Day (-2), Two Days Till Detox

April 13, 2011

Why can’t any of the adults f@cking talk…

It is fairly uncommon for me to feel sorry for myself, but I feel a bit like Charlie Brown the last few days. My life is upside down, my brain chemistry is not normal, and I’ve got a lot of chickens coming to roost at the same time. It’s as if every bad decision I’ve ever made lit a fuse, and all the fuses were set so they would go off at the same time. Kablooie.

There are moments when it feels like my life will never be normal again, and I wish I could just set back the clock. Do just enough differently to avoid this Armageddon scenario. To a certain extent, I think that’s the most dangerous kind of thinking for an addict: the yearning for the status quo. The old status quo. My life sucked, I think I’ve made that perfectly clear. But it was what I know. It was comfortable to a certain extent: I made sure of that. The habits I am trying to break are hard to break for a reason: they felt good; they masked a lot of bad things and bad feelings. Like an unhealthy relationship. A career that I hated. The fact that I torched a professional and personal relationship with the person who was like my professional dad. The fact that I was being incredibly selfish and probably damaging my relationship with my children. I’m working on getting rid of the drugs, but I’m left with some  pretty raw feelings, including the realization that the portion of my life I’ve pissed away is measured in years. Years. That’s some heavy shit. We only get one of these: life is not a dress rehearsal, as a wise friend of mine says all the time.

I don't own one, so...dammit.

Fortunately, on Monday when we moved all that I own in the world into storage, I managed not to fall apart like I did on Saturday. But that was less because I felt better than it was because on Monday I hired a team of workers who spoke primarily Spanish and I really didn’t want to have to explain why this crazy Gringo was sobbing between instructions to be careful with the china and saying which piece of furniture goes where. It seemed to me that dynamic wouldn’t work too well, and I didn’t want to scare them. Sobbing while moving furniture just seems like a clear sign of insanity to me. Besides, if I was going to go into all this at all with the Mexicans it would have been to ask for a joint, but that would have been the extent of it. As it is, I didn’t end up doing that either. Mainly because I don’t speak Spanish, and I didn’t figure my Dad would have been willing to translate. What a jerk, right?

I guess what I’m saying is I’m a pretty sad sack right now, and please read anyway.Tomorrow is my last day to drink, which really sucks because I enjoy drinking. Like really enjoy it. Not in the junkie have-to-have-my-fix sense (and I do presume to know the difference). Some of the best times of my life – in a wholesome way – have involved alcohol. I’m a great alcohol guy, too. I’m tons of fun, I don’t fight, I’m hilarious (shut up, I’m a riot) and I come out of my shell just enough to be open to doing things like karaoke or dancing that I’m naturally too shy to do.

But as soon as that first drink starts to work, I also start to think about how well jelly goes with peanut butter. A drink often – almost always, in fact – leads to cocaine. I don’t wake up after an alcohol binge in a strange bed, or wondering what crazy thing I did last night. Because I know: I spent $100 I don’t have on blow, and there was no “waking up” because there was never any “going to bed.” But the fact remains that I have a lot of fond memories of time spent with great friends, family, my brother, or sometimes complete strangers, when all we did was drink. I’ll miss those times.

But hey – what can I say: this is what happens when you fuck your life up so bad with drugs and alcohol that you have to have your entire support network of friends and family literally stop what they are doing to help you get clean. I created this predicament the old fashioned way: I earned it. So I can’t drink anymore. Besides, I made a promise to a little boy who absolutely worships me that his Daddy was going to get well, even though he barely can understand that I’m sick. You have no idea how serious I am about keeping that promise. I’d give my right arm. So giving up alcohol is an easy choice. Which is not the same as being easy, but I think you follow me.

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