Dear Santa,
I don’t remember the last time I wrote a Christmas letter to you, or if I ever have. I remember writing shopping lists of things that would prove that I get what I want. I remember leaving milk and cookies. I remember caring how much I hoped you liked them. I remember how hard it was for me not to steal your milk and cookies.
At some point, I stopped believing. I grew up, and became too cool for stuff like that. I stopped feeling bad about not being all that good. I continued to expect to get what I wanted, and if I didn’t get it, well, I didn’t blame you.
Christmas became routine after that. A chore to avoid disappointment and disaster. Everyone was trying so hard to be Holiday Happy, and the stress would hit like a runaway snowplow. Eventually, all I wanted for Christmas was something that started with “Spiked,” like Spiked Eggnog, or ended with “Scotch,” like Scotch. Best excuse of all time to get plastered and pretend!
For 20 years or so, I got away with it, kind of.
When I was in my mid-twenties, I couldn’t make the trip home for the holidays because of a DUI. The next year, I had to visit my hometown police station to take a breathalyzer because I was still on probation. Other years, I was a wreck because of some manipulative relationship. Other, other years, I felt like the Christmas Wizard because I was probably manipulating someone like I had a Genie all of my own.
Then, Santa, Christmas 2019 happened. It was the saddest Christmas of my life. I lost drinking. I was losing everywhere in my life. My health symptoms had become scary, and I knew they were alcohol related. I ignored the signs. I hid them because I just wanted all of it to go away. My mind was so polluted I couldn’t decipher true from false. I was an avalanche of emotion and confusion with several relationships caught up in the fray.
I bought myself a truck three weeks before Christmas, and I was already $25k in credit card debt. I honestly believed buying the truck was going to up my responsibility level. I was grasping for anything that felt like I could gain control. Then, it would crumble because I would put too much pressure on it to pull me through. I could only see the self-defeat and darkness in the wreckage.
So, I gave myself a six-day bender for Christmas. At one point, I remember being surrendered to the binge completely. I was slumped over at 4 a.m. outside on my sister’s second story deck. I was trying to smoke a cigarette. I was trying to drink. Everyone was sleeping except for my 12 year-old nephew. I woke him up while I was rummaging for cigarettes in my luggage stored in his bedroom.
Outside on the deck, I kept stumbling and catching myself. I would drop my smoke at the same time. I felt so powerless. I felt like a hopeless puppet. I was just dangling and worn-out. I was so frustrated. I wanted to dance, and I wanted to die at the same time.
The day after Christmas, on day 5 of my last drunk, I sent a message to a friend asking if he could help me get to Alcoholics Anonymous. He wrote back immediately telling me he would take me to my first meeting. That was the first true Christmas Miracle of my life.
Somehow, I turned my motivation to drink into motivation to get sober. It felt like self-betrayal initially. The minutes would not pass. It felt like it took 2 weeks to get three days sober. I had no choice left but to commit to the grind.
Meeting after meeting, step after step, sponsor after sponsor, and I finally got my one-year chip 3 days after my first sober Christmas.
On Christmas day 2020, my sister and I climbed to Chasm Lake on Longs Peak. The high temperature almost hit 60 degrees. The hike was nearly ten miles, but never once did I think I would rather be halfway through bottomless mimosas. Not once. In fact, I was feeling freedom in a way that I never believed possible. That is what fuels my sobriety today as I head into my third sober Christmas. I work every day to build, strengthen, and secure my freedom from that prison of alcohol and self-destruction. It’s a different kind of stumble, and I like it, I must say.
Santa, I am not a perfect person. I know that you know, but I need you to know that I know, now, finally. This process is really awkward. It can be extremely painful. It can be equally as rewarding. I love the work. I have learned so much about myself, and I have accepted that as my path, come what may.
I wrote a lot of letters to myself that first year. Every day I kept a journal, and many entries were just small promises I wanted to keep. Most of it was only to disrupt the anxiety and PTSD. It worked. The meetings worked. The steps worked.
None of it would have worked had I not given up MY previous self-serving “wish list.” The saddest Christmas came when I realized I wasn’t entitled to Happy Holidays just because I want everything to go my way. I have a part to play. I have to work for and choose positive actions and behavior. Awareness is my responsibility. Understanding is my responsibility. Patience is my responsibility. Knowing how to protect my boundaries is my responsibility.
So this year, Santa, I have a new Christmas wish. Year one was asking for abstinence in my relationship with alcohol. Year two was wishing for better relationships with people. Year three I asked for the stamina to build inner strength and peace. And now, year four, Big Man, is all yours. I just want to thank you for all you have done for me and wish for the lists of others to be fulfilled. I am not done with Christmas, I am just done with needing something to come out of it for me.
Santa’s Sleigh
You carry all the wishes for the entire world in your sleigh, and deliver them under our tree while we sleep. What a wonderful promise it is that you keep.
We need that hope to keep us alive in our world that can turn cold, dark, and against us overnight. We count on the morning to burst into light.
For children we are, and children we’ll be, always wishing for something new to see. But for this year, and all years to come, I have only one wish, between you and me.
Please give to those who ask for a different life to lead, all the love and support they will need. The very kind that you have given to me, after Christmas 2019.
Merry Christmas Santa,
Peter
Author’s Bio: About Peter
Even though addiction is part of Peter’s story, it is by no means what defines him. He began writing prose and poetry in the second grade and never stopped. Peter also has a love for sports, the great outdoors, art, and music.
He grew up in the state of Iowa, and after graduating from the University, Peter moved to Colorado to begin a career as a golf professional and ski bum. That didn’t last forever.
He went back to tending bar, and eventually, started his own lawn care business, which he still operates today.
Of all things he has experienced in life, sobriety is at the top of the list. In giving up drinking, Peter writes about how sober living has improved, through challenges, his spiritual relationship, relationship with the important people in his life, and the relationship with his true-self.
Writing in the present moment with a new perspective on the past, he explores connections between the mind, body, and spirit. Taking photographs along the way he shares his story on his adventure blog, www.secondwind5280.com and on Instagram @secondwind5280. He hopes to see you on a hike, fly-fishing on a creek somewhere in the Rocky Mountains, or for a high-five on the street. He loves the opportunity for a cup of coffee.
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