Holiday Weekend Looming

The tension is building around here as we head into the Fourth of July weekend.  The ranks have thinned, and I doubt we will see too many more admissions until after the weekend.  One last big blowout.  I kind of wish I was out there, sitting on my deck, sipping a cold beer, master of all I survey, content and in control.  Watching the kids splash around in the Mr. Turtle pool.  Then I realize that that would not, and never has, happened.  I was the one sneaking into the garage, taking long pulls from a hidden bottle of whiskey, then trying to appear that I was drinking at the same pace as everyone at the party, sweating profusely, red-faced, talking too loud.  My ex-wife would always be confused.  "How is it that you are perfectly sober until you hit three beers, then you have to be scraped off the floor?" "No clue, hon, I'm just kind of a light weight, I guess.  But you make a good point.  I better make a trip to the liquor store before it hits me."  And off I went, two in the afternoon, probably already about a point three.  Usually with one of the kids. Christ, euphemistically my head is buried in my hands right now.  It never has to happen again.

There is a realization that one can't hope for a better past, but can plan for a better future.  I cling to that mantra.  If I didn't, if I dwelled on the past, I swear to god, I would put a bullet behind my ear. But no way, because among all of my flaws, cowardice rises to the top of the heap.  Cowardice and fear - the two emotions that drive most alcoholics to the brink.

So, here in the states, it's a big holiday weekend.  I suppose I will be safe from myself, secure in another treatment facility or a sober house.  I know for a fact that someone I know - yet to be determined - will find their way into trouble.  I just hope it doesn't end as the end.  Alright, enough of this maudlin crap.  Time for a few half-pints of ice cream and a few chapters of the latest Lee Child book.  Hey, what can I tell you?   Guilty pleasures.  Better than a handful of midazolam and a pint of Jack.

Secure Your Mask

Sometimes it is difficult for me to remember that this disease is absolutely lethal.  Interestingly enough, it is rare that I see someone someone take it to the end, dying in a hospice, liver shot to hell, with emphysema or COPD topping it all off.  No, usually it is a quick heart attack, car accident, overdose, suicide, or perhaps a violent end from being in the wrong place at the wrong time.  The point is that alcoholism WILL kill you, if you don't stop drinking.  And even then, down the road, liver or pancreatic cancer, kidney failure, or any other number of ugly chronic conditions can put you down.  These are the things I need to remember.  I may make it to tomorrow, but maybe not.  And if I do, what am I lopping off the back end?  Thanks for the memories.

A while back, I abandoned Christianity and began studying Buddhism.  The basic tenet of Buddhism can be summed up as 'do no harm.'  That, I must always keep in the forefront, includes harm to myself.  That is the less obvious part, but the most important.  If I am taking care of me, I am likely taking care of you, or at least doing you no harm.  I remember contemplating an instructional placard near the automatic oxygen while sitting in an airplane.  "Place the mask securely over yourself, then assist the other person you are traveling with."  Counter-intuitive at first, until you realize that this simple act of self-hygiene is the only way that I can be able to assist others.  A great metaphor for life.  Take care of yourself, sweep your own side of the street, then you can help others.  If you don't, you can't.  Period.

As alcoholics, we turn this upside down.  It is the nature of the disease, and hard to comprehend.  But, in recovery, we can learn that the only way we can truly be of service is to 'secure our mask first.'

Back to the Story...Not Much to See Here

Well, it's time to get back to the story.  As I suspected, here, a few days before the Fourth of July weekend, the place has emptied out.  A few have left AMA (against medical advice), and a few simply talked their way into an early release.  One last blast out there with a jammed cooler, under a night sky aglow with fireworks.  I, on the other hand, am sitting tight, hoping that I get word that I will be headed to my next stop - the VA Hospital in White River Junction, Vermont.  It better happen soon, because I have been told that I will be discharged Monday one way or another.  If I behave, I might be able to squeeze couple of more days here.  Not sure why I would want that, but truthfully, if I left now, I would be drunk in an hour.

I also suspect that there will be an major influx of patients arriving at the beginning of the week, all banged up,  I may have to leave simply for administrative reasons - no space.  I am officially a placeholder now; no detox is going on.  I, for now, am cured.

I believe that if I do get to Vermont, I am going to be there for about a month.  Then, if the stars line up, I plan to finally get that total knee replacement that I have needed for a few years.  The ortho staff up there is superb - might as well get it all done at once.  I am a little fearful about the process, but it has to be done sooner or later.  I'm kind of a pussy like that.

Anyway, today could be a pivotal day.  With the long weekend ahead, business will slow, and I might slip through the cracks.  All I can do is ask the universe to see the value in my concept.  The problem is, it hasn't listened to me much.  Or maybe I haven't asked enough.

Things I Don't Miss

1. Being broke, or worse, under water.  Losing cash, writing unintelligible checks.  Forgetting my PIN. Overdraft charges.

2. Damage to my car.  Finding it sitting in the driveway with bent rims and flat tires.  Realizing that it is suddenly out of alignment; not remembering hitting anything.  Spills and burns on the upholstery. Too many empties under the seats to clean out in one trip.

3. Vaguely remembering arguments; then being confronted the next day regarding the seriousness of my behavior.  Not being able to remember or understand.  Lying.

4.  High blood pressure.  Racing heart.  Sweating.  Feeling bloated.  Going days without eating.  Mystery bruises, blood on the pillow.  Going days without shaving, always needing a haircut.  Wearing the same underwear three or four days in a row.

5.  Wanting to be alone.  Always.  Hating the social scene.  Avoiding family.

6.  Waiting for the liquor store to open at 9 am.  Arriving at 8:30, having been awake since 4.  Shaking like a goddamn leaf.  Stealing, if need be.

7.  Waking in the middle of the night, knowing that I was dying.  Horrified, filled will terror, knowing that I was doomed to die an alcoholic death.

8.  And most of all, hearing the plaintive voices of my parents, telling me how much they worried that I would be dead soon.

Uproar!

Uproar here.  The rules have changed.  It used to be that if you were a patient for 72 hours, and you were detoxed and wanted to leave, you were free to go.  Well, not so much anymore.

Now, regardless of how long you have been here, once you voice your intent to leave, you can still be held an ADDITIONAL 72 hours.  So, here we go.  A few of the guys who have been here all week want to go home for the holiday, and figured no problem.  They called their families, made plans, arranged rides.  Only to find out that they have to stick around another three days after all.  But here's the rub.  This particular facility does not discharge patients on the weekends.  To make a long story short, no one is getting home for the holiday.  As a matter of fact, they will all be here until Monday. Anger abounds.  It's actually kind of funny, only because I plan to be here anyway.  I just asked the duty nurse to try to find us some unopened puzzles.  No kittens, though.

So, after about 3 PM today, the long wait begins.  Tomorrow will be the acting holiday for the federal employees, so essentially the place will shut down for three days. Another holiday weekend of my life, stolen from me by alcohol.  Or perhaps I should rephrase that.  Another holiday weekend of my life, given over to alcohol.  And I can't stop thinking about my girlfriend.  It is going to be a long 96 hours.  Lots of writing, hopefully some of it will be entertaining.

the message

This morning I woke up, turned on the computer, and checked my messages.  Right there, staring me in the face, was a statement from the woman I love, "I am so sad, I hate you for what you have done to us." That's it.  Nothing else, sent around 10 PM last night.  My heart leapt into my throat.

I wish I could tell her how much I love her, and how hard I am trying to get this addiction behind me. I want her to be able to see into my heart:  to see the hope and optimism I have, the efforts I am putting into to try to get to the root problem.  I want her to know that I hate this life as it is, the past few years of the constant struggle to stay sober, sometimes just to stay alive.  I think that sometimes the alcohol saved my life, because without it, I may have been so full of pain I might have ended it all. But recovery is additive, and I feel myself getting stronger.  It takes knowledge and practice, and, unfortunately, painful lessons.  And I have had my share.  I want her to know how sorry I am for upending her life.  But the word 'hate' kills me.

I thought about not responding, because what do you say?  I have put her through hell over the last six months.  Words are meaningless at this point; there is no convincing her that everything will be OK.  She's not hearing it.  And that's hard to swallow, but I know it's an absolute.  But I love her, and still see my future with her.  Can't imagine it without her.  Don't want anyone else, never did, never will.  So, with that being said, I will continue along my path, because there is nothing more in this world that I want than to be sober.  Nothing.

So I replied, "No matter how you feel about me, I love you."

And I am still heartbroken.

I Do Not Want What I Haven't Got

Why is it that as alcoholics, we are so full of anxiety?  It's kind of like the age-old question - what came first, the chicken or the egg.  Are we anxious as a product of years of drinking, or did we start to drink because we suffered from generalized anxiety?  There is no doubt that when we STOP drinking, a period of intense anxiety sets in.  Crazy fear, unrealistic projections, inaccurate assessment of our situation.  Now, when I say inaccurate, I mean that we focus on every other solution except the most obvious one - that is, to stay stopped.  Then there is the time issue.  We truly believe that we are on the the right path, therefore, everything should be put back in place right away. It is stunning to think that it might take years to fix some things, and some of the the things we want the most may never be fixed.  And that is downright terrifying.

I was just sitting here thinking about what a mess my life has become (this is, in fact, an accurate assessment - it is a mess), then a man sat down next to me and told me what was happening in his life.  And it was worse than mine. A strange thing happened.  Immediately, I felt empathy and a human connection.  Also, my own burden lightened a little bit, just for a moment.  So there it is in a nutshell - the importance of sober social contact, such as recovery groups. Nothing physically has changed, but my perception of my own situation changed. And that is therapeutic.  And may help me stay away from that drink just a little longer, which is why I am on this journey and writing this blog.  There was an old Sinead O'Connor song entitled I Do Not Want What I Haven't Got..  Someday, I would like to be able to say that and mean it.  It will never happen if I don't stay sober.

What a long, strange trip it's been...

So, today is the Fourth of July, 2015.  Pay no attention to the time stamp.  The Grateful Dead - sans Mr. Garcia, of course - are playing their final concerts in Chicago.  My brother is there tonight; tomorrow will be the last show.  Fifty years together.  They started as the Warlocks back in late '64-'65, then changed their name shortly thereafter.  Now, I have never been a huge fan, but what a legacy!  A more devoted fan base you will never find.  Cheers, guys, and Fare Thee Well.

I was born in 1964.  Rolling around in my crib when Weir, Lesh, Garcia, and the rest were getting their act together in the Haight.  This causes me to pause and reflect.  Compare, not identify.  Look what those guys did in fifty years; look at me.  Quite a difference.  But I also am grateful.

Grateful to be alive.  To have two wonderful children and an ex-wife who is raising them well. Grateful for another chance at sobriety.  For having a wonderful woman in my life over the last year or so, and perhaps an opportunity to repair the relationship.  Grateful for good health, having had a decent education, a good credit score.  A few friends with the desire to gain more.

Grateful for good coffee.  The ocean.  Warm summer nights.  Cats and dogs.  Music, good books, the internet.  The Pittsburgh Pirates, having a good year.  Both my parents - still alive and well.  I got a good night's sleep last night.  General contentment.

So, gratitude is rearing its pretty head today.  And for that, I am grateful.  Fare Me Well.

crutch fight

Well, so much for the theory that this facility will remain basically empty until the Fourth weekend is over.  We are full.  Over the last 48 hours, about 10 guys came in, giving us a population of about 18, which, I believe, is maxed out.  It sure feels that way.  The dynamics have gone from mellow to tense.

The VA police brought in a guy last night who was clearly trouble.  His BAC was probably through the roof, and he was combative.  Now, the best thing to hope for is that he will calm down, sleep it off.  Not this guy.  He was hollering all night, even from his bed, demanding that the duty nurse bring him ice cream - bedside.  "Get off your lazy ass and get it yourself," I heard from the nurse.  This guy is a real piece of work.

This morning, apparently he decided to limp into the bathroom on his crutches to take a shower.  One of the other patients was in there, a solid dude who has been here a week.  (Someone else I have known from years gone by).  The new guy started spitting on the floor, the other guy told him to cut it out.  An argument ensued, whereupon my friend grabbed one of the guys crutches and walloped him across his head.  My friend immediately then went to the nurse's station, told the nurse that he had been attacked by the drunk, who had subsequently slipped and hit his head.  Moments later, the drunk came roaring out, yelling that he had been attacked.  The duty nurse told him to shut the hell up and go back to his room.  After a confused moment, the drunk did just that.

Awesome.  My buddy told me the story, furtively watching the scene behind him, asking me if he thought he was going to get in trouble.  "No worries," I told him.  "I was there, saw the whole thing. It went down exactly as you said."  My friend smiled.  "Want an ice cream?"

Vermont

So, I have made  full circle and am back in Vermont.  The place I had to wait seventeen days to get into after my stay at the Brockton VA last year.  Kind of hard to believe that those seventeen days that preceded the last stay weren't more of an incentive to keep it together.

I am looking out the window at the same view I had seven months ago, the one I left behind when I exited exuding confidence.  That day seems like yesterday, since time flies when you are not having fun. And I didn't.  But..during those seven months, I stayed sober about for about five.  Of course, I hop-scotched the last three or so, but sober time is sober time.  I also returned to school and began masters' degree work, got one course finished.  Had a job for three months; promoted three times. Lots of good times, more bad ones.  But I have another chance.  And, as the good book says, it is better to be a live dog than a dead lion.  Woof.

I guess I will be here about a month, give or take, probably give.  Have to find a place to land and I'm not sure what that looks like yet.  Maybe I can go back to the place I just left, not sure if they'll let me, not sure if I want to.  I've made a couple of friends in that town, so it would be nice to get back for that reason.  The space between my children and me is weighing on me, though.  If I stay in New England, I have to hatch a plan to see them regularly.   Fifteen and eight, and they miss me.  And I miss them.  But I've been here two days.  It will all come to me.