
I mean…I remember the first time when I was 13 or 14 and got soooo sick. And kept drinking. I remember at 16 in Panama drinking rum at a wedding until my host family embarrassingly carried me home. And kept drinking. I remember passing out in High School..well..down the street in the bushes because I was skipping school. And kept drinking. I remember wrecking cars, breaking into buildings, yelling, fighting, indiscriminate sex, hurting people, getting hurt, passing out in bushes, cars, strangers homes…. And kept drinking. One time, I passed out in my car, in below freezing weather, with the car running. It ran out of gas and I barely awoke in the morning, with vomit all over me, the steering wheel, the door, the window. And the doors were frozen shut and I pissed myself because I couldn’t get out. And kept drinking for about…oh…13 years after that one.
I remember deciding I should “stop for a while”. And kept drinking. I remember making a stronger decision to stop for a while. And kept drinking. I remember deciding: Ok…enough is enough. I can’t drink. I will quit for good! And kept drinking.
So what fool decided to say something like, “If you don’t remember last drunk, you’ll drink again”? Or something to that effect…
I mean, isn’t it obvious? No matter what, I drink again. No matter what I do. I drink again.
So here it is one day short of twelve years later….twelve years since that last drunk. Will I drink again? I have no idea. Sure hope not. Sure feel like I won’t ever drink again. But how many other times was I so sure I wouldn’t drink, and drank?
What’s different?
Maybe that’s why it might be good to remember my “drunks”. So I can tell you. So I can show you that we are more alike than we are different. So we can both see that we have this same thing, that no matter how great the necessity or the wish, that neither of us have the power within us to “not drink”.
I was given a compass early in sobriety. A hypothetical compass. It is round, with a triangle in the center. No matter how lost I feel, no matter how hopeless I feel, no matter how much pain I am experiencing… anger, fear, confusion or hopelessness… that compass has never failed me.
When I look at it I see where to go. I see which direction I need to go.
One side, Recovery, tells me that I should continue in the path of practicing the twelve steps, ALL of them, in all areas of my life. I should continually revisit my powerlessness and unmanageability. I should continue to seek out a God of my understanding. I should rely on Him in all areas. I should inventory my life, examine it closely, look at it from a different angle, and make restitution wherever I have caused harm. I should practice prayer and meditation daily and work on these same things with someone else who wants the same thing. Show them the path I am walking. Shine a light on it.
One side, Unity, forces me to look at how committed I am to the fellowship of people that I can walk this path with…am I going to meetings? Regularly? Do I have a home group? Do I have service commitments? Am I accountable to others in the fellowship? Do I allow myself the privilege of being available to others who need to be accountable to me?
And the third side is Service. Service is not a ‘service commitment’ in the fellwoship. Service is making myself of service to another who suffers as I did, and at times still do. Service is working, one on one, with another person who has this same thing. Who relates. Who hasn’t been given or shown the kit of tool I was given to clear the path. Someone who wants what we, who are walking this path, have.
Where is this path going? What’s at the end? Not really sure. But I do know this: this path is better than the one I was on. This one is surrounded by beauty. Its wide, and usually easy to traverse. (Though sometimes I have hills and challenges) I meet many others on this path who are a joy to be with. Sometimes I see others going the other direction. I may offer them suggestions for them to turn around, show them my compass, give them one… But only they can decide which way to go. Along this path I feel freedom. I am happy. I struggle less. I am never alone. I find all I need to be happy. I have an understanding of the totality of it all, the love and joy of it all, and I understand it as God.
But I have a sneaking suspicion that the end is much, much less important than the journey.