"THIS ISN’T HOW I WANTED TO WAKE UP."

Imagine, if you can - you haven’t had a vacation in almost four years, probably longer.

Imagine, the day comes and you go out-of-town with a couple of really close friends, and it rocks. You can relax. You can finally. breathe.

On the way out of town, you eat fast food; you drink pop; and you house an entire bag of Hint of Lime tortilla chips. It doesn’t get much better than Hint of Lime tortilla chips, so things are great!

You get there and it’s everything you pictured in your head. The days are filled with easy activity - fishing, camping, hiking, grilling and you love it. Or you just sit in the lawn chair with the shade. Doesn’t matter which.

Stay with me now.

Imagine, you just finished a long fast-paced wog, that drenched you with sweat, and you’re hungry. You’re standing at the kitchen counter in your out-of-town lodge, drinking a cool glass of water, eyeballing the cupboards for a snack.

Until recently, not even a really deep breath could help get your pants to button. So, months ago you started watching your diet - specifically sweets because your sweet tooth has gotten the best of you. Being months into this, you’re still fresh. You’re still strong. You’re still nothing less than confident because it’s a healthy lifestyle change and you’re proud of yourself. Good job.

Imagine, a donut sits there on the open counter top and it could be any kind of donut - glaze, chocolate covered, jelly, sugar, half-eaten, doesn’t matter - this donut looks GOOD.

You want it. But, no. You pass it as you walk into the next room.

But you’re on vacation!

You pass it again as you walk back from the next room.

Nobody is going to care if you eat it. You’re on vacation, you should eat it!

You haven’t had one of those in five months - over five months - and it’s probably closer to seven months if you want to be exact, so this one day won’t throw you off your lifestyle change.

Plus, you’re on vacation with your close friends, nobody back home will even know for cryin’ out loud!

Plus, your new schedule has you at the gym often enough to wash-out the donut calories even if you did eat it, no big deal.

If you think about it, you really only need to avoid sweets when you’re in the middle of the daily grind, in the midst of everyday stress that life can unleash. On this day, given the fact that you're on vacation, eating a donut is just fine! You have the right tools to fight the craving when you really need to, but not right now while you’re out-of-town. You can go back to not eating donuts when you’re back home.

So you eat it and although you fought the impulse off for a tick, you always knew in the back of your mind you’d eat it.

Sometimes we just can’t say no. It happens. Luckily, it’s just a donut.

When Raffs asked if I wanted a drink, I just couldn’t say no. It happens. Unfortunately, my battle isn’t over donuts, but now you know my thinking process. Every time.

How many reasons can I find to give myself permission to take the “donut.”

The next morning, before my eyes open, I know this isn’t how I wanted to wake up.

It seems I know I’m sick even before I know I’m awake.

Cold sweats, the after-taste of alcohol has soaked into my tongue, body aches, congested chest, gagging, fatigue, headache. The Vegas Death Plague.

I couldn’t stay sober for more than two weeks on my own.

I feel spineless, and that isn’t a hangover symptom.

I wish I would have called the sponsor that I never got because my counselors told me I had to.

“You need a sponsor, Dennis.”

“Sure thing,” I replied.

I’m stupid.

Now, I’m awake before I’m even awake, lying face-down in my pillow trying to figure out how to escape the Vegas Effect, wondering how no became yes.

I’m weak.

Wait a minute, wait a minute, wait a minute.

Slow down.

Stop beating yourself up, stupid.

In the coming years, this would become a common frustration, but this was the first time. It’s true, you always remember your first. This was the first relapse, and all it took was two weeks out of my support system, an old reconnection, and Las Vegas.

I had failed, yes, and this story has been a secret of mine for years. The first chance I had to stand up on my new legs and I fell flat on my face.

Until this admission, Raffs and I are the only ones who know it happened. I’m pretty sure he has no idea how much that night impacted me. Even now, today, I’m ashamed of myself at how easily I let persuasion persuade me.

Here is my list of top five truths about that night:

1) I didn’t want to quit drinking. I still doubted that I had a problem.

2) I was terrified of being different.

3) I was afraid of what Raffs would think of the new me.

4) I was afraid of what I would think of the new me.

5) I was afraid the entire city would notice that I might be the only guy within the state lines without a drink in my hand.

6) I wasn’t strong enough to say no.

Okay, so that’s six but I could have listed a hundred.

That was a humbling experience. To wake up ashamed of myself again. Did I hurt anyone? Yes. Me. I let myself down, and that is harder to accept than hurting another.

But that time in Vegas stayed with me. Perhaps that's what it was meant to do because it was five years before I had another drink.

"ANXIOUS FOR THE BUZZ"

Flashback:  
After the Winona State debacle, WSU asked me not to come back. It was a polite letter, and I granted their request. I transferred to IHCC and that’s where I met Raffs.

I was rehabbed. Ready to join society again. I felt like Ellis Redding, minus sixty and one-half years.

Let Freedom Ring - never spoke more truth, but considering I’m talking about coming home from a short 60-day jail stint versus years of slavery, my definition of those words amounts to nothing. So I won’t say it, but I hope you get the picture of how happy I was to be out of jail.

I was ready to face all the new stuff that people would think about me. Fun. I entered jail able to say that I’d never been to jail. But now it’s a completely different story I would swear to never tell. I belong to the population of people that HAVE been to jail. News that I might have to tell my kids, my nephews, any new friends I make, any new girlfriends I have, or any new employer that’s hiring and specifically asks if I’ve ever been to jail. Fun.

I don’t know how I even handle it today, thirteen years later, with more maturity and life under my belt. So I have no clue how I got through it back then.

Yes I do. Looking back: Man, I ran as fast as the wind blows. Not jogging. I ran out of town. Not down 61 to Newport. I ran out of state. Not just to Iowa, but through Iowa, where I would only go if I absolutely had no other route to drive. I ran out of the time zone all the way to Las Vegas.

Before you confuse me with Forrest Gump, I didn’t really run; I drove.

Vegas.

I didn’t go there to party, who me? (Yes I did). No, I went there to work. (No I didn’t).

In the first two hours that I was released from jail, I kissed the air, kissed you and Dad, kissed the interior of the car, kissed the driveway when we got home, kissed the front door, and then collapsed in the living room. I slept without the worry of wondering if I was going to wake up with someone trying to mount me.

When I woke up, my biggest addiction kicked in - night. And what did I do?

I didn’t go belly-up at any bar hoarding all the booze I’d missed out on during the past sixty days, trying to satisfy the stereotypical uncontrollable urge. Drinking was the last thing on my mind. Liar. It wasn’t the last thing on my mind; it’s always right up there near the top of the list, but here’s what I did -- I did the exact opposite of what every counselor told me not to do.

One flaw of mine has always been the same year after year: Tell me not to do something, and I will justify a reason to do it. How has it been the one thing you and Dad never caught on to? Can I offer some advice to you, from me, about me? If you recommend something and tell me why you recommend that certain thing, I’ll take your recommendation to the bank. But if you forbid me to do something, I will do it to show you that only I can make up my mind. Only I am willing to be so stubbornly stupid. How could you never catch onto that??? (hint, hint).

So, when my counselors told me not to reconnect with my old friends, it lit my wick, and I laughed. “Whatever you say, counselor.” And without sharing, I instantly made a list of why TO reconnect.

One of those guys was Raffs. We drank together, but our friendship was more than just booze and college girls. Together, we were in three or four of the same shows at Inver Hills CC. I played Wilbur in Charlotte’s Web; he played Templeton. I played Sammy Goldenbaum in Dark At The Top of The Stairs; he played Sammy’s best friend. I played Jack Favell in Rebecca; he played a few different supporting roles. We acted together; we studied together; we hung out together; we listened to rap together; we played hockey together; we dated a couple of the same ladies together; and yeah, we partied together.

So, after jail I called him up. He was touring the country with the National Theatre for Children, and I’m looking for work. He ended up scoring me an audition.

I went, and knocked it out of the park. I’m hired.

So we go to Vegas. Las Vegas. Las Vegas, Nevada.

Literally two weeks after I was released, I was on my way to the city with the most sin. Fresh out of jail, fresh out of treatment, but I was stronger than King Kong. My mind was better than Einstein’s in his heyday.

Entering The Strip is unlike any other city entrance, it’s hypnotizing. Raffs and I, strollin’ through the hood, listening to secondhand rap from the car next to us. I rolled down the window for a cleaner view of the sights and I could smell it. I love that smell. The smell of a party. A really big party. I close my eyes and breathe it in. Inside, I feel the switch flip.

Suddenly, I’m in a hotel lobby in Vegas. The cocktail cutie looks hot in her skimpy outfit with fishnet stockings and drink tray in hand while walking around taking orders. She stops in front of me and asks if I’d like a drink. She immediately flips the napkin over to write down my order while I check her out from head-to-toe - except in reverse order. She notices and acknowledges it by giving me the stink-eye. Like a scolded step-son, I humbly look away and order my drink. She scribbles on the napkin and walks away with my order. Again I check her out. I get my drink and lift the cool sweaty bottle up to my lips, anxious for the buzz. I open my eyes and exhale. We’re still in the car on The Strip, hearing the secondhand rap from the car next to us and, the truth is, that scene is from my past. The realization is that I’m better than that scene.

Never mind the fact that Raffs and I were neither in school nor girls, but we were like little school-girls as we drove through the strip: wide-eyed and jaws dangling out the window.

We had the pick of the litter - whatever hotel and casino we could find within our per diem. But, it was still pick of the litter to us: Circus Circus, The Flamingo, Paris, The Monte Carlo, New York New York, MGM, Caesars Palace...

I’m tired as we unpack the car. If the actual non-stop car ride from Minnesota to Nevada wasn’t tiring enough, then the last mile driving through The Strip and the emotions that came along with it was enough to trip me up and make me want to stay away from boozin.

The Extended Stay was nice. We moved in and caught our breath on the provided couch and loveseat.

Across the street from it was The Orleans Hotel and Casino. It would become ours. We’d own that place by the time we left three months later.

NIGHT ONE.
I grabbed my bags, yawned, and picked a bed from the room we were to share.

“Hey, wanna go out?”
"Out? I’m ready to crash, bro."

Inside The Orleans, is exactly how I envisioned it to be. Full of people. Smells of booze. Slot machines ding. Coins fall loudly into the catch-bins. Vegas wives walk all over the place. They scurry by and I check ‘em out equally as fast.

I know where the bar is. I can see it. I was like a Vegas Princess, except I wasn’t afraid to drink due to a previous night in Vegas, just previous nights. The internal monologue is deafening - and unavoidable. I check myself:

Why don’t I drink again? Just got out of jail, dummy.
Do I need a drink? No.
Do I want a drink? Sure.
Do I want this trip to be fun? Yes.
Am I lame if I don’t drink? Yes.

I keep that conversation a secret, and I completely avoid the real-life dialogue. If he offers me a drink, I’ll deal with it then. But I’m not bringing it up because if I don’t bring it up, maybe it won’t happen.

My heart is beating 220 miles per hour, but I want to stay sober.

Raffs looks at me, “Drink?”

"THE MAN WHO NEVER SHOWED."

It was Sunday, approximately 10:15 a.m. 

Rumor already has it that Bob is here, which is great to hear but also increases my blood pressure. Service just finished, and I was inside the control room waiting for him to come back and give his thoughts. Rumor has it that he likes to give you feedback, so when Bob comes to your service make sure you’re in the back room when he is. I wasn’t leaving the room for anything.

After almost 3 minutes I decided to leave the room.

I simply leaned against the wall right outside the room. That was a safe play because then I’d see him coming, and he’d see me leaning against the wall. I bend my knee and rest my foot against the wall for casual approachability.

Finally, I was approached.

“Do you work here?” asked a 19-yr old kid, who clearly was not Bob.

I immediately got the impression that this kid didn’t clog the toilet. He didn’t just bump into me and strike up a conversation because he had to kill a couple minutes. He had intent behind his steps and a broken smile. Almost hesitant. Almost scared. Almost second-guessing himself.

“I do,” I replied. Compared to his soft voice, it felt as though I was shouting, and my eyes starting darting across the big room to see if anyone else noticed me yelling. A voice like his you only hear when people seem to have lost their hope and are afraid to ask for help, but somehow manage to find the desperate strength to stand directly in front of you asking for help because they have lost their direction, and I don’t mean, "Where’s the bookstore?"

“I’m not looking for prayer right now, but my life has some holes in it, can you help me?”

I don't know what to say to him.

I don't even know how to look at him. But I am. I’m looking at him and he’s looking at me, expecting. Hoping for something from me.

This is what I feared. This is what scared me about working for church - being put in a position to have to act, like right now, for someone else. Someone I don’t know and someone I may never have known if I were to have stayed at my old job - the old, safe, predictable job.

But I recover - quickly. So quickly in fact that I don't think he notices.

"I would love to," I say, quieter.

I tell him my name and asked him to follow me.

My most natural instincts were to look for someone who could better serve this kid than I. So while he’s following me, thinking we’re going to go somewhere and talk, I set out to find that person to better serve him.

In the next thirty seconds, I walked and wondered. What the heck do I do now? Was there an official first step that I was missing? Where is everyone???

“Is this your first time here?”

“No.”

There’s a failed icebreaker.

“Well, it's great to see you,” and shook his hand.

For the next 10 minutes I listened to him share his story of struggle with addiction and sobriety.

OH! This, I knew something about. It surprised me that he was being so open. I was never this open. I was safe in secrecy. Preferred it actually. But, not knowing what to say, I shared my story with him.

In the bookstore - I showed him a Bible that he should buy.

Then, I walked him into the worship center. Everyone was busy. I led him into the gym hoping to bump into our Worship Leader, our Campus Pastor, or our Addiction Recovery Pastor. No one was there. And so we ended up full circle, back in the worship center.

Any other weekend I would have bumped into each of those people three times over, and in my head I’m pulling the hair out of my head because it’s laughable at how AT THIS MOMENT they are not to be found. There has to be a camera rolling right now and a room full of staff members laughing their heads off while I sweat. I’d be laughing if I were in that room right now.

Today, no such timing or luck. Either way I wasn’t getting out of this, and it was then I realized this kid named John was mine.

“Okay, it’s just me. Do Your thing,” was my prayer.

My knees started to shake as we went back to the bookstore. I walked him around so much that he must have worked up an appetite. I should have offered him a donut, but instead I handed him a Bible. He wanted one; I knew where there was one.

“Can you afford to buy one?”
“Nah, I, uh, have no money,” he whispered with his head down.

So I bought him one.

“So, you busy on Thursday night?” It felt odd to ask that to a guy.
“I don’t think so. Not that I know of,” he said back.
“I’m going to be at Quest 180 on Thursday. It’s our addiction recovery ministry. It’d be nice to see ya there. Maybe we can chat.”

We shook hands and he left. I walked back to the control room, wiping the sweat off my palms and onto my pants, wondering if I did or said the right things.

I learned that I didn’t know what the first step is if someone reaches out to me for help.

I learned that on this day, during this hour, this kid had no use for anyone other than me. Someone who didn’t understand his addiction or sobriety issues wouldn’t get the job done.

I learned that my job isn’t just planning and managing church services and then going home. My job is bigger than that. My job affects lives, and I get to be in the trenches.

I learned that when The Man Upstairs has something planned for you, there’s no escape. No matter how uncomfortable you are, He is confident in what He’s doing.

I thought of that scene the rest of the day and the days that were to follow. John's approach. His words. His walk. And why I was the one person that he was able to track down. I don’t believe it was a coincidence. Had I not waited for the man who never showed, John may have left church even more hopeless than when he arrived.

That's failure on a massive scale.

John came to Quest 180 that next Thursday. Again, I shook his hand and smiled at him.

Today, I’m his sponsor and if he truly wants it, I get to be part of helping this kid get his life on track.

"THE TRUTH DOES ALWAYS PREVAIL"

I say everything the same exact volume every time! You hear me, don’t act like you don’t. But again, you create dozens of reasons not to listen.

How am I supposed to get past the shame and guilt of hurting the people I care about?

Make friends with your actions.

Make friends with your actions? I don’t even know what that means.

It means own your actions.

Oh. Ewwwww.

It’s time to grow up, Dennis.

Don’t tell me to grow up, what’s the matter with you? You’re so good, and I’m so bad, right?! Gimme a break.

I’m only saying that it’s time to stop the foolishness. There are things in our life that need to be remedied, now. Continuing to wait is not a good idea. I can feel it creeping.

Creeping, what are you even talking about? What’s creeping?

I don’t know - trouble. More trouble. And not just 60 days in jail.

It’s time to commit to taking steps to make sure you stop doing that stuff, and man-up. Make your apologies face to face, if possible. Not by text.

Face to face apologies? This is why I don’t listen to you. You put me in positions that I don’t like to be in. I’m not sure I’ll ever be ready for face to face.

You don’t have to be ready, but you have to at least make an attempt. You don’t have to say the right things or admit to your problems, you just have to say - “sorry for hurting you.”

I keep thinking about the times I’ve lost my cool-cuz the alcohol took over. I can’t get it out of my head. And what a psycho everyone must think I am.

Try to see the bigger picture: if alcohol makes you violent, than what other people did or didn’t do to trigger it, isn’t as important.

Whoa, wait, it doesn’t make me violent. Well, it doesn’t usually.

...or makes you a different person. That might be more accurate.

yeah, a different person but doesn’t alcohol make everyone a different person? All my friends are telling me to “let it go.”
How do I do that?
I think I’m screwed here.
I can’t make it better.

Slow down. Slow down.

One thing at a time or things will seem too big to conquer. Only you know what’s best for you, not your friends. Do you want to follow your friends or do you want to be a leader amongst your friends? Understand, your friends will never be able to answer any of this for you.

There are definite patterns, am I right? they’re kinda makin’ me feel like I’m being melodramatic.

I see patterns, you see patterns. Try not to let your friends dictate how you feel.

This struggle is gonna be pretty lonely and difficult without their support.

If your priority is to appease your friends over your own feelings, then do what they say-let it go. But it sounds like you’re finally realizing this is a big deal that goes back a long way.

Does it?
What if I’m wrong?
I don’t know what to think...or feel.
I feel paralyzed.
I have a highly irrational fear that most people are gonna think I’m crazy. So, all of this scares the crap outta me.

You have some tough decisions to make. Stay true to who you are and the kind of person you want to be.

Why would people think you’re crazy.

I always think that. Cuz I act crazy when I drink... a lot of the time.

Well that makes you many things, but I don’t think crazy is one of them. Besides, at some point you’ll have to say “screw what other people think.”

I’m trying to be more like that. I think I succeed when I’m sober. when I have bad nights-it feels like all the good stuff about me is erased.

That’s exactly how I’ve felt. It’s not how often you drink, but when you do, you regret things that you did.

You make me cry. Most people say, “we’ve all been there-you’re fine.”

Maybe your friends aren’t as good as they could be. Plus, maybe they don’t know what to say.

Yeah, they’re probably just trying to make me feel better.

Remember, this isn’t about them or anyone else. It’s about you.

You sure do inspire me. I hope to think how you think some day. I just want peace.

It’s hard work and a lot of truth will have to come out.

So, here’s another part of my pattern...

okay, embarrassing emotional buzz/drunkenness. Get home-hate myself, avoid friends, and family as much as I can, next morning hate myself, tell myself I’m never gonna drink again, deep deep depression...panic attacks from how I acted, a week later feeling better, two weeks later-better than ever, a month later-- let’s go drink again!

Vicious.

The kicker is-- it’s only like this when I like some dysfunctional gal. Which is pretty much always.

Not true, but go on.

My friends say I’m more of a love addict than someone with a drinking problem.

Are your friends addiction counselors?

No, but they think once I fix the girl problem, the drinking will resolve itself.

I’m quite certain the drinking thing won’t fix itself.

I’m just not sure what to do with myself. Everyone-and I mean everyone I tell about the drinking is convinced it’s the relationships I pick and not the drinking thats the problem.

Question: forget your friends for a second, what do you think?

I think if I never felt drunk again my life would improve.

Never feeling drunk is different than never drinking again. You’re still creating loop-holes for yourself. Be strong enough to act on your instincts. You might still pick bad women to date while sober but all the other stuff will start to disappear.

Friends will always give us permission to drink. Always. It’s you that has to have, and enforce, boundaries for yourself.

Yeah.
i have a problem with alcohol.
what do we do to stay sober? Treatment?

Treatment. Then, mentor.

I have a really hard time with step two. I have no faith in anything bigger than me. I barely have faith in me. So... I think that’s my biggest hurdle right now.

The last thing I want to become is a bible thumper... addicted to
religion.

Dennis, all you are responsible for right now is to be open and available for change inside you, and to go. To treatment, to AA meetings, to church... pick one, but let’s go.

Please don't say my name like that. I’m scared, alright?! My fear is that no “normal” girl will wanna date a guy who has relationship and drinking issues. I feel so broken.

Dennis, let me say, it’s only when you are healthy that you find the healthy ones.

......................

“Dennis!”
-Yeah, I’m here.
“We only have a few more minutes.”

I rub my nose of all things for no other reason than to fill the moment with movement. I don’t know why I remember that exact movement at that exact moment. I just do.

“We are all here for the same reason. You’re with friends. It’s safe here.”
-I don’t know what to do. I have a drinking problem and I don’t know what to do from here.

My counselor smiled at me. He just smiled at me as if he was proud of me. He made me feel good about what I had just said.

There it was... finally out in the open. I had protected that secret since I was eighteen years old. I protected that secret with everything I had inside me, since my day one drinking experience. The agonizing feeling that there was something wrong with me for over ten years and the torture of failure everytime I put a drink to my lips.

I can’t tell you the amount of pressure that left my body after admitting I had a problem. And I did, I felt incredibly free. Freedom from myself.
From worry,
from hiding,
from lies,
from stress,
from cover-up after cover-up.

That’s what we do. We cover up anything and everything that might raise a red flag about our secret to anyone who might catch on. We’re so caught up in cover-ups that we don’t realize that people on the outside can see right through our actions.

In that room it felt so reviving that I wanted to scream it from the Empire State building. In that room it felt alright to be who I am. But how would I keep that same feeling outside of those walls?

I had just exposed myself. Not to the world, but to myself, and I would have to carry that with me every day outside of these safe treatment doors. How could I stay free and still protect myself at the same time?

I adopted the philosophy that beyond my family and close friends, nobody else needed to know anything further. I knew, and that would be enough, right? Me, knowing the truth about me, would carry me wherever I needed to go and that would keep me free from judgement and gossip and let-down. At the very least it would keep me strong against judgment, gossip, and let-down.

Turns out, I was wrong.

"THE HALF-SECOND BEFORE MY INNER VOICE GOT THE BEST OF ME."

I remember that it made me really uncomfortable to have everyone looking at me again. And, of course, I was looking at my hands. No one was speaking, but they were waiting for me to utter whatever words came to my head and I didn’t know what to say. I knew what to say, but I didn’t want to. They knew what I should say but not what I wanted to say.

I cannot repeat to you what I wanted to say.

Finally, I asked:

What's the question again?
“Are you an alcoholic.” my counselor said with a period, not a question mark.

I shifted in my seat. I swallowed nothing and then licked my lips as I stared at my thumbs.

What else could I do... I cleared my throat.

Why are you asking me that?
“You’re in a treatment center. Everyone here is here because they cannot control alcohol or drugs and they need help. Are you an alcoholic.”


(SILENCE AGAIN)


In my opinion?
“Sure, Dennis, in your opinion.”

Yes, I was beating around the bush. I was wasting time and maybe you would’ve wasted time too if you were in my seat. I didn’t want to answer this question. All I could do was nervously bounce my leg in place and that was probably all they needed to see.

I knew I had to produce an answer in the next ten seconds or these guys were going to be done with me.

I was going to be done with me.

Amazingly, in the half-second before my inner voice got the best of me and I blurted out an answer, I remembered one of the last conversations I’ve ever had with myself about my drinking.


                     ......................



Dennis, we have a problem.

Houston.

What?

Houston, we have a problem, like in Apollo 13.

We have a problem.

Right! Houston, we have a problem.

WE. You and I have a problem.

Oh. That’s not breaking news.

I’m a little, confused, worried, sad...everything right now. Hope i'm not bothering you?

bothering me is chewing with your mouth open, or leaving wet laundry in the washer for days. (Hint, Hint).

None of our friends are “sold” on the idea that I’m an “alcoholic.”
I guess too soon to tell.

We’ve been arrested three times for DUI - too soon to tell???

I don’t know.

I would argue that you do know.

I feel like deep down I know I have a problem with alcohol. I have faith, first of all, but sometimes my higher power feels like an imaginary friend that I made up. I have issues.

Alcoholic doesn’t mean you are dependent on the stuff. It’s not as bad a word as you want to make it.

It’s assuming that I’m a fall-down drunk when I’m not.

That’s only how you see it.

That’s how everyone see’s it.

You can’t answer for everyone.

So many low points -- other than arrests, jail, sleeping on the sidewalk. I’ve hurt people that I care about while I was wasted. I’d never hurt anyone - not sober anyway. I don’t like being around all the drinking and craziness every weekend.

One drink is too many and 100 isn’t enough.

That doesn’t sound like a question. It sounds snide.

It wasn’t a question. I’m saying that after having one drink, stopping, even after a hundred, is not possible for you.

Maybe. I have some thoughts but don’t know how to word them or put them in some order...

Let ‘em fly and we’ll reword them later.

It seems that just when I think I’ve met someone cool - I let myself drink, I’m hyper aware of my behavior and things go awesome. Then after three or four times of that, I think I’m alright and I drink again and spiral out of control...

Patterns.

My friends think my problem is more with my unhealthy relationships and codependency -- and the alcohol comes when that happens, ya know?
Does any of that make sense?

Your friends, are they addiction counselors?

Oh, and the hurting--of the people I love. You didn't say much about that? Was kinda waiting for an in-your-face: “yeah, that’s a problem” type of comment.

YEAH THAT’S A PROBLEM. But it’s the result of a bigger problem.

Alcohol, right?

Alcohol. Right.

How long have we been sober?

Long enough to start toying with the idea that we’re fine.

And how many times have we relapsed?

Enough to face the fact that alcohol still controls you.

How many times have we tested ourselves?

You keep saying we and us. This is all on you. I’m the voice that’s deep down inside you. I know how you feel and the right decisions for you before you do. You can either listen to me or choose not to. You mostly choose not to. And I've known for a long time that you have to quit.

What ends up happening is - I’ll set a limit for myself. Like, 30 days of no drinking. After 2-3 weeks, I’ll be at a get-together and have one - to appease people and go with the flow.

You've never been able to do that.

But I didn't get drunk! I had one drink in thirty days. I can do it easier in the winter. Summer is harder.

OMG! You just blamed your drinking problem on the seasons?!? That’s a first. It’s typical for you to blame things and people, but the seasons?? What a joke. It just proves you can’t stop for even thirty days...

Well it's true, what? I don’t know.

Your worry is that if you aren't drinking people will notice and they might think you had a problem, which you do. So you drink, and then get drunk, and then keep drinking, and then don’t stop, and then they do think you have problems.

If I go “sober” it would just cut out that many more women to date. Still single, getting older, doesn't drink - boring! NEXT!!

My life has been a roller coaster of unhealthy relationships with bad women -- even though I always want “more.” More of a commitment that is...

You don’t have to explain, I know how you feel.

So I drink just to feel normal around them.

If you’re sober, you’re not cutting out that many more women to date, maybe you're closing the door to all the dysfunctional ones.

I’m alone-and have hurt people and I've let so many hurt me. For what??? Instant gratification? The price of a drink?


You know this, I go to parties and choose not to drink all the time and it’s almost as though some of my friends are offended that I’m not drinking. Good point, the dysfunctional closing door point.

No offense but first, you rarely choose not to drink--

--You don’t know what you’re talking about. A million times I've drank and a million times I've not drank or had only a couple.

“Only a couple.” You have chosen that, yeah, but it’s nowhere near the millions of times you think it is. Secondly, maybe the friends who get offended when you rarely don’t drink need you to keep drinking so they can keep drinking.

I have flashbacks of moments that I hurt good people. The shame and guilt is fierce.

Agreed. Are you planning on apologizing to anyone?

I've texted people but it doesn't make my behavior right. I’m a mess, and I keep driving home.

Don’t do that anymore.

Thanks. As if I didn't know.

Well it appears you didn't.

That’s like telling someone who wets the bed not to do that, which they already know and wish they didn't do in the first place, but can’t control what they’re doing while they are sleeping...

Well if you were sleeping while you were driving home drunk then I guess that makes it okay.

I wasn't sleeping but I was pretty drunk each time. I’m so stupid when I’m drunk and I always feel like I have to prove to dad that I can go out, not drink, and still make it home on my own. So that’s why I drive home.

I was so right when I first told you to quit drinking a long time ago.

Maybe if you would've said things louder?

So it's back to my fault now. You don't get it.



(to be continued)