Five motherfucking hundred. That's a lot of columns. Usually I talk about Gramps or something important from my past (or simply the past) for these big numbers, but I decided to go with something else this time. Since I got out of detox, this subject has been on my mind.
Quick note: I cheated a little. I knew this was going to be long, and I was going to be super high when I'm supposed to be writing this, so I chipped away at it over the weekend. I shouldn't break my GF rules, but this one can't be avoided.
When you're in the hospital for alcohol related health issues, they always send a shrink to talk to you about it. I've had a few interesting people talk to me. For example, there was one woman who bought my books so she could get into my head. It didn't work out, but I appreciated the thought. There was the super Italian guy named Sonny (no shit) who cursed up a storm and agreed with me that AA is not the way to go. He's the one who got me into detox, by the way.
And then there was this one older woman who seemed like she might have been a dream. I don't know what it was. She had an ephemeral quality to her. Or maybe it was the fact that I was on Dilaudid at the time. But she asked me a question no one up to that point had asked me. How did I become an alcoholic?
I know exactly how that happened. You may or may not believe this, but I didn't start drinking as an adult until I turned 21. When I was a kid and we ran out of Coke, Mom would give me beer instead, but it wasn't my decision until 21. I started out as a social drinker who sometimes got crazy at house parties. I didn't otherwise drink to excess very often. I drank on Fridays and Saturdays for the most part. Then came the period in my life where we all went out to a different bar each night, but I wasn't out of control. Not yet.
Fast forward to my thirties, when I developed a sudden and horrible pain in my head. These headaches were ruthless. I was in constant pain every waking moment of my life, and I went to doctors who had no idea what was wrong with me. I probably got blasted with enough radiation to make Chernobyl nervous. No solutions.
I did figure out that alcohol did an excellent job of dulling the pain. Whiskey, specifically. As soon as I got home from work I'd plug a handle into my mouth and glug it down every night of the week. This went on for a while until a doctor got the bright idea to send me to a dentist.
Turns out, I had a chipped molar. It was so bad the nerve was exposed, and that had caused all that agony. The dentist filled it in, and it worked for a while, but then it got bad again. I got a root canal, and that helped again. Eventually I lost the tooth, but one thing I did not lose was my everyday habit of drinking copious amounts of whiskey.
That went on for years until 2020, when I went into the hospital for pancreatitis and inadvertently went into alcohol withdrawal for the first time in my life. I think I've written about that here before, so I'll skip past that. Eventually I got back to drinking at a reasonable level, aided with newly-legalized cannabis.
But then I needed to lose another toe. That upped my drinking a bit. Not too bad. But while I was recovering from the toe, my grandmother died, and my drinking skyrocketed. And then my impending homelessness became a reality, and suddenly I was downing a handle of whiskey every night, and when I got up the next morning I started drinking immediately. I tried not to be sober for any moment from that point on.
I knew even then I had to cut back drastically. When I tried, though, I started getting the shakes, and I knew I was physically addicted again. So when the shakes kicked in, I started drinking again to keep the hallucinations at bay.
After a few phone calls with friends, all of them knowing how bad off I was because I was a rambling psycho, I decided to call Sonny to get into detox. An excellent decision. I punched in his phone number, and my finger hovered over the green button. I almost didn't call him. But I did, and now I'm 24 days from my last drink. Almost a month. Holy shit.
Here's the thing I didn't expect: this shit is super easy. Once I got through the physical addiction, the rest has been a breeze. After all the horror stories I've heard--and still continue to hear due to the meetings--I thought I'd relapse again and again and need to go back to detox a few more times and so on and so forth. Sure, I have a crave every once in a while, but I just don't give in to it. It's simple. It's easy.
Now I listen to the stories of other alcoholics, and while I can relate to doing stupid shit and having horrible shit happen to you while being drunk, I can't really identify with all the relapses, etc. Maybe I'm being overconfident. I've thought several times that maybe I'm not a real alcoholic. Because here's the thing. When I was in detox I decided that I was going to drink on my birthday. I was going to get wasted and then I wouldn't have anything else to drink until my next birthday.
Much to my shock, I didn't drink on my birthday. I don't know why. I passed liquor stores on my way to other places that day, but it never occurred to me to go in and get the fifth of Wild Turkey 101 I was planning to get.
So my plans for the future. You're not going to see me at AA meetings, and I'm not going to be going through the steps. I recognize that it works for others, but I can't get past Step Two. I think it's a stupid fucking step for me. I'm an atheist, and while I believe in higher powers, I would never give myself over to them. For example, the ocean is a higher power than I am, but I would never worship it. I would never pray to it. I would never let it take over my life like a higher power is supposed to be. So I'll be skipping the steps. Also, if I went to AA, they would require me to stop taking edibles, and I wouldn't be able to have sex for, what is it? A month? Not that I'm getting laid right now, but if the opportunity arose (so to speak), I'd like to keep that option on the table.
If you're curious, the meetings I go to currently are not AA. They have a few things similar with AA, but they don't require the 12 Steps. Your only obligation is to yourself, to stay away from the booze, and if at all possible, tell stories about yourself that might help others in the group.
Eventually I plan to be a social drinker again. Not anytime soon, mind you. I'm still working out this whole not-drinking thing, and when I make that plunge I want to be confident in my abilities to stick to my plan. That being, if I'm going out to lunch or dinner with a friend or friends, I'll have a couple of Guinnesses. No more smuggling airplane bottles of whiskey into movies. No more drinking at home by myself. No more getting wasted at house parties or bars.
But I do plan to drink to excess on my birthday. And I'm thinking about allowing myself a floating holiday. But that's it.
It will take baby steps. I know I can do it if I put my mind to it. I just have to make sure I'm ready first. And who knows? Maybe I'll change my mind. I'd say 95% of the time I don't think about alcohol until I go to my meetings. I really didn't expect that.
OK, I think I've gone on long enough. Goodnight, you lovely fuckers, you.
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