13 March 2018

"Alcoholic? No Problem!" Up to Death's Door, Alcohol, Comforting as it Kills

For at least the first decade of my drinking career, calling myself an alcoholic, at least to the people sitting on the barstools next to me, was not a problem. Bragging rights. "I don't know how I got home, I was so messed up." Expressions like these were commonplace. But by the second decade, I started losing coats, keys, apartments, jobs. Marked by peaks and valleys, the progression of alcoholism with all its subtle and in-your-face changes is not a straight downward descent. My third decade of drinking was littered with lapses in employment and housing. That new normal required that I drink at home, alone, when I had a home. By that time, I was not worried by alcoholism, I was worried about how I would get the next drink. Drinking accelerated, a time-bomb with one inevitable end. Blackouts would occur around the end of the sixth drink (sometimes not until, what, the 16th?) and I would continue to drink until I passed out, usually two or three hours later as the evidence showed upon coming to.
"The further alcohol took me away from myself, the less I understood that I was losing my foothold. From the outside, I am sure it looked like I was becoming more and more selfish, but increasingly, I was not feeding myself, I was feeding my disease. The more selfish I may have appeared, the more my disease had dissolved my self away."
Not worrying in my addiction was really a form of defeatism, giving up, giving in, passing out. In recovery, not worrying is a positive thing, actions backed by responsibility, consideration of consequences. Addiction is a state of perpetual victimhood. I only appeared to volunteer. "Alcoholic? No problem!" I would proclaim up to death's door. 
Alcohol, comforting as it kills.

"Nothing matters more than that we remain sober because when we remain sober everything matters more."
#Alcoholism #Addiction #Recovery
Passages in quotes are excerpted from ALL DRINKING ASIDE: http://amzn.to/1bX6JyO 

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