My last drink was a beer; OK, a dozen of them, out with friends on a night I won't forget. That last beer was about 4 beers after what should have been my last beer for the night. I got home OK, but I should not have considering the shape I was in. I woke up on the morning of August 20 1990 on the floor, car keys next to me, fully clothed except I had lost a sneaker somewhere.
That shoeless foot, only a sock covering it, is what got me. I don't remember some of that night – little “gaps” in the narrative that is a sure sign something is very wrong with me. Did you know that ONLY alcoholics black out? I didn't learn that until I was sober for a few weeks, so that is not one of my “Oh shit” realizations.
I started drinking much the same way most teenagers do, hating the taste of beer but wanting to be cool so drinking it anyway. Asking adults to buy it for you, they always kept the change. Ass freezing logs in the woods served as our bar stools in those early years. The money came from chores at home, packing groceries for tips, birthdays and Christmas gifts.
My first job, in High School, afforded me the ability to buy a car and gas and beer – I really had no other expenses besides girls, who didn't like that spending on them was relegated to what was left over after gas and beer. I had my priorities.
I began to get an inkling that perhaps I was prioritizing a little too much when I found myself popping a can of Bud on my way to work in the morning, because it made me feel a little less hung over. “Oh shit” realization that Juicy Fruit and beer breath is not a path to corporate advancement. No matter, I had priorities, and anything requiring more than an hourly wage got in the way of my drinking time.
I thought about drinking even when I wasn't drinking. “Oh shit” realization #2, and the beginning of my sobriety when a good friend told me I was heading for trouble. I knew it, but was shocked – shocked I tell you that it was not a secret that only I knew. The fact that someone that was not living inside my head saw how bad things were going for me was a very scary awakening. It wasn't just happening inside my skin, it was spilling out into the world. How many others knew?
I was 30. Single. Punching a clock for an hourly wage when I woke up that morning with one shoe and two socks. “I'm going to die if I keep this up” I thought to myself. I really liked those sneakers too. The fact that I had no idea where the other one ended up was commentary on my “condition”.
Hi, I'm Patriot and I'm an alcoholic. I had a relatively high bottom. One DWI and only unemployed for a few weeks since I was 16. Didn't lose a wife and family because my “priorities” kept the option of having a wife and kids out of my bizarre reality. Funny that i'm lucky I didn't ruin my life before I got some help.
Getting sober required going to AA meetings. It's not the only way, but it was my way. My life immediately began to improve, and improve dramatically. I met a woman that doesn't drink. She didn't have a drinking problem, it was her personal choice not to drink. I transitioned into a sales job – wore a tie and nice clothes and had a company car. My days were my own, work hard and make money, goof off and make less money. I balanced the two so that I was recognized as a hard worker that effectively hid my goofing off. I prospered. I found that I was good at getting people to like me, and buy from me even if they had a less expensive choice. After the sale service is important, and worth my higher prices.
Time went by. I didn't drink when I wanted to and I didn't drink when I didn't want to. My sobriety began to define me. I became comfortable with it. I came to depend on it. The dramatic improvements I experienced started to feel like hard won yardage I didn't want to give back to Budweiser. I was happy until cancer came into my house and stole my lovely wonderful supportive and dependable wife from me. She told me she would be “disappointed” if I tried to drink my grief away. I couldn't have that – I could not willfully disappoint this woman, even after she died and I wanted nothing more than to go with her, in a “Leaving Las Vegas” kind of way.
I met a widow about 15 months after Dona died. She's younger than I am, that suits me just fine. She is not my late wife, I love her in a different way. It's not that head over heels 100% admiration and adoration I had with Dona, this is different. Not better, not worse, just different.
The real problem, relating to my walking on eggshells sobriety today, is she drinks. She has no desire to join me in tea-totaler bliss. We had a serious “talk” at one time, and she had offered not to drink in front of me, but I declined – it's my problem for one thing, and what am I supposed to do - absent myself from all social situations? It's not a workable solution and it would likely result in each of us trying to avoid the other at certain times.
She has no idea how hard it is for me to ignore her half glass of wine when she leaves the table to visit the restroom. She has no idea how resentful I feel when I have to drive home from a friendly get-together reluctantly sober while she immediately falls asleep safe in the knowledge that she will arrive home because the driver is sober. She has no idea that I'm considering an end to our relationship because I'm feeling a threat to my sobriety.
What kind of reason is that to end a relationship? “I'm worried you're going to screw up 21 years of sobriety and I can't let that happen.”
How important is my sobriety?
It's my life. I want to drink every day and every day I deny myself what I want because I choose to survive my alcoholism. Some choice to face - between a woman and a bottle.
I wonder how it will work out?