An Esteemable Action

I Had Big Plans

and a whole ton of ideas for posts here, but I guess I got sidetracked. Actually I’m grateful — the chance to get really involved in a project in a way I never thought I would has been a blessing.

208 days today.

Oh: A phenomenal blog for anyone working a program: Mr. Sponsorpants. The next time I have something to say that’s 1/10 as valuable as his humble posts, I’ll put it here.

My goodbye/breakup letter to vodka from rehab

When I read this in group  a week or so into rehab, it generated a lot of discussion and what I took as some flak from my counselor as to the fact and why did I personify/sexualize my liquor of choice. Besides being overjoyed that I still had the mental capacity to take a bit of creative license (and therefore doing so) it was also truly my reality. I hadn’t dated or been sexual in nearly two years (until I met Impound Girl.) I chose alcohol over women 99 out of 100 times. I felt like it gave me something I needed without asking for anything back, which in my twisted mind was what I needed. Or more accurately, was all I could handle. It without any doubt had become a relationship. A very exhausting relationship. And obviously from that isolation and the brief insanity of DG, I had become quite angry and mysogynistic. I also got told that I had been attempting to write a “good” letter instead of just being honest:

Hey Red. Sorry I haven’t been around in a week or so. I had to take a trip out of town. To be perfectly honest, I had to get away from you for a while. Actually, let me take that back — I have some honesty issues, but you know that. The truth is that I’m not coming back.

Sorry I couldn’t tell you in person, but I had to get the fuck out of there. It was just too much. This past year it just hasn’t been the same. We both know it. I used to feel so good when I was with you. Even if we spent all day together, seeing no one else for weeks at a time, I didn’t mind. In fact, I loved it. Despite the obsession we managed to retain the appearance of normal lives. We’d show up at parties together and no one would know what was really going on. But this past summer you started to get possessive. Jealous. To be blunt, you went nuts. And in turn, so did I.

Do you remember the first time you hit me? Knocked me out cold in public. Put me in the back of an ambulance in front of all those people. It took three days in the hospital for me to recover. After that, a separation was necessary. I know three months seemed like a long time. Did to me too. But it had to be done. But you couldn’t just give me some space. Every day with the goddamn phone calls. The voicemails. The hang-ups. You wore me down. Fucking bitch. Sorry to call you that, but don’t you think it’s warranted? Matter of fact, after a week of that shit I should have come over there and knocked you upside the head. Had you shipped off somewhere where I’d never see you again. Or I should have just run for the border myself. But it wouldn’t have mattered. I see your damn sisters everytwhere I go, and they’re just as attractive as you.

I tried to just go about my life, and hell yea, I was lonely, and really bored, and so that one day — one just like the 86 before it — just for shits, I picked up your call. How fucking stupid.

We both know the rest of the story. Well, I kinda do. The past few months since then have been kind of a blur. You put me in the hospital again. You beat the shit out of me on almost a daily basis. But again, I just couldn’t leave your side. Literally.

So here we are, and here I am. My relationships have always ended badly, and this one will be no exception. That’s it, baby. We’re done. We just had that last fight, that last brawl — the worst one ever — and in the morning I just left. For good. You’ll never see or hear from me again. And yea, right now that hurts and scares me. Right now. right now it feels like nothing will ever make me feel like you did; no kiss will ever be quite the same.

But I’ll get over you. I’ve already started to. Sorry, but I have. There’s a whole new world out there for me now, and I’m going to go live in it.

Sincerely,
Me

P.S. Please, baby — you and all your damn sisters — please don’t go fuck with anyone else. You’ve done enough damage already.

Today is five months sober for me.

This won’t hurt a bit

I decided last week that as spiritual growth goes, so must physical. So tomorrow is go day. Not only do I have my first real doctor’s appointment since going sober, later in the afternoon I start Tai Chi training with a Kung Fu master. Literally. Now if I could only somehow work a rocket scientist into this…

Hold on a minute —

My cousin works for NASA, and she’s getting married next month, and if I can get over a dozen different fears — like having my shit become the day’s focus, relapsing not over the open bar but over feeling scrutinized and wanting to hide, checking off one more person on the family’s “unmarried” list which has pretty much just one name left on it, etc etc — I might attend.

Close enough.

I handed out chips today

for the first time. I had always wondered where the cheat sheet was. Apparently there isn’t one, but the timing must have been inspired because the whole spiel just rolled out of my mouth. It must have been having heard it, oh, I dunno (math, calculating… ding!) 300 times.

Then, when I ask if anyone has 2 or more years today (what are the odds?), guy actually raises his hand — 12 years! Rock on. As I’m fishing through trying to find a XII (one left — you’re official dude) I’m wondering if he felt robbed getting it from the noob.

There’s a meeting starting in one minute. Go.

I hadn’t even been through the door more than 10 minutes. No paperwork filled out yet; hadn’t seen a doctor, hadn’t seen a nurse.

As ridiculous as it sounds now, I wasn’t even thinking this could be a part of it.

Despite my experiences of just 48 hours before: The point I had reached, the desperation, picking up the phone to call my family and then this place — a 12 step-based detox and rehab center — attending an actual A.A. meeting wasn’t on my radar. I was probably subconsiously avoiding the thought.

For me, AA had always been thanks but no thanks.

See, as bad as it had got — which had become as bad as it possibly could — in my mind my acute crisis was physical. I was sick. I was literally drowning in vodka and simply cutting back had finally triggered withdrawals. I was still drinking — and now my body and brain were melting down because a liter wasn’t enough. Not enough for me to keep the symptoms away; too little for my brain to run on. I couldn’t get drunk, and I couldn’t stop drinking. Both directions equalled sickness. I had been able to taper off in the past, but even by the second or third serious attempts to quit it had come with shakes, the morning sickness, etc. Times after that I had the miracle of Librium to help, but now that wasn’t an option, and it wouldn’t have mattered if I did because I couldn’t even get to zero drink point to take it if i’d had it. A liter over the past 12 hours and now, no more than an hour or so after finishing the bottle the withdrawals had started. The TV’s on in the other room and the 240 BPM techno is pounding in my head even though everything electronic in the apartment is off. I was scared as I had ever been.

So now, here in the facility, feeling OK after having been given permission… no, actually told by the medical staff to keep drinking until I arrived — I want medical treatment. Put me on a benzo drip. Sedate me, monitor my vitals, keep the noises and flashes and ants on the walls at bay. Remove the fear that I’m going to have a seizure or massive heart attack, clean me up, for the last time by God for reals for reals this is the last time — and I’ll get out of here. Thanks for the detox; no need for rehab. Get me through this and I’ve got it. I’ve certainly learned my lesson this time — hey, 7th time’s the charm — I just desperatly need you to get me over this strictly medical hurdle and I’ll be so lucky and thankful that I’ll just go home and start my life over, clean and sober, once and for all. This time will absolutely be different from the last time I had to go the hospital and left so lucky and grateful and ready to start my life over, clean and sober, once and for all.

“There’s a meeting starting in one minute. Go.”

One hour and one minute later, I was just starting to sober up.