Crazy things we tell each other
EndGame
Join Date: Jun 2013
Location: New York, NY
Posts: 4,677
I don't at this moment remember any specific thing I said when I first got sober thirty three years ago. I know I was anxious and depressed since my first memory. That I avoided lasting relationships in response to or in defense of my pathological shyness. That I learned that telling the truth often made things worse for me. That smart people like me cut corners rather than do what was necessary to accomplish anything meaningful. That being in a relationship meant that things necessarily needed to go my way most of the time. That giving meant getting something back. That I drank as a means dealing with all the bad things that I imagined other people and the rest of the world did to me. With all I'd been through, I deserved to suffer in my own way and without criticism, and that no one had it as bad as I did. That all of my well-considered, thoughtful and well defended beliefs and convictions only brought me pain and suffering, usually in the form of irredeemable heartache. And, finally, that I hadn't truly accomplished a single thing in my life that was worth holding onto.
Compared to my three- year relapse that began eight-and-a-half years ago, the first time around was easy. No cravings, no obsession to drink, no hanging out with people or at places that had to do with drinking. I built a good life and enjoyed almost all of it, right up until a couple of years before I picked up a drink after twenty five years.
I had no pretense around why I was drinking when I relapsed. I'd let myself go at a time when that was the worst thing I could possibly do. As if there's a good time to do such a thing. I was going to get drunk as often as I could, and my mission was to die as an active alcoholic. Like the first time around, I never promised myself or anyone else that I'd stop drinking. Never tried to moderate or change my drinking habits. And didn't stop drinking until it was already too late to fix all the damage I'd done.
So, yeah. I'm still an alcoholic. And that is as true today as it would had I dropped dead the very moment I put the glass to my mouth when I relapsed. I don't even like the word 'relapse'. It implies that some process beyond my control or some hidden, alternate awareness took control of my behavior. I don't believe that for a second. Besides, the word 'relapse' is much too tame, too neutral to describe destroying everything good in your life and hurting the people we supposedly love. Or even just putting any of that at risk.
Compared to my three- year relapse that began eight-and-a-half years ago, the first time around was easy. No cravings, no obsession to drink, no hanging out with people or at places that had to do with drinking. I built a good life and enjoyed almost all of it, right up until a couple of years before I picked up a drink after twenty five years.
I had no pretense around why I was drinking when I relapsed. I'd let myself go at a time when that was the worst thing I could possibly do. As if there's a good time to do such a thing. I was going to get drunk as often as I could, and my mission was to die as an active alcoholic. Like the first time around, I never promised myself or anyone else that I'd stop drinking. Never tried to moderate or change my drinking habits. And didn't stop drinking until it was already too late to fix all the damage I'd done.
So, yeah. I'm still an alcoholic. And that is as true today as it would had I dropped dead the very moment I put the glass to my mouth when I relapsed. I don't even like the word 'relapse'. It implies that some process beyond my control or some hidden, alternate awareness took control of my behavior. I don't believe that for a second. Besides, the word 'relapse' is much too tame, too neutral to describe destroying everything good in your life and hurting the people we supposedly love. Or even just putting any of that at risk.
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