The Fool...
My dearest ladies and gentlemen, may I once again introduce myself. In my life, I have been known by several names. As a teenager, I took my middle name as my agnomen, since I felt it had more prestigious feel to it. Next, being adorned with long flowing hair and a tattered cowboy hat, I was christened by a friend with another moniker, with which felt rather manly so I encouraged its usage. Yet another alias came about during my rock and roll stardom (notice the tongue pressed slightly against the cheek?) And through various stages, jobs, and locations, nicknames came and went. But today, I am accepting my true name...Fool.
This is not meant to be a self-condemnation, but graphic realization to what I really am. What other term term fits so well? Who would return to activities that will cause harm to their body? Who will continue an action that deceives those who care for him? And who would ignore the logistics and facts of an avocation that can potentially cost thousands of dollars in fines, retributions, and property? A Fool.
So, my dear friend, I do introduce myself, the Fool. Within just a few short days, not weeks, not months, but days of having some drinks with friends, I found myself wrapped within the chains of addiction once again. And along with those chains came the other wondrous gifts: loss of hope, self-esteem, hangovers, 5 o'clock drink pattern, hiding bottles, heart palpitations, irregular eating habits, 3 a.m. "oh my God, I've got to stop this" syndrome. Need I go on? I'm sure most of you know the scenarios. How I have earned my new name.
So a few days ago, I blogged, calling it "Zero" as that is where I stood—at day zero. I continued at day zero until yesterday, when I fought off terrible urges to drink. It was like the old Star Trek episode where Captain Kirk was fighting his negative self. I wrestled with the internal screams to pull over to the convenience store and buy something...anything as long as it had alcohol in it. It was immaterial that there was snow and ice on the road and, with booze in me and the car, an accident would have been disastrous. After passing the last stop to where alcohol was available and feeling both relieved I had not given in and terrified that I wasn't going to be able to drink, I made it home. Sober, I watched a movie with my family without passing out during it, had a couple of cups of tea, retired to bed around 10:30, and slept peacefully right past 3 a.m.
I sit here at the computer, a cup of coffee by my keyboard and sharing my reflections. I feel relieved to be reasonably clear-headed and have laid out the plans for my work today. I am a fool, no doubt of it. A fool for not seeing the danger I was in on day sixty-five. A fool for not recognizing my apathy was setting the stage for relapse. A fool for accepting that first drink as a temporary detour in my fight against addiction.
As I mentioned in the beginning of this discourse, I have acquired several names in my life. Maybe I could work on having one more...I would like to change it from Fool to simply Padraic.
But it is going to take time. I'll keep you posted.
Peace—