40 Days and 40 Nights: A Drop in the Bucket

A broken mind can find any reason to self destruct. The Friday at work was pretty typical. Dealing with irate customers over and over and day dreaming about being anywhere other than in a cubicle. One particularly angry customer and a lazy supervisor unwilling to offer support, along with my temper set things in motion. The actual story of what happened is actually pretty boring and not really worth going into. That's how petty something can be to trigger my self abuse.

The fuse was lit and my mind put together an all too familiar plan. I just needed to unwind, decompress, and have a few beers to settle down. I had a few in the fridge but for good measure stopped by and grabbed another 12ver on my way home. Before reaching the house, I ripped open the box and popped the can. Then the gleeful sound of the can opening. The pop, click,and hiss. I could relax in the calm before the storm.

Once I got home, I realize I had about 12 beers. Ok, good news, I'll have a few for tomorrow. Saved myself a trip to the store tomorrow. After all, all I am going to do is have a few, watch some TV and dick around on Facebook. Maybe I'd get a little buzz and think of something clever for people to respond to. Kim called, and I poured out my negativity on her instead of taking some time to actually visit and enjoy being able to talk to her. Spewing constant negativity and hopeless rants about inane bullshit on the ones you love is not conducive to healthy relationships, just for the record. By then I had a good buzz though. After verbally vomiting on my girlfriend, we hung up, I popped another can. Pop, click, hiss. Almost numb.

I got on the computer and posted something meaningless hoping for some response to combat the boredom. I put some music on the PA and turned it up. I reflected on the situation at work periodically and opened more beer. I opened my blog here and started a rant on how unfairly I am treated at work. Bitterness, anger, cynicism, and negativity took the wheel. More beer, more numb, more anger. On the flipside, I got that awesome invincible alcohol feeling, and told myself that things would change. I was above that job, I was better than everyone at that job, and I'd be fine. I'm Preston Fucking Wilson, and I am a creator of awesome shit! Drunken optimism gave way to the darker, destructive, and evil thoughts. Suicidal thoughts? Sure, I think that is standard for any addict. But those pass quickly. When real emotions present, cynicism, anger, and manipulative thoughts take over. How can I get what I want? Who can I take it from? How can I avoid actually dealing with reality just a little longer?

Compute, loud music, occasional conversations with dogs, more beer. My case of beer turned into a 12 pack, then into a 6 pack....panic set in. Was I going to need to go get more? I wasn't done. I had more nothing to do. It was getting late anyway. I was drunk, manic, and really needed sleep. I went into the bathroom, grabbed a couple Xanax, washed them down with my Lone Star. I'd be out soon.

Finally, even my thoughts become slurred and the meds kicked in. All the beer was gone. The only beer left was the half beer I forgot about and left sitting on the coffee table. I went to my bedroom. I turned on the tv, turned out the lights and laid down. Within minutes, the sweet mercy of sleep swept me off.

7:00am, the alarm went off. Resonating with the power of a tornado siren, briefly, I thought it was part of a dream. It wasn't. The reality of the day was here. Before my eyes even opened, immediate regret set in. "What the fuck was I thinking?" A question I have asked a million times but have never really been able to find the answer to.

My body was heavy and almost cramping up from dehydration. Not to mention, it wasn't rested at all. My eyes begrudgingly pulled themselves open, burning, and unable to focus. I turned on the lamp and was blinded. My stomach burned and churned with undigested booze and Doritos. It rumbled and boiled like one of those underwater volcanoes.  My mouth was dry, and my throat was sore from lack of water and my drunken snoring. But even the thought of taking a drink of water made me sick. All of this paled in comparison to the ball pin hammer assault happening on my skull. This was the dark hangover road I had traveled a thousand times before. I knew there was no cure. Only time and water would set me straight until the avalanche of hunger hit my nutrient depleted body. Then I could over compensate by eating a deep fried mess of nonsense that would spike my insulin levels. Just get through all that and I could go to bed early and put that wasted day behind me. I would push it deep down and try not to think about it again.

It was a brutal day. Days like that, you would think, would teach someone a lesson. But it doesn't teach an alcoholic anything. It's just part of life. It's what you do.

That day I did what everyone does the day after a bender, and told myself it was time to cut back, to moderate, and I couldn't do that to myself anymore. I went through the typical bargaining check list. I won't drink during the week or if I have to work the next day. When I do drink, I'll make sure to drink water before, during, and after. I would make sure to stop once I had a buzz instead of continuing on. Maybe I'll just cut out drinking for a few weeks and ease back into it. Sure, this sounds like a decent plan and it should work. Just get through the day Preston, you'll be fine, you've been here before.

You've been here before...

Wait...What?

The great thing about guilt and regret, is that it will allow you to access parts of your memory you have worked very hard to forget. My life started playing like a terrible 90's music CD on repeat in my head. The same tired song, the same chords, to the same beat, with similar angsty, depressed lyrics. I Instantly felt emotionally exhausted. I had become what myself and every other alcoholic said they would never become. I was the guy sitting at home in shorts, flip flops, and a wife beater, drinking alone. I couldn't control it. My bargaining had not worked. My will power had failed me. My theories on how it worked and what I could do to manage were just misguided and delusional ideas in place to keep me safely in a position where I didn't have to accept responsibility or actually do anything about the problem. Holy shit, I'm an alcoholic. Not the funny, social, carefree kind. I was the dark, sick, and dying kind. I was on the tight rope. One slip and my life would be in shambles. I don't have much but I have enough that I don't want to lose it. Fuck man, how have I gotten away with it this far? Fear, guilt, disgust and impending doom hit me like a ten ton hammer. I thought "I can't keep doing this. Something is going to happen. Something terrible." This is typical for hangover days, but this time it really weighed on me. It was choking me. I couldn't breath.  Every horrific scenario of my drunken future starting playing out like a movie in my head. It was like the Ghosts of Drunk Past, Present, and Future were visiting. I was Ebeneezer Screwed man!

Now at this point, I'd like to say that gentle voice came to me and gave me some hope or a message or something but that didn't happen. More than anything fear and confusion set in. What the fuck was I gonna do? What now? I can't keep the beast on a leash forever. I need help. What the fuck do I do?

As I scrolled through ideas, my alcoholic brain would discard them into trash bins labeled pride, ignorance, fear, and delusion. Things seemed hopeless. I was trapped, cursed, and doomed to a life of extreme ups and downs. Dark, staggering, drunken bouts wallowing in my own shit and the powerful recoil of hangovers. The only good news is that I really didn't think my mind or body could handle it long and I could just let it kill me. Fucking grim man. I was trapped in a dark hole and the only tools I would allow myself to use was alcohol and pills.

The day after, the hangover lingered. With age my body and minds resilience isn't what it used to be so the effects of a good bender could last for days after. My mind was cloudy and I felt like that stick figure in a Zoloft commercial. My body was still misfiring, and my blood sugar was completely out of whack. So I continued to mull over my options with what little clarity was coming back to me. "I have to make some kind of move." I told myself. Despite my best efforts, things were not changing. Medication, counseling, bargaining, and moderation do not work.

5 days later, on my day off, I found myself scared out of my mind sitting outside dusty building in a business park that had seen better days. You could tell this was cheap set up territory for start ups. There weren't many cars in the parking lot. Soon enough a few cars started rolling in and people started filling into the suite I had written down on a post-it. I guess it was time to take a huge step. I walked into a stuffy room full of a variety of folks from young to old, ragged, to business casual. I found the seat in the furthest corner I could and sat down. After some time they asked a moment of silence then started the serenity prayer. A topic was read and the floor was open. This was it. This was the first step. It's now or never. "Make this work Preston."

During what seemed like an eternal long awkward silence, I raised my hand...

"My name is Preston. I'm an alcoholic..."

Today is 44 days sober. That is the longest I have been without alcohol in 15 years. I can say that in this process, one of the most profound things that has happened is spiritual. That part is still pretty rocky and a deeply personal part of my recovery, so I don't think I am ready to share that subject just yet. I know there are people with different opinions on this, and honestly, unless it's supportive, I don't really care what you have to say. This road is hard, but I am grateful to be on it. I finally feel like I am moving forward and might actually do something with myself.

If you are going through this too, keep up the fight. It's hard and can seem impossible like driving a spaghetti noodle into concrete, but it can happen. You just have to find your way. I'm always up to a good conversation if needed.

For all of you that read this, I am grateful you care enough to do so.

The best is yet to come.

Thanks.