30 October 2020

PUBLIC DRUNKENNESS: It's Halloween, so We'll Allow It


Holidays are glorious excuses for public drunkenness. 
It's a little easier coasting through almost any Holiday where many others are nearly drunk as you. More lampshades are worn by budding alcoholics and social drinkers on Halloween than any given Saturday night. For many, the occasional state of intoxication on Holidays is looked at as an apparition in which one is merely cloaked, a joke, a Roman holiday. But don't worry, a cultural carte-blanche, anything goes passport to inebriation will be given to you at the Bar Room door.
"What are you going as?"
Never the reply "my future self."
Ill-fitting at first, drunkenness stopped being a costume and I became accustomed to it. A daily dousing deemed delicious. See how one can dress one's words to sounds almost poetic? Of course, you know, I'm being antithetical.
Word drunk. I think I'm being found a word drunk here.
Sentence Use Disorder or Substance Use Disorder (SUD). It's a game, oh-don't-you-know.
"Sorry I thought your outfit was a Halloween costume," she says.
"Of course it is, Blanche. Of course it is," comes back the reply.
My Built-in Holiday excuses are over.
Every day's a holiday now, you see, so long as I remain sober.
If anyone reading this should take offense, remember Dear, I'm talking to myself, The Ghost of Halloweens Past.
End of Scene. Lampshade returned beneath its finial. 
If you prefer something less obnoxious, try ALL DRINKING ASIDE: The Destruction, Deconstruction & Reconstruction of an Alcoholic Animal 
On Amazon.com. Book it here: http://amzn.to/1bX6JyO 
5,800+ Recovery Tweets here: twitter.com/jimanders4 

22 October 2020




Immediately, before I had a chance to even think or feel, I read "Learn the difference between the sound of your intuition guiding you and your traumas misleading you" (as pictured) and I was stunned. 
Intuition had already fallen off the face of the earth when I first got sober. Alcohol, when stuffing any one emotion or a cluster of emotions, succeeded in pounding all emotions beyond sensation.
Call it numb, if you will, but that doesn't really capture the desperate  and anesthetized nihilism that somehow evolved by itself within that separate universe that is addiction.
Chemical Betrayal. My brain sat like a brain you might see in a jar in a laboratory, unceremoniously embalmed in whatever chemical bath is necessary for its preservation.
My brain was not so much chemically preserved as betrayed. Yes, I felt betrayed by this chemical compound we call alcohol. The feeling at this particular intersection was no different than if I had been betrayed by a lover, only more numbing. And insane. Insane and insensate.
After Betrayal, How Could There Be Trust?
Alcohol would have to be made dead. This chain of words in English (and presumably all human languages) may not suitably capture the separation of subject and object, welded together as alcohol and I were after 30 years and 50,000 drinks. 
If I could not kill it, I would, at least, make alcohol dead to me. Alcohol, you must be made dead. You must die if I am to live. So ever sorry to see you go.
And still, and yet, and soon, I would relapse again and again. 
Human trust? (Intuition) We're back to the intuition part of the opening quote, which I'll repeat again here: "Learn the difference between the sound of your intuition guiding you and your traumas misleading you." Human trust? I would need intuition to bring me back to humanity, like an amoeba inching towards light. This alcoholic animal would need to move me back from that chemical precipice. 
I would have to rejoin the human race. After the chemical betrayal wore off, I would have to once again learn and relearn a human trust.
Trauma, unfeeling.
Trust, unyielding.
Intuition fed by frayed nerves.
Somehow, I cobbled together what can be assigned meaning only as a new life.
Trauma. Addiction. Betrayal. 
Trust. Eventually I learned that Recovery is Possible, Doable, Irreplaceable.
I came to believe that "Nothing matters more than that we remain sober because when we remain sober everything matters more."
#Enjoy ALL DRINKING ASIDE: The Destruction, Deconstruction & Reconstruction of an Alcoholic Animal
On Amazon.com. Book it here: http://amzn.to/1bX6JyO 
5,800+ Recovery Tweets here: twitter.com/jimanders4 

15 October 2020







Aging Sober & Dying Sober may not seem like the most optimistic topic to choose to write about, but I am sure of this one thing: Doing so may increase my quality of Living Sober.

In less than a month I'll be 70 (October 24th, to be exact). 

That's 21.1111 in Celsius (Do you like my new coffee mug?). Which makes this valid point for me: It's all a matter of perspective.

When I was in my twenties (NOT my Celsius 20's!), way before my catastrophic downward slide, I already knew I was an alcoholic. At that time, I considered alcohol and drugs as sources for inspiration. The Tragic Hero had to have a flaw, an Achilles heel. Mine would be Alcohol, with a Capital A, a source of inspiration and the cause of what would surely be my Heroic Demise.

In my most vivid imagination, I couldn't imagine living past 40 (human years, not Fahrenheit or dog years). 

Imagined pain was inspirational and real pain was to be handled by increasing my dosages of drugs and alcohol. The real decade of my 40's was the unimaginable pain induced by addiction, by losing everything time and again. Loss. The hospitals, detoxes, rehabs, intravenous drips, jobs lost, relationships lost, repeated periods of homelessness. Total loss, you get the picture, just this side of death, an impoverished life. 

Pneumonia, Cancer, Addiction - I've survived giant clumps of physical and psychological hurdles since my 40's. Stages of my life. The final stage will surely come. "Past is prologue," so said Shakespeare. No matter your interpretation, one thing is certain: There will be a final curtain.



That's the word I'm looking for. I want to learn how to best adapt to the changing circumstances to come as I inevitably trudge forward.


That's the second word I need. I want to do it all sober, to be aware until all awareness is drained from me. 


Word Three. I must have Grit (I feel like I'm playing Charades! First Word :-) Two Syllables). 


I have found Recovery to not only be possible, but supremely doable and ultimately irreplaceable.

Aging and dying are both inevitable too. I'm doing both sober, so far. Aging and dying are both there, no matter what else I may do. I imagine I will become part of whatever world I emerged from when I was born. Today, at the very least, when I die, I wish to rejoin whatever may come after in that state that was before my ever, ever, ever first drink.

Aging Sober & Dying Sober. Sounds about right (a drink would change none of this). No Buzz-kill at all. Release. A final letting go. A sober parting. Happy to end each day sober now. Aging is unstoppable. Dying is another sober day. 

I can speak only how I feel today.

Today. Today. Today, the days stack up. With any luck, they will continue to do so.

Life is good. 



May you also enjoy this Autobiographical Fiction, ALL DRINKING ASIDE: The Destruction, Deconstruction & Reconstruction of an Alcoholic Animal

On Amazon.com. Book it here: http://amzn.to/1bX6JyO 
5,800+ Recovery Tweets here: twitter.com/jimanders4