Day 66

As my 31's birthday rapidly approaches, it's time to take some inventory.  Time to purge... this shit is real, proceed with caution.

I am an alcoholic, I make no attempt to conceal it from anyone, I know it to be true, I have over a decade of proof.  My alcoholism does not define me but it is an inextricable part of who I am, I don't pity myself and I'm not ashamed to be an alcoholic.  What I am ashamed of is how I've managed my addiction the last 3 1/2 years.  I had over six years sober from 2000-2007 and then had a catastrophic relapse, from which, I've never fully recovered.  I just haven't been able to sink my teeth back into sobriety in a lasting and meaningful way, the way I remember it.  My life feels like a work of fiction, like I'm walking around in a movie, surely I can't be here again, how did I get here?

The last three years have been hard, and not just for me, it has been hard for everyone around me.  During my active addiction I would do everything I could to push people away, I would verbally and emotionally abuse people in a cruel and venomous way.  I have never, in my life, treated people I claim to love with such disrespect and selfishness.  It is entirely contrary to my nature, the last thing I want to do is hurt people.   The looks of horror, anger and sadness are now replaced by looks of apathy and pity.

I can feel the emotional distance between myself and my loved ones expanding.  The texts have gotten fewer and farther between, people's tone, message and body language has cooled off to a temperature just above freezing.  I do not harbor any resentments or ill will toward these people, I actually respect them for putting up walls, moving on with their lives and retracting that extended hand that was always there to help hold me up.  In this life we have you simply cannot afford to love someone more than they love themselves, you won't have any love leftover for yourself.  If you blindly devote yourself to a drunk you will end up nothing more than a sacrifice at the alter of the alcoholic.  As much as I'd like to play the pity card, I can't, it's just not true.  I cannot say that I'm being abandoned, being treated unfairly or that people are "giving up," because that isn't the case, if these people could have it their way everything would be fine between us.  They are responding to what I've done, if accountability for my sense of isolation falls on any one's shoulders, it falls squarely on mine.  Nobody should have to sit by helplessly as they watch someone they love slowly kill themselves... and since all of their best efforts have proven to be futile, there is only one way for these people to protect themselves and that is distance, a gradual unplugging of emotional connectedness.  I spent a lot of time and effort convincing everyone that this ship was sinking and to get the hell off of it while there was still time... really, that was an attempt on my part to avoid hurting them, for my own sake.  I was tired of having their pain on my conscience, so instead of choosing to stop hurting them, I chose to push people away.  If you gave me the choice to just pack my shit and leave this chaos behind me... I do that shit in a heartbeat, but it would only follow me where ever I went.  When I think back to the year I spent as a substance abuse counselor and look at my life through the most objective lenses I can muster, I know exactly what I would say to the people close to me, "You have to take care of yourself, it is hard to let someone go, but you have no choice... run like hell, it only gets worse."

It hurts, it hurts more than I can possibly describe.  When I allow my mind to soak in the tragedies of my life I seize up emotionally, I become catatonic, it all doesn't seem like it can be real.  I wake up in the middle of the night regularly halfway through a panic attack, sobbing and yelling.  There is real intense pain living inside of me, pain I do not want to acknowledge and certainly don't want you to know about.  After all, I'm Mr. Good Time Funny Guy, right?  I can't be desperate and lonely.  I can't be sad and terrified. I can't feel spiritually bankrupt and forsaken... can I?   The truth is I walk the line, everyday, between "total denial" and "complete despair."  I have no one to blame but myself, whatever I get, whatever opportunities I'm granted or consequences suffered, I did this... I did this to myself.  The mangled pieces of my life are all around me, I am a complete disaster.  I am a burden on the lives of people around me, nobody can rely on me or trust me... in fact, I've turned out to be the complete opposite of what I thought I was.  I always wanted to be someone that people could look up to and count on.  I still believe that there is a good man that lives inside this body and I do believe he still has a chance, but it's time to face the facts that my silver tongue and charming nature can only keep the consequences at bay for so long, before the house of cards comes crashing down.  My character is not measured by what I intended to do, but rather by what I've done.  I have very little to be proud of over the last 3 years and many, many regrets.  My smoke and mirrors routine works pretty well to keep the peripherals in the dark about my truth, and keeps me from spiraling into complete madness.  However, by hiding my internal reality, I appear glib and nonchalant to the people that know the truth... and in doing so, I further alienate them.

There isn't a thing I can say and nothing I can do to change what has happened.  All I can do now is salvage what I can and begin to rebuild.  I have been sober for 66 days today, it seems like an eternity since August 12th, 2010... the day I was arrested for OWI 3rd.  Oddly I felt a sense of relief when it happened, like, "at least this is finally over."  It really was only a matter of time before some catastrophe happened.  By the grace of God nobody was hurt.  I will certainly be spending at least 45 days in county jail... potentially up to a year or so.  It's not so much the time in jail that eats away at my foundation, but the time away from my family and friends... what if I'm gone for 9 months?  Who will still be here when I get out?  What will my life look like?  How many times can a guy start from scratch before he just says, "Fuck it, I don't have the resilience for this anymore?"  I don't know for sure... but I know that I don't have the strength in me to come down off the ledge if this happens again.

If this doesn't stop, this is certainly how my story will end.  I am scared, I am scared of myself... I'm scared that I can be as smart as I am and know what I know about myself and still make the choice to drink.  If you remove the alcohol from my past, 95% of my problems disappear.  It's maddening, it is full blown insane.  I want to rip my heart out and slam it down on the table, just to show you I still have one.  I want people to see that there is good that lives inside me,  I want to make amends, I want to repay my emotional debts. I would do absolutely anything to put my life back the way it was 3 years ago and make better choices, but I can't.  All I can do is the next right thing, the only things I have any reason to stress about are the things I can control... the rest of all that shit is someone else's problem.  I know I want sobriety, I know I don't want to drink, I will do anything, I will go to any length for this... even if I stay sober just out of spite.  I have the skills to mindfuck myself to the liquor store, you would think I'd have enough talent to mindfuck my way to Culver's instead.  I'm all in, bitch... and I haven't even looked at my cards.

I'm going to be 31 on Saturday and I'm about as emotionally mature as I was at 19.  I was an only child, I spent almost all of my childhood around adults, so I spent the first half of my life being more mature than everyone and the latter half being less mature than everyone.  Every time I slide back into a bottle it becomes sadder and sadder and sadder... I'm not a kid anymore.  I'm not a wayward youth.  I'm not someone who will, "grow out of it."  I am entering the realm of complete degenerate loser... the hopeless, the alone, the without, the lost.  Just a tarnished golden boy, with a bottle Scotch, blacking out the truth, wandering slowly alone down the road to nowhere.