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| Her feet, Mill Valley |
In AA there is a phrase; "The Alcoholic Mind". I never understood that and I certainly did not agree with it. Until now, that is. Essentially, what that means is that we alcoholics (another term with which I was very uncomfortable) basically think too much and our thinking lands us in trouble, whether sober or worse, drunk. Another thing heard in AA is how alcoholics, if serious, will go through stages of sobriety. I thought I had done that.
When my ex urged me into AA in January I wanted to do it, I really did. For her. I bought into very little, if any of the rhetoric. Listening to people's stories of their alcoholism: feeling that they were doing well if they didn't have a drink before 10 AM; driving with bottles under the front seat; doing cocaine to help offset the hangover so that they could make it through work and then to the next drink-these were not my stories. There were as well many people, my ex one of them, who were telling me what I was feeling, what I was going to feel, telling me who I was in essence. That only furthered my feeling of distance and alienation. I mean, who were these people to tell me these things? As I reasoned with a friend over the phone one night, while I was drinking; Hey, I did this before. When I went to Saudi Arabia, within 24 hours I had quit drinking and smoking. Even though the "boys" would take off to Bahrain every weekend for booze and women, I stayed at home because I was in love, needed to save money and there was really no reason for my going there anyway. Of course what I conveniently forgot was that immediately upon my clearing security at the Bahrain airport after finishing my work in Saudi Arabia, I promptly went up to the bar and had a couple drinks and bummed a cigarette from some man. I was on another drink when the bartender leaned over and said something to the effect of,
"Sir, I believe that was your flight they just called for boarding."
I paid, got up and sprinted for duty free; I wanted to get a bottle of vodka for the flight because, as i learned the hard way on the flight in, Singapore Airlines allows you only one drink per hour. A trick I learned from my father in law in the days when airlines charged for drinks; bring your own booze.
Shortly after arriving in LA for a summer job with UCLA, I was at it again. In fact, I had missed my flight to LAX from SFO because I was in the bar and did not hear my flight being called. Turns out there is no PA system in the bar so it was that, and not the fact that I was busy drinking and not paying attention to the time, that was the reason I missed my flight. And even though I was working, looking for more work, working out, I was drinking and smoking every night. My rationale then was because I was living in this miserable little hotel at the corner of Sawtelle and Santa Monica and I would stop just as soon as I got a place and my girlfriend got back from Sweden. Of course, my girlfriend did come back from Sweden, and I did stop drinking and smoking for a while, but it wasn't long before I was doing it again. That time around was because of how tense my girlfriend was making me; she came back from Sweden a completely different woman from the one I had seen off the year before-she was distant, disrespectful towards me and worse. I did everything I could think of for her, but things just got worse and so I used that as further justification for a couple of beers and smokes on the way home every night. During the week, never on weekends. Never on weekends because I was trying to hide my drinking from her because she really didn't drink, detested drunks and I wanted to appear at least, that I was there for her.
I won't go into further detail about all of the moronic, horrible and tragic things I did while drinking, but I do want to focus on the alcoholic way of thinking, at least as far as I am concerned.
I really began trying to hide my drinking when I was in graduate school (something I never wanted to admit to nearly anyone save one very close friend, but more about that later) when I would sit on my little veranda drinking chilled cheap wine and smoking. That was when I met my girlfriend from Sweden whom I'll refer to as C2. I tried hiding my drinking by sneaking out to the neighbor's recycling cans on collection day and burying my bottles far down into the can. If I drank more than one bottle per day (and there were many of those on weekends or holidays until I discovered box wine), I would go to two or three different stores so as not to appear as an alcoholic. Not because I was one, mind you, but because I did not want anyone thinking I was. God forbid.
Later, when a friend moved into my apartment and ended up living with me for eight months, I began trying to hide it from him as well. I really had no reason to; it was my apartment and he was not paying me one shiny nickle for anything. However, under the auspices of taking my dog for a walk, I would go to the store, grab two cans of beer, a pack of smokes and drive up to the hills above Westwood and walk my dog to a bench at the top of a little hill overlooking all of Los Angeles and the Pacific Ocean. After my beers I would head home, stopping off at the 7-11 again for two more beers, that way, I thought, it would appear as though I was only having those two. However, sometimes, I would go to the store and get one or two more.
When my last girlfriend moved in with me I was coming home every night after work and putting away at least two cans of beer and a few smokes. I would later tell her, myself and anyone who would listen, that what I was doing was really a result of my depression and sense of hopelessness and bitterness about the way my life had turned out to that point. This wasn't really me; hell, not too long ago I wasn't doing this. I was going to the gym, I was taking care of my personal life. I had never really done this before. At least that's what I told her.
One of the things that I do is that I talk with myself. Mostly what I do is have conversations with various people, usually people important to me such as girlfriends and importantly, ex-girlfriends. But more on that later. As things began to deteriate between us I would be walking or taking the bus or riding my bike home and I would be telling her how this was all relatively new behavior. It had started just before we met. It had been going on for a little over a year. No, you know what, actually I guess it's closer to two years. All the while, in the not too distant back of my mind, I knew I was lying. But i felt to because otherwise I would spook her into believing that I "had a problem with drinking" and she would leave me. And therein lay the heart of the matter.
I told myself that I could get out of that behavior, after all I had done it before, right? Sure I had. Only thing was, I never really had. There had been fits and starts here and there. I would come home and exercise first or have dinner first, or get some things done around the house before I drank. Eating first always helped because then sometimes only one beer would suffice. And didn't I feel so much better the next morning when I went off to work? No muddleheadedness, no dizziness, no constant sweating during the day, having to go into the bathroom and wash my face. After a day or two of this, I would feel so good that I would come home the next night and have two, three or four beers. I would have wonderful conversations with people; my boss, my students-you name it. Then the next day the muddleheadedness, the dizziness, the sweating and face washing all returned.
Shortly before my last girlfriend and I went to go see her therapist, I had announced that I was going to give up smoking before the holidays, I wasn't going to drink during the week, I was going to start taking showers at night and in the morning, I was going to start exercising again, eating better and reading more. I began doing all those things, and even pointed that out to the therapist and my girlfriend. That was of course after I had gotten home after work, had two quick beers and a couple of smokes then showered, put on some cologne, brushed my teeth and ate a pack of gum before going to the therapist.
I should note here that when I write about beer, I am most often referring to 24 ounce cans of beer, usually the strong, cheap stuff. The kind with at least 8% alcohol. After all, as my step-father used to chastise us when he was buying us beer in high-school, what was the use of spending all that money on the "good stuff" when you were just going to get drunk anyway?
And that was another thing I tried after my girlfriend moved out and broke up with me; I stopped drinking those strong, cheap beers and would limit myself only to one or two big bottles of the nicer, more expensive, hand-crafted beers. So much more dignified and plus, the buzz was not as strong.
I remember, a couple of times, walking up to the 7-11, having a conversation with my ex in my head about how no, I had not stopped drinking, but look honey; I wasn't drinking Steel Reserve or Natty Daddy anymore. Aren't you proud? I felt I was making progress and I could not see why anyone else wouldn't think so either.
When I first began to get serious about not drinking in March I came to a lot of realizations about myself, about my actions, about the relationship I had with my girlfriend, my friends, my colleagues, my job. I was very proud of myself with those things. My ex and I were beginning to get close again and she and nearly everyone else said that they could see a change in me; I looked lighter they all said. And the truth is, I did feel better. Some personal things were working themselves out, I was really beginning to believe some of this AA stuff, my ex and I were clearly headed in the right direction even though I would be leaving at the end of April to work in Saudi Arabia for a year in May. Thing was, I was still drinking.
I did try to stop, I really did. There was about a week there, I don't remember when exactly, but I could not sleep at all. Even with sleeping pills, I would try to sleep around 11 and then usually wake up around one or two. Finally one night I could no longer take it and went up to 7-11 and got a beer. I was able to sleep like a log. The next night same thing. The following night I stopped off at 7-11 and bought a beer to put in the fridge just in case the same thing happened and it was after two. Finally, somewhere in the beginning of April I just gave up trying not to drink at all. I was going to stop drinking, I really was, just not then. There was just too much stress, I was stuck in bad habits due to my environment, when I got home to my parents' I would have none of the stress and so then would be able to stop drinking. And it would be good too as I was soon to be heading off to Saudi Arabia where there would be no drinking at all.
I did tell one person at my meetings about the one or two beers per night to help me sleep. I used that as further justification for what I was doing. Everyone has their own approach to sobriety, and as I assured him, and myself, I was not fooling myself. I was going to stop and this was not my way of showing anyone that I could handle my liquor by having just one or two beers. In fact, hadn't I switched from two to one per night? Hadn't I worked my way down from Natty Daddies to Mickey's to PBR? Was that not proof that I could do this?
But then there were Friday nights.
Since I was no longer drinking during the day on weekends, then I could afford to have a few on Friday nights, right? I should add here that at about that time my ex and I were really beginning to make things work between us and she had told me that after I left LA and went to Saudi Arabia, we would not be able to communicate via Skype for 90 days. That 90 days meant 90 days without drinking.
So I kept my nightly drinks from her for many reasons, the overriding of which was my fear of losing her. I told myself, and her, that I did not want to disappoint her, that I did not want to hurt her, and I didn't, but mainly I didn't want to lose her. So, why didn't I just stop drinking? Didn't you read what I just wrote?
Over the course of the last three weekends in April we hung out, or tried to at least. The first Sunday was lovely and we really began to reconnect. I think she truly believed that I wasn't drinking. Of course that night, as soon as I got home, I had a couple of beers. Just to help me sleep.
The next two weekends, including what was to be our last weekend together, ever, were quite different. She had asked me to promise her that I would not drink that weekend but I did. When she confronted me about it on our last Sunday together, I lied about my lying.
I will never forget the image of her walking away from me, looking back over her shoulder to get one last look at me. I went home that evening, drank some more, because I mean, fuck it, right? I continued to drink that night and the next morning before my flight. My drinking was the reason why I was late, why I was so harried and why I lost two pieces of luggage. It wasn't the chaotic nature of the airport that day, the incredibly long lines or the fact that someone might have indeed stolen those two bags; my drinking was what led to that. But I did not tell anyone that, even myself, because I could not admit to it.
As I wrote above, going through sobriety is often spoken about in stages. Few people are able to turn things around on their first try and many, many people believe that they've got a hold of things when if fact they do not.
I went through stages myself. In January it was bitter resentment. It February it was complete darkness. In March and April was the "turn around".
I had done a damn smart job of fucking things up between my ex and me. After I got home I stopped drinking for three weeks. I began really taking care of myself as I had not done in a long time. Even though the task of getting my work visa for Saudi Arabia was (and still is), a Jobian task, I was not drinking even though I wanted to on several occasions. I was having constant conversations with my girlfriend about the goings on and how well I was doing with my drinking. I resolved to fly down to LA to see her one more time. I would show her just how well I was doing. I would apologize and make up as much as I could for that last Sunday. I could never completely repair the damage done, I told her, but here I was to prove my love to her and show her just how well her earlier efforts had paid off.
Thing was, I had been thinking about drinking the entire time. One of my plans was to travel while I was in Saudi Arabia and one of the places I wanted to go to wanted to go to was Russia. And if I go to Russia, how could I not at least try some of the vodka, beer and wine? I was not going to get drunk, I just wanted to try some of it and who could blame me for that? Then a small voice said to hold on and just wait and see what happened.
As the day approached to fly back down to LA, I had many things I had to get accomplished before I was to "surprise" my ex by waiting for her at the coffee shop across from work and texting her just before she was done with work and ask to meet with me. As I got closer and closer to that day, I was having more and more conversations with her and they began to center more around the fact that I had not had a drink in three weeks and how much closer we were to those 90 days. Those conversations had many forms, some good, some bad. In some she would not agree to meet with me. In some she did but basically told me that she no longer wanted to see me. In some we met and I was able to make up in part for what had happened that last Sunday. In some, things worked out so well that we slept together. How lovely. There was only one scenario in which she was not there at all, but in that one, she was still in the area. Not back home on the other side of the country. Three time zones away.
As the day loomed larger, and more so on the day of, a small voice began asking me, well what if things go terribly wrong? Then what are you going to do? Well, I said, if things go well, then that is only further incentive to continue not drinking and bring that 90 days closer. Besides, when I get to Saudi Arabia I won't be drinking anyway so it'll be all the easier. Yeah, ok, but what if things go terribly wrong? Then fuck it, I'll drink. Besides, when I get to Saudi Arabia I won't be drinking anyway.
By six-thirty, over an hour since I had texted her asking to meet me at the coffee shop and an hour after her work ended, the fuck it voice had just about won. I left and stopped off at the church where I used to attend meetings. Another voice said to calm down, go meet some friends and members and maybe that will cool off the fuck it voice as it had in the past. But there was not a lot of optimism in that outcome. I chatted with people for about half an hour then walked with a young woman. I was headed away from my rental car and straight to the store where I knew I could get two Steel Reserves.
Heading back down to the car I got a text from my ex; she was back home. My first instinct was to think of myself; oh great, that figures. I was going to text that but I let it sit for a few minutes. Knowing that her father is not in the greatest shape I texted about him, asking if things were OK. I did not get a response. Shortly I texted again, that I hoped she was well and that everything was OK. I had sent her an email from the coffee shop explaining that I was in town until the following afternoon, that I was there to apologize and beg for forgiveness. I called her and left a message saying that I could change my flight to a later time if she wanted to meet.
I then left to drink. And think. The more I drank and the more I thought, the less I thought about her and the more I thought about myself. Wasn't this incredible that I had spent all of this money, that I had flown half way across the state just to see her again? Didn't that show my love for her? Had anyone, anyone ever done anything like that for her? Did she ever have the same feelings for other men that she told me she had for me? Didn't that mean something?
Of course this all started with my thinking that flying down to LA to "surprise" her was a good idea in the first place. It never occurred to me that perhaps the emotion of seeing me again after I completely fucked up her last chance of seeing me might be too much. It never occurred to me that she might not want to see me at all, ever. It never occurred to me because those ideas simply did not exist to my way of thinking. I believed that things would work out, after all, it's said in AA that if you think positively things will work out. The thing is, you're supposed to be thinking positively about your own experiences and not try and include others; they more often enough have their own lives to live.
And that is just one example of the alcoholic mind at work, even when sober.
It also never occurred to me that when she texted me that she was on the East Coast, three hours ahead. That maybe she took an hour to respond was because she was having dinner with her family and had absolutely no reason to drop what she was doing and return my text. It never occurred to me that she wanted to wait until the morning to perhaps commuicate with me. That she might need some time to gather and girder herself emotionally and spiritually before we spoke. That maybe she just didn't want to talk with me at all. None of that occurred to me as I sat in my hotel room and drank and began to send her nastier and nastier texts.
The next day I continued drinking and then, shortly before my plane was to take off. I never should have answered that call. Me yelling at her, telling her that she did not care about me, that she was ungrateful then hanging up on her was the last time we had any communication.
I drank for a week straight and I finally realised how my fear and anger had been clouding everything that I had been doing for a long time. I have told many people that I am great at helping other people, just crap at helping myself. What I have realised is that in reality I am crap at asking for help because I can not admit that I need help.
I've always been an independent person and I've managed to take care of a lot of things in my life; I put myself through undergraduate and graduate schools, for example. The drinking was always something I felt was not really that big of a deal and that I could stop anytime I wanted to. But the drinking is just the symptom; lying much deeper are issues of confidence, of fear, loneliness and depression. My ex told me these things and I admitted to them, superficially, but I was really just tossing around the words like labels-see, I understand what's wrong with me. I'll figure it out.
And that's how the alcoholic mind works; whether we admit to having problems, whether or not we admit to our drinking and drug use, whether or not we are able to look back and see all of the problems, pain and heartache we have caused, we have to come to the understanding that we can not fix these things by ourselves and we must reach out and allow someone to help us. My ex tried that, several times.
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