I used to joke that sobriety is a lot like playing a country music song backwards. You get your truck back, you get your house back, you get your dog back, you get your spouse back, etc. I do think the rewards of recovery far outweigh the temporary satisfaction that comes in active addiction. That doesn’t mean that some days or weeks won’t still suck though. Whether it is a crash landing from a pink cloud, facing the wreckage of your past, or just living life, we all have bad days, but the solutions to life’s problems can’t be found in the bottom of a bottle. I should know, I spent most of my life looking.
Courting Chaos
When I was in active addiction, bad days were a free pass to get drunk with no consequences. As silly as it sounds, I looked forward to the chaos of bad days. There was some comfort in knowing that my world may be on fire, but I could drown out the sound of it all with the help of a bottle of booze.
I can trace most of my solution drinking to my teens. A girlfriend dumped me because I spent too much time hanging out with my friends, and coincidentally, drinking as much beer as possible. The solution to my hurt feelings started with a 12-pack of beer offered up by one of my friends. (Oddly, that friend told me he mentioned to my now ex-girlfriend that he was surprised I spent so little time with her. Good guy.) That night ended with the world spinning as I poured myself on to the floor of my friend’s bedroom to sleep it off. The next day, I focused more on a hangover than the empty feeling and bruised ego from the night before. Problem solved.
I can’t be sure if that was my first discovery of an alcohol cure for feelings, but more followed. In college, I often knocked back a few drinks before meeting large groups of people. I drank before most public speaking events. If there was a big decision that I needed to make, after I had a few drinks, I was confident I made the right one no matter the fall out. In everything I faced, including the deaths of close friends, I always had a liquid solution close by.
The Liquid Cure-All
Even after college, when most adults leave their hard-drinking days behind, mine continued. Drinking was like a protective blanket for me. Whenever life happened, I had an initial cure. If my car died, the anger I felt floated away, replaced by the comforting thought of the drinks that I could consume while coming up with a solution. Drinking didn’t fix the car, but it did fix my attitude and push me toward accepting that indeed the car would not run.
If I had a problem at work (always caused by other idiots, I mean people), I ran by the liquor store on the way home. If I were lucky, the frustration and aggravation I felt could swell to a week of drinking and complaining. On days that I swore to myself I wouldn’t drink, some minor annoyance would escalate to a drink worthy offense. There was no problem too big or too small, that didn’t require a drink.
The trend extended to every part of my life. I drank if the inlet hose leading to the clothes washer leaked. I drank before, during, and after mowing the lawn. I drank as I tiled floors, painted or made other small modifications to my home. With a glass of bourbon in hand, I made a decision to move my family three hours across the state after examining the pros and cons of a new job . If someone I knew died, it was the perfect time to tie one on. At some point, the taste of alcohol was required for all emotions, until… it stopped helping.
Searching for a New Solution
Problems, mostly of my own creation, started flying toward me faster than I could drink them away. I had a mound of bills that I could not pay, I was battling to keep my job after refusing to ask for help to complete a simple task, I couldn’t keep up with basic household chores, and at every turn there was another problem waiting. Being a good alcoholic, I drank more and did less to solve any of the problems. Everything I owned or did washed way in a never empty glass. Within a few months, I drank myself into a dark hole with no choice left but treatment.
Finally, confined away from the substance that I viewed as my cure-all, I could start to work on a solution. My first attempts at a solution were laughable and conceived by an alcoholic brain awash in detox medication. If I couldn’t drink, the solution was to find another chemical that had less harsh consequences.
During one of our groups or mock AA meetings, I heard someone mention the phrase “keep it green.” Like a voice exhaled by a burning bush, I instantly understood that I could smoke weed, and no longer be an alcoholic. Fortunately, this epiphany happened while I was locked down in treatment so I could stay chemical-free until I sobered up. It didn’t hurt that a few days later we were taught the realities of cross-addiction so my “keep it green” wish went up in smoke.
After that, I spent a lot of time in the first week of treatment reading and re-reading the Big Book and making annotations to how I was different from the alcoholics described on the page. I underlined snippets of phrases and words and wrote squiggly notes in the margin such as “not me,” “not my thoughts,” and “could apply to anyone.” Convinced, that if I found the right page, I could find a loophole that would allow me to drink without consequence. I could be finished with this cult before they could indoctrinate me.
The more I argued against the book, the more I figured out I was lying to myself. Slowly, achingly, begrudgingly, but inevitably, I realized my call to put myself in treatment was the “jumping off place” discussed in the Big Book. I could no longer see my life with alcohol nor could I see living without it. I realized the people in this program had what I wanted. Only then did I become humble enough to begin living in the solution.
Early Sobriety is NOT Easy
From that meager start, the key to my sobriety was to stay solution-focused from the time I woke each morning until I fell asleep at night. I began to use slogans to remind me that I can make it through one day without drinking. Fortunately, I had more than a month of treatment to lay a foundation free from bottle solutions. Still, I had to return to the world eventually.
When I began to live again, freed from treatment and chasing a 90-day sobriety chip. I had a plan that I knew would work. But, just like Mike Tyson said, “Everyone has a plan until they get hit.” For me the hits started almost immediately. The wreckage of my past punched me dead in the face. I had no job or prospects, my family was split between two households, and I could not focus on anything. My brain was in a total fog. I could not fix any of the problems my alcoholism had caused; It was all I could muster to work to stay sober.
In the small town where I live, I attended two meetings a day as often as I could . I went to meetings early and often stayed there for two hours afterwards, learning as much as I could from people who were living sober. Slowly, I began to share my feelings with others instead of keeping them bottled up. I learned to use positive self-talk to ease my anxiety and began exercising (going for walks) for the first time in years.
Avoiding Early Pitfalls
Staying close to meetings helped me through the struggles of early sobriety. I learned that I could survive emotional roller coasters of life without chemical comfort. And, I firmly believed that whatever happened, good or bad, in my life would eventually pass to some new event. It wasn’t easy. I vented my frustrations on close friends in the program, and fought against acceptance far too often. I had no serenity on most days; I was simply chemical-free. Still, I worked toward solutions with the help of others instead of finding comfort in a bottle.
In those early days, frustrated and ready to give up just before my head hit the pillow, I would plan a drink for tomorrow. But, that first thought wrong, disappeared by the time I woke. Instead, I would begin my morning meditations and recovery readings to be better prepared for the day. Slowly, I began to see where my expectations of others were folly. I even began to see where I was wrong in my own thinking. With the help of a sponsor and working the 12 steps, I learned to apologize and correct behaviors. I began to grow and experience emotions other than fear and regret.
The firm foundation built with the help of others made it easier to stay sober through a divorce and the loss of loved ones. The pain and uncertainty were at times overwhelming, but I knew, firmly, that there were no solutions in the bottle. In fact, the thought of drinking did not really cross my mind. I focused on a solution instead of trying to live in the problem. With each storm, I found shelter in sobriety.
The Perfect Storm
Still, some storms shudder the foundations of the best shelters when they hit. My storm of the century struck just before Christmas this year. We should have been of decorating the house and preparing typical celebration snacks. Instead, my wife, Nina, and I faced a multiple-week endeavor flooded with emotion and no clear resolution when the storm subsided.
My youngest son needed help with his mental health. The problem, whether genetic or a result of being raised in an alcoholic household, has been recurring for years. This time, perhaps because I saw it coming, or finally felt strong enough to provide better support, was different.
In the past, I avoided making hard choices and having tough conversations, secretly hoping things would somehow get better without intervention. This episode was worse than others had been. Although my son had started seeing a psychiatrist and kept regular counseling appointments, it became clear that more needed to be done.
The need to act became laser focused when my Ex-wife learned about the situation. I have read about families in which the ex-spouses are friendly and they and the stepparents meet for dinners and play board games together and shit. We ain’t that. The Ex and I had barely spoken since the divorce. In fact, Nina and the Ex had never spoken over the phone let alone met. There is one perfect word that embodies all of my feelings about the situation I could see unfolding before me: NO!
No Solution is Perfect
Yet, here we all were, speaking to each other like fairly reasonable adults and working on a solution. After a lot of discussion about the best approach, the best level of treatment, and the roles each of us would play over the next two days, we devised a plan that hit the scrap heap before the ink dried.
After a three-day motel stay, the part of the plan designated to Nina and I, and the main reason we were all here, getting my son to agree to a higher level of treatment, had to be squeezed into an hour. We made a three-hour drive home knowing we had so little time to spend working in the solution. We would likely need another trip and plan in the coming weeks.
The weekend had turned into a tragic comedy of missteps confounded by a bout of Covid being spread to most of the people involved. Since Nina and I had spent all most all of the time waiting in a hotel room for a call to close the deal, we dodged the bullet.
I don’t mean to sound harsh. Helping someone with mental illness or substance abuse issues is often a drawn-out process. The idea that it is a one-and-done discussion is as silly as my previous idea of liquid solutions to problems. That’s just not the way it works. I honestly think everyone was doing what they thought would be best, just not the plan we discussed. It would take another six-hour round trip to get a minimum of what we had hoped. For now, my son living with his mom and continuing outpatient treatment.
The Last Straw
In the midst of being filled to overflowing with unwanted emotions, one of our beloved German Shepherds, Duck, passed away. It was the gut punch I didn’t see coming.
I felt completely defeated. Not only was I unable to help my son, I hesitated when I first felt like something was wrong with Duck. Because she was 11 years old, I expected that her lethargy was more to do with the cold weather instead of a life-threatening problem. Pissed, barely describes how angry I was with myself. Despite the vet’s explanation that the outcome would not have been different had brought Duck sooner, I needed someone to blame. And, I was it.
Standing outside of the veterinarian’s office in the misting, cold December rain I tried to focus on how I could explain the latest loss to Nina. But, my sole thought was that if there were ever a time to drink, this might be one. Awash and drowning in a swamp of mixed emotions, I just wanted everything to be over. I didn’t want to face my part in the wrecked plan to help my son. I didn’t want to deal with the frustration and sadness of losing a beloved pet. For a moment, it seemed my life had crumbled around me.
A part of me wanted to run. Run as far away from it all as far as possible, and find the safety of being drunk. Just for one day. The thought was not completely insane. It was sort of possible that I could have a few drinks with no one knowing. Nina worked overnight, and if I cutoff early enough the smell of booze could be gone before she arrived home. I didn’t want to throw all of my sobriety away, I just needed a pause. Just a moment to take a break from emotions. That kind of numbing effect I knew well 9 years ago. That solution could be in the bottom of a bottle. I just needed to open one and look.
The problem, as I slowly began to return to sanity, is that it will never be one drink, one bottle or one day of drinking. The sickening memories of what happens when I take the first drink blazed in the front of my mind, erasing the need to run away. I might be able to numb the pain that night, but I do not know if I will ever stop the train wreck that follows. The adage that one drink is too many and a thousand is never enough certainly applies to me.
A Better Solution
Whether I liked it or not, I had to feel all of the hurt, pain, frustration, and I had to accept the things I can’t change. Slowly, I stepped back into the solution, and left the delusion that I could drink without consequence behind. As I did in the early days of sobriety, I focused on the tasks immediately in front of me.
First, I needed to make a difficult phone call and explain everything I knew about Duck to Nina. She had a more difficult time ahead because she was stuck at work for the next 8 hours. Then, I would drive home and spend time with Bulleit and Molly-Frog. They would be confused that someone was missing. I also had chores I wanted to complete before Nina came home, so I could start on those next.
As I organized my to-do list, I knew I would get through the days and weeks ahead. Like each challenge I had faced in sobriety, I had the tools to help me choose the next right thing. I could climb the emotional mountain in front of me one-step at a time. My life would continue, and I would heal as long as I stayed in the solution and out of the bottle.
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