Alcoholic, party of one

I just left a note for a new friend, and it made me think about my alcoholism.  I’m not ashamed to write about it, and it is my hope that maybe this can even help someone who has the same issue.

From the time I was a little boy, I knew I liked alcohol, though I certainly didn’t understand the meaning or implications it might have later.  My parents, like many parents (at least in the deep south), would let me have a few sips of beer when I was a small child.  Later, it graduated to a drink called "Malt Duck", which I have never seen, in my adult life.  They’d let me have one to myself, sometimes….I guess they figured it couldn’t really hurt, since I was under parental supervision.  And, before I go any further, I’d like to say that I DO NOT blame my  parents for own struggles with alcohol.  In my not-so-humble opinion, they didn’t do anything wrong.  It’s kind of akin to giving a child a puff off a cigarette or cigar to turn them away from smoking.  Sometimes it works; sometimes it backfires.

The first time I got drunk was just before my father died.  They had an early Christmas party, and they made some kind of mulched red wine thing.  Behind my parents’ backs, 14 year old me kept sneaking into the kitchen and getting cup after cup after cup of it.  By the time they realized what had happened, it was too late to do anything about it.  I THINK they hoped I would learn a lesson from it.  I did, but not the lesson they hoped.  I learned that I really LOVED the feeling I got when I drank!

For years, I could not drink red wine.  Unfortunately, many years later, I discovered that my drug of choice was whiskey or scotch.  For a few years, I didn’t really drink very much.  Then, once I was out on my own, I found the secret way to deal with all the stress of being "an adult" in a world I was not prepared for…..get a bottle of scotch!  Not smart.  I know that, now.

As my world grew more complicated, so did my alcohol intake.  In 1996-97, I spent a great deal of the year waiting to get off work so I could get drunk.  EVERY NIGHT!  Eventually, it caught up with me.  It got to the point where I would have what I called a rebound buzz during the days.  I would go to work, feeling fine…no hangovers, fortunately, but as the day progressed, my mind would cloud over, I’d get dizzy, and often I had to pull the car over and throw up.  Yes, you got it.  I was a driver!  I worked as a pizza guy that year.  

Winds up, I quit my job, because of not wanting to quit drinking.  Smart move, eh?

I had one cousin who would let me drink at her house.  I don’t like to be alone when I drink, and I always make someone promise me to take me for a drive, because when I’m intoxicated, I like to take rides, but I’m firmly against driving while drinking, even when I’m drunk out of my mind!  There is some part of me that sounds bells and whistles, telling me not to drive.  Of course, the first serious love of my life lost his mother to a drunk driver…that’s a large part of the reason I HATE when people drive while drunk.

About my cousin….she knew my father very well.  She also knew, before I ever realized, that my father was an alcoholic.  So many times that year, she would look at me and say, "Just like your Daddy!"  That always pissed me off, which is dangerous when I’m drunk.  At the time, I had not figured out how to cope with his death, and I was super angry at him for BEING dead.  I didn’t want to have anything in common with him, and here she was, pointing out a flaw that we shared!!!!!

But you know what?  I finally realized that she was right.  I WAS just like my Daddy, that way.  That thought horrified me so much that I put the bottle down for a few years.  Stupidly, I picked it back up in the year between 2001-2002.  That’s when the SERIOUS problems started.  For the first time in my life, I started blacking out.  Up to that point, I always remembered every detail of what happened while I was drunk.  Then, one time, in particular, my lifelong friend Stacy was living with me, and we had a party.  I paid for many pizzas that night, and I vaguely remember signing the check "Herman Forstmann, Jr., Jr."  Then, I have no memory of what happened next.  The next day, they told me that I’d gone on a rant about how nobody appreciated Stacy’s husband.  Apparently, I told him (and anyone else who would listen) that I loved him.  Then, I went outside, threw myself against a car, giving the car a hug, crying uncontrollably.  When our friend Liana attempted to pull me away from the car, I hit her.  

That was my wakeup call.  I am not a violent person, as a rule.  Not towards people, anyway.  I will break a dish or a bottle in a heartbeat, but I have always been proud that I don’t hit PEOPLE.  Now, I had not only broken my own rule, but I had disrespected my friend, my parents, and myself by hitting A WOMAN!

From that time on, I have severely restricted my drinking.  I’m not going to lie and say I don’t WANT to drink.  That would be denial, first class.  Hardly a day goes by that I DON’T want to drink!  Last night, for example, I went up to the store to buy smokes and sodas.  I looked at the alcohol, and I had to fight myself REALLY HARD not to buy any.  I didn’t buy it, though.

There’s always that thought in my head….an addict’s thought, I guess….that "I DESERVE to have a drink, after all that’s been going on!"  

Phone just rang…talking to my daughter and grandson, so I’ll write later!