My first day without a drink (part 2)

I chain smoked on the ride home from jail to replenish my depleted nicotine reserves. With each drag of my cigarette the storm in my head grew more and more tumultuous. In the past my brain was occupied by a myriad of players all united to accomplish one joint goal; get fucked up. They all moved separately yet connected, all of them supporting the others, holding hands, surrounding me. Shutting out any oppositional views. Deflecting guilt, shame, and remorse. That morning changed the chemistry of the team.
There were so many different players on the field. No one was in uniform. No one was playing together. Everyone, everything, was just running around the field, in my head, with no destination or goal. Just running in circles, colliding with one another, screaming at the top of their lungs.  Why the fuck did I say I wouldn't drink anymore? How long am I actually going to have to play along? What's going to happen if I do drink? What's going to happen if I don't drink? Why are you even thinking about drinking? Do you understand what you've done? Don't you see how lucky you are that you didn't hurt anyone? Don't you know that things will get worse? Is this what you want for your life? Is this the person you want to be?

I just wanted everything to stop. I wanted my thoughts to be quiet. I wanted the insurmountable shame to go away. Before I could catch myself I came to a solution; I need a drink. The brusque nature of the thought startled me. I was still subscribing to the school of thought that I could stop drinking whenever I wanted, I just didn't want to. This simple 4 word thought dissolved that concept in an instant. There was a great part of me that didn't want to drink anymore, but more accurately there was a great part of me that didn't want the consequences that came with drinking anymore. Conversely, I just wanted to figure out a way to drink the way that I wanted without having the negative results. I was 22-years-old and the concept of not drinking for the rest of my life was suffocating. I had never, even for a moment, given sobriety the slightest consideration. I never entertained the idea of quiting. I never needed to as far as I was concerned.

My father is an alcoholic. He gave me my first sip of alcohol when I was 4-years-old. My mother was at a Tupperware party and he was charged with the task of watching my 2 siblings and me. I was thirsty and asked him for a drink, to which he replied, "here, try this," and handed me his mostly empty bottle of Bud Ice. I don't think he really thought I would drink it. I would always comment on how he stunk when he was drinking. I hated the smell of alcohol. Wether that was because of the behavior I associated with him smelling like alcohol or wether I genuinely found the smell unappealing was far too in depth for my 4-year-old thought process. But even as a small child I knew when I was being challenged and condescended, and to this day, that makes me want to act out. So I threw back my head in the same fashion I had seen him do so many times before and drained those last two ounces of beer. I hated the taste but I loved the feeling of doing something that I wasn't allowed to. I loved the feeling of showing someone that they didn't know what I would do. You can't peg me. My father's face displayed a look of complete shock and then utter pride. That single act of defiance became our first bonding experience. It became his favorite party trick. A testament that his fun loving party boy DNA had been passed on to his first born. As it turns out my desire to act out also came from him, and he used our secretive sipping as a way to act out against my mother's strict, structured and hyper vigilant parenting techniques.

My father's drinking affected his life adversely. He lost his marriage. He lost his children. He lost his job.He lost his health. He ran into legal trouble. He moved back in with his parents and to this day, 16 years later, he continues to live with them on-and-off. He's had a series of unhealthy and obstreperous marriages and relationships all ending in a myriad of pain and destruction. He was a poison. And in my addiction I used all of his exploits and escapades as a litmus test for my own alcoholism. So long as I abstained from these behaviors there was no way I could be an alcoholic. The only thing I put more effort into than my drinking was presenting the appearance of holding it together. I made sure to always have a job. I have been with the same girl since I was 14- years-old. I paid my own way in the world. I moved out of my house at 16 and never went back. I had yet to have any legal repercussions. I maintained a healthy diet and exercised to maintain some semblance of health. But what I didn't realize until recently was that none of those things had anything to do with alcohol. I drank like him. And although I hadn't had most of those consequences come into fruition, yet, I drank like him.

I arrived home and immedeately had to get ready for work. My work ethic was greatly fear based because if I lost that cornerstone of normalcy I might arouse suspicion. I needed to keep a job because surely no one with a drinking problem could hold it together like I could. I quickly whisked through the abridged version of my morning routine, normally reserved for the days I woke up late and drunk and had to rush out the door. I had gotten arrested in my work clothes so, step one: locate work clothes, was taken care of. I brushed my teeth, tried to make sense of my tousled hair, and reapplied make-up over the make-up I was still wearing from the night before. Then I went into my room, grabbed my half bottle of Jack and sat down in the living room fully prepared to finish my getting ready routine the same way I did every morning, with a few nips of Jack.

Fortunately I checked out of auto-pilot right then and became painfully aware of what I was doing. In less than 1 hour I had had 2 urges to drink. I had no mental defense. I didn't have the chance either time to counteract my desire to drink. I didn't realize it at the time but these thoughts hide in the shadows of my alcoholic mind, waiting for me to turn my back and let down my guard, and then it strikes. It's unassuming and startlingly calm. It's there to offer comfort and camaraderie in trying times, to offer an ally in times of war, to be a friend in times of loneliness. Alcohol had become my solution to every situation. And in an instant I realized that it had become my problem.