I tell anyone in my past that I've given up drinking. However, I NEVER say that I'm an alcoholic. Nor preach to others the dangers of booze. I mean, to guilt oneself to quit is going to be counterproductive no matter how kind to yourself you think you are. A follow up question has always been, how did I kick booze?
My sister says that I'm just a stubborn pig-headed person. Which I kinda' agree with. I mean, I kicked smoking ciggies because I hated the fact that I was paying someone else to kill me. Slowly. If anyone is going to profit from my death, it might as well be me. I had some violent withdrawal symptoms. In the middle of the night sometimes I'd have a surge of energy that made my leg kick up--pretty much punting myself out of bed. It was aggravating and embarrassing, because it was so uncontrollable. When your body starts doing things your mind cannot control, fear strikes you at the most primal. The physical makeup that designs your every movement is imbalanced and you are about to get a HUGE lesson that your mind and body is not going to last forever. Mortality questioned.
I woke up from binge drinking with shakes. Dehydrated I would drink about a liter of water, followed by a few capsules of milk thistle, iron, B12, and St. John's. That did nothing. My head constantly spun. EVERY morning I told myself to remember how bad I felt that morning, so that I wouldn't repeat it. But inevitably, the cycle repeated. Drink to go to sleep. I didn't know any other way. The bags under my eyes grew. My face bloated. I woke up to a melted face. Splotchy and red. How the hell did I fall asleep at 18 years old and wake up 36?
I still hit the gym though. Pretty sure the patrons there were getting contact drunk from my booze breath and sweat. Nothing more demoralizing than standing in the shower in complete pain as lukewarm gym water poured over you whilst the hairy meatball of an overweight has-been gym rat in the next stall watches you shuddering while I'm trying not to sob because my life ended up like this. So scared to give up the bottle. Not scared enough to quit. And what did I look forward to?...enough energy to digest cheap sushi and washing it down with a grapefruit and some yogurt. Are we having fun yet? So you tell me, how many more days did I want to live like that?
I was addicted to a show called "Intervention." That seems kinda' ironic...addicted to a show about addictions. I use to go to work and trade episode topics with a co-worker who also loved the show. We'd laugh at the alcoholic who would pound mouthwash and then pass out on her lawn while her kids hopped over her like roadkill. There is something really dark in finding the humor in reckless behavior. Large fortunes have been made on this fact. I probably shouldn't throw stones though. One time I passed out in between the legs of a girl at a keg party and the only thing I could think to say was "your hair smells nice." Luckily she was in nursing school at the time. On the job training. Speaking of which, she had to wrestle the bottle of vodka out of my hands. Nurses are strong.
I think my biggest problem with drinking was boredom. How my life was spinning its wheels. Neither going up nor going down. But boy...when I got that first sip of booze, it was normal again. You know what is really scary? When your tolerance to something no longer has boundaries. In my prime, It took me a full day to polish off 750ml of booze. To a casual drinker this is about a week's ration. And then when I woke up, I swore some of it had evaporated. Oh it evaporated alright right through the sweat in my skin. One of my worst moments in life was when I was arrested. Not for drunk driving (although I should've been)...it was a nightmare. And I have a crazy story of having to turn myself into the Los Angeles po-po...which I'll regale in my next blog-o-roni. Meanwhile to mis-quote William DeVaughn, I'll be diggin' the scene with a gangsta' lean.
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