Bear with me, Dear Reader. I don’t mean to insult you by calling you fools, but we in recovery ought to be able to recognize that if we were not worthy of the moniker “fool,” we certainly habitually acted foolishly. I suppose, from that admission, we have to admit we were fools. I say “we” because I know for damn sure I was.
I’ve recently written on how habitual drunkenness is a form of self-induced insanity. It should be no surprise, then, that I would consider habitual drunkenness to be foolish, as well.
So that I may establish my bona fides as a foolish drunk, I’ll volunteer that my drunkenness resulted in legal problems, financial problems, marital problems, and career problems. I alienated friends and I betrayed the trust of my wife and family. I lost quality time with people I love. I lied. I lost the confidence of my peers and supervisors. I squandered talent and opportunity. I was on the precipice of losing all that mattered in my life and potentially my life itself. Are you convinced we are the same? Good. Let’s proceed.
People I cared about greatly talked to me about all of this. Friends, family, and co-workers had at various times told me I needed to slow down. I needed to cut back. I needed to dry out for a while. I had difficulty finding a job. I had difficulty obtaining professional licensure. I had difficulty maintaining my driving privileges. The pressure to clean up was coming from all angles. The list of folks who saw me as a drunk included a judge, a prosecutor, a disciplinary administrator, a spouse, a brother, a sister, parents, friends, and more than a few counselors and physicians. Do you know who knew better than all of them combined that I was fine and they were over-reacting? That’s right, ME. My ego couldn’t concede that these people knew more about me than I did. My addiction also couldn’t allow me to truly face the cold, hard fact that I was not capable of continuing in this way with my life intact.
There were times I halfway expected to walk in on an intervention. I don’t know what I would have done. I don’t think I would have reacted well. I remember not liking it when people from different parts of my life interacted. If they were to discuss my drinking, they’d find I was doing more of it than any of them knew separately. It’s the same reason I had a three or four liquor store rotisserie I always used. I couldn’t have one liquor store seeing me more than twice a week. They’d know I had a problem them. I was doing so well hiding it, right?
To protect my addiction, I lived many lies and many lives. I knew it was dysfunctional. I could barely keep everything straight. But, Dear God, don’t ask me to change. I’m not ready and I won’t do it. I was hung over for two days after 11/15/16, which is the last time I drank. I admitted I needed help on 11/17/16 and went to my first meeting. Where was my mind on 11/16/16? Hung over and absolutely committed to protecting my ability to continue going on. Why? Was I crazy? Was I foolish? Yes and yes, but I was addicted to alcohol. I was convinced I needed it to make it through my life and nobody was going to convince me otherwise. So what happened?
My wife, fully aware I had gotten drunk on 11/15/16 did a little poking around with our online banking and took a look at the credit card all the booze wound up being charged to. She looked back over months and months of charges at bars, liquor stores, and restaurants. She knew I drank a lot and she had known only about a fraction of it. I expected anger and instead I saw in her eyes that she was both worried for me and sad at what I had become. She did not ask me to stop drinking. She didn’t have to. I saw the look on her face and felt like I was being mourned. It was nothing short of a revelation to me how much hurt I was causing and how much damage I had inflicted on my family and myself.
I think I’m not unique in this. It just takes a certain amount of pain to get us to open our eyes. There’s a cost we’re willing to keep paying and then, for us lucky ones, the math doesn’t add up anymore and we resolve to change. We have to be ready. No one can do it for us. In turn, we can help those who are willing, but we cannot convince or compel anyone to leave an addiction they are committed to feeding. Dear Reader, I hope that you have reached the point you are ready to stop paying the cost. I hope you will commit to living a joyful life in sobriety. I know that you can.
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