davaidavai

I'm on my second day here, quitting I think before it goes too far, although I have wasted a lot of time and money on seeking something in bottles. It was always like a bender ever five days, then those 40 ounce beer nights in between. Often 3 days of sobriety. This uncontrollable dispair. But I loved those little whiskey bottles because they were cheap and risk free. I felt like I could risk them, I could risk bringing a flask or two into my life. Even the word flask is innocuous. Care for a flask? A drink off my flask? Flask? And drinking on airplanes, international flights. Oh yeah. And drinking in European grotto pubs. And in parks. And wine and cheese openings where getting drunk always seemed like a protest, like an expression of my own disdain for the proceedings. And vodka shots with pickles. And vodka in saunas. And the gentlemanlyness of Jameson. And the Americanness of Jack Daniels, the humorous oddity of Jim Beam. And Campari. Oh yes. Great glasses of campari, and the nostalgia of Ouzo. I would be the only one in the bar drinking Ouzo rounds. And the Vodka Martini. Ain't that a slice of heaven? Albeit objectively gross? Just a huge gaping abyss of chilled vodka?

I think the worst for me over the last 5 years were the nightmares. I mean, aside from the self-loathing, the isolation and the intrusive thoughts. I would get these waking nightmares where it was literally like I was in hell. I felt as if I was in some kind of psychological hell: waking to pure panic. Once, I got up, rushed the my balcony, stuck my head out the window, and then, searching for something to anchor me, I picked up the old touchtone phone that was stored out there and brought it with me to bed to sleep with. Just a piece of reality. I needed a piece. The phone was my ********.

As I write this, I'm realizing how awful it became. Alwasy waking the second or third night to panic and paranoia, feeling like there are people in the room, praying for serenety, my heart racing. It's actually funny in a way, to find myself at 33 a classic drunk. How did this happen?

On my second day here, I just find it helpful to recount. The fright. Pure, rarified fear. It has to be the worst sensation one can experience.

There's actually a great Australian movie you should all see called Wake In Fright. Just this incredibly raw, spot on depiction of the uglyness of booze, of what it does to people.