[Lost Sailor]

I had an interesting revelation this weekend: I was at a club with my cousin and some friends. I've been sober a while and feel comfortable enough with my sobriety to visit bars and such establishments without any worry of drinking or even wanting to drink. It doesn't even cross my mind, and actually, seeing all the drunks around these places (which I used to be among) makes me embarrassed and sad for them and they annoy me, which I'm sure was the way I acted, and thought I was king of the world. It's a good reminder of more reasons not to drink.

Anyway, my cousin went to get a vodka and Sprite and me just a Sprite. Of course she got the drinks mixed up and gave me the spiked one. Amazingly, this has never happened before. I have been handed glasses of champagne and wine, which I discreetly set down after a few moments, though, which was pretty tough in the circumstances.

But I took a big swig, and immediately knew what it was. It was DISGUSTING! I spit it out and had an aftertaste of the vodka which I washed out with my Sprite, and just having it in my mouth made me literally gag at the table, which fortunately no one saw.

But my thoughts were that when I was drinking, I drank chardonnay and bourbon and cokes. And sometimes whatever I could get my hands on. OK, often whatever was around. But wine and B&C's were my preference. But now just the smell makes me want to vomit.

Have I brainwashed myself a la Clockwork Orange? Maybe...but I think that alcoholic drinks actually have always been THAT gross, unpalatable, and just repellent and toxic tasting to me. That's how strong the desire quickly became: that I would drink literally ANYthing for an alcoholic buzz. I don't remember ever taking a drink and thinking to myself "wow, that's good/refreshing!" It was always: "Party time!"

I remember in my early sobriety going to speaker meetings and listening to speakers tell of themselves drinking mouthwash under a bridge or in their car, where they were living with their child, or drinking anything containing alcohol, health, law and life be damned, much less the mere taste. And many wound up in the hospital. And I remember thinking: wow. I could never or would never be THAT bad. But now I see that not only could I, and would I, but I already was. I already was long in a stage where I was not only literally drinking unpalatable poison, but it really didn't taste any worse to me than drinking dog Pi$$. I often made faces the first few sips until my mouth was numbed. And the saddest thing is I would have stepped over the body of my dying father to get more after my first one. I really don't think my life was headed upwards from there.

And I now wonder, how far would I have eventually gone to get a drink? How insane was I becoming? Obviously I had passed a point where self-destruction wasn't an issue-I ignored what I was doing to my body, mind and spirit(what was left, if any). I ignored what I was doing to my family, future, and endangering everything I had and could/would have. I suppose I would have kept going until I ended up where we all will end up if left to our own devices: the grave, jail or the nuthouse. But it now amazes me how terrible this disease is, that it will not only put you there, but will convince you to do things so awful the entire way to the bottom. And blind us to the sobering truth of our inevitable fate. We evolve into the definition of an idiot. It seems we try to beat the disease "one day at a time" and it fights back "one sip at a time." When we drank, we never looked past that next sip, as we now fight fire with fire and never look past the next "not" taking a sip. Ironic.

Sorry for the diatribe, and what should have been a short little story. It's cathartic to sometimes just write. And apologies to probably a lot of people who don't know what a Klondike Bar is and why anyone would do stupid things for one.