A man walks out with a smile on his face and dreams not yet dry on his mind. The night was long but he was determined to reach the top of the mountain. Not many made it to the top and he wanted to be in that top group. Wanted was practically an understatement; the man needed the feeling of success by standing on that mountain’s top. He willed himself together, collected his things, and started his journey.
To this day it’s odd for me to say I was abusing alcohol. Even as I type these words something inside me grows angry and argues those uttered words. It’s not easy for me to distinguish which part causes so much internal defiance. Is it the alcohol part? Is it an overall disagreement, that I wasn’t actually abusing it? Is it the term “abuse” that bothers me? Like I said, it’s hard to pin point which detail stirs the most emotion. Regardless, it is a statement that I stand behind and one I find to be true; but is not the sole reason I quit drinking.
The man marched on through the terrain before him. He had a small cottage in the run down section of town. The term, “run-down” is extreme and doesn’t apply through everyone else’s eyes, but it applied when he looked about his surroundings. The man wasn’t happy where he was and felt there was something greater for him. Since the valley was vast and offered plenty of space, there were clumps of houses along the path once he got out of the main town. Many people tried to get up the mountain so businesses popped up on the path, like good business owners usually do with ideal real estate. The man had mentioned his desire to climb the mountain a myriad of times and had often attempted the journey before. The townspeople watched as he, once again, walked by.
I didn’t start drinking until I was twenty-one and even then took it slow in the beginning. Eventually, I saw what was screamed about anywhere someone looked in our society and I began looking forward to getting drunk every weekend and finding any excuse for a party. In the first few years, I already saw the enhanced power it contributed to my depression. By the end of those nights, I would have disappeared from the group and sat by myself deep in self analyzing thoughts that I couldn’t escape. I would have also sobered up by then and generally drove home or found a spot somewhere while every other person was drunkenly snoring on the floor when they didn’t make it to the couch. I believe it was this ending that prevented me from drinking constantly. I kept my days open for whatever productivity i managed to do at the time.
Some people waved at him as he passed, some offered their well wishes and encouragements, some joined in for a bit to keep him company, and even some kids ran about him happy to see him come around. There were others, however, that smirked when he passed them, they rolled their eyes in exasperation, letting out a sigh filled with annoyance that he was making such a wasted attempt. They felt this was useless. He would never make it. How many times had he failed already? He should just give up and be content where he was with the rest of them. The man felt all these accusations like cuts on his body. He looked about himself and counted each one, knowing they were a part of him. Those accusations sometimes helped, but they could also take him down.
Up until this point, and despite what I said about my depression, I drank for pleasure and to socially join in the camaraderie. I love the feeling of losing all my anxieties and self doubt and letting go of what plagues my mind on a daily basis- I use present tense on this because this is still what I love about alcohol. However, and maybe some of you have expected this, there was a turning point when I used drinking to escape; I used drinking to run away from my thoughts and problems. This sounds so ironic after telling all of you that it enhanced my depression, but it’s a teetering scale. Balance is everything and once you start drinking to disappear, you don’t simply stop drinking. For a period of time I was never happy inside and solely stole away to be drunk and swim in the darkness of no responsibilities. I was blacking out every other night and I held on to my depression all day. It became a comfort to know my darkness and not care. I lost my job and my living situation. I moved back into my old home and relied on freelance work to pay the small bills I had. The lack of money was probably the reason I wasn’t able to drink myself blind during all hours of the day. I leeched off friends to get my fix.
The man continued on throughout the morning and all the way through midday and was now approaching mid-afternoon. He had worked hard during his journey pushing onward through Nature’s obstacles and not backing down. He was happy with his progress as he spotted a small group of buildings up the way; perfect timing for a break. He walked into an old friend’s house and sat down to relax and catch up. They chatted for what felt like only a few minutes but then realized it had been hours! The sun was nearly set already. He vocalized his frustration and got up to leave but the man’s friend told him to just stay and continue tomorrow. The man gratefully accepted the hospitality and set down all his belongings, took something out from the darkness and clamped it around his right ankle.
I did survive that time and came out of it not necessarily “reborn” but I no longer sought out the never ending darkness in exchange for consciousness. That time lasted about two years. For the following few years I was back to social drunkenness with spotty blacking out moments. Once I was able to step away from that time, I tried to control my drinking a lot more. I despised waking up the next morning not remembering what happened the night before. Generally, because this led to frightening stories. Once I got to the stage that I simply did not care, I literally did not care. I had no inhibitions against the thoughts that spring into one’s mind, the ones they never act on. Examples include: smashing my bike over and over because the chain popped off too many times, punching holes in walls over a piece of artwork ALMOST getting damaged, shouting profanities at people who never deserved it, and general obnoxiousness that usually resulted in someone having to talk me down. I’m surprised I didn’t get my ass beat during this time because I let my mouth fly off the handle with inner demons stringing together words like I vendetta against everyone alive. I’ve had to apologize countless times for what I said when “I was way too drunk.”
The next morning the man got up early and set out on his journey again. Although he was given a place to rest, he felt horrible. He had gotten soft in the small leisure time he took with his friend. This was what happened every time he failed to make it to the top on his previous attempts. He would get far and stick to a schedule but eventually lost heart and spent time moseying about until he just turned around and went back home. But not this time, he thought, this time would be different, he was stronger and more determined. Even though he really hated having the ball and chain clasped to his ankle. It tore at his flesh and made it far more difficult to climb the mountain. But this time was different, he repeated, he was determined.
Some of those things I heard truly broke my heart. “How could I even say those things,” I would ask myself as I stared at the stranger looking back at me in the mirror. I didn’t feel that way right now; why would that come out of my mouth? People I loved had been damaged by words I so casually tossed in the air. Not often enough, though, did I hear these things from the people I hurt; they were always things I heard from others and usually much later after the incident. This didn’t happen every time I drank, mind you; there were equal amount of nights where I didn’t lose my grip and had a pleasant time and didn’t fall into depression either. These moments kept me drinking all the while I was battling the demons. I wouldn’t allow myself to admit defeat so I went in to every social gathering with expectations of a great night. I had become a generally happier person by this time so it was easier to keep the demons at bay; but I felt like I was out at sea on a small raft and never knew when a storm would appear.
The day was long and arduous even before the sun began setting. The man was exhausted and beaten down but still held on to his desire to make it to the top. He leaned against a rock and looked up at the rest of his journey. He had plenty to go still but the distance he’d gone already gave him courage to keep going. He walked for another hour until he could no longer go on, and so he set up camp. Once the fire was going and he had food in his belly, he let out a sigh of satisfaction and happiness. Before crawling into bed for the night, he reached into the darkness once again, pulled out another ball and chain and then clasped it to his left ankle.
There are still a couple of more years of drinking to cover before we catch up to present day. These years became the happiest and worst years of my life but was not apparent to me at the time. The dichotomy eventually came to light and ripped me to shreds. Prospects of a future I’d only dreamed about and one I never felt I would get, appeared to be feasible in this period. It was as if the demons inside me lit fire a passion that could not be extinguished until I made it where I wanted to be. I obsessed over surpassing my darkness and focused all my energy to being the successful and happy person I should have been at the time. This obsession, being powered by my demons, did little to help me obtain the life I thought I was so close to getting- oh the irony. During this period, my drinking still had moments of “darkness” where I lost control and hurt people; this time taking a new angle of the superior person. I was so close to having it all, so why would I hold back my worst opinions? Ridiculous. There was a specific morning where I woke up with a hole in my chest. It was a black pit of despair that I hadn’t felt in years and it honestly terrified me. I had spent money I shouldn’t have, drank far more than I should have, and even got behind the wheel when I most definitely should have never ever ever done. This was, literally, the first time I voiced my concern with my drinking.
The next day was much like the day before. The mountain was getting steeper and the terrain more difficult. The man was gradually getting more and more tired with frequent breaks. He had to keep pushing on and he could do it. He knew he could. But why not take a small break. He woke up early and pushed onward for a few hours already; he wouldn’t stop, just take a break. As he sat on the ground he took stock of how crummy he felt overall. His body ached, his head had a general pounding he couldn’t ignore, and his ankles were bloody. It was all worth it he thought. He ignored the mountain above him and ignored his distance beneath him and latched on another ball and chain to his body. This time he clasped it on his right wrist. He got back up and kept on at a very slow pace.
When the veil was lifted and I was shown what my obsessions had done and what I was doing to myself and to others around me, I did not know what to do. You have to realize that at this moment, I thought I’d done all the mistakes, made all the changes, took the right steps, lost myself to being better, and yet, I had still obliterated my life. So naturally, I didn’t know where to go or how to start after that. I let myself drift onward in a kind of “autopilot.” A new dichotomy took over; daylight for self healing and growth-night life for drowning and forgetting. I would work from the early morning until the sun went down so I could validate my enjoyment of drinking. I felt like I was making real improvement and moving forward. It was then that I incorporated drinking into an ongoing project. I had rationalized my drinking into work. Someone close to me gave me warning that it was not even months that I voiced my concern with drinking and that it was not wise to do this endeavor. I shrugged it off and told them I’d be careful. I was a fool.
The man didn’t make it very far on this day. He could easily spot his beginning spot from that morning; but progress was progress. He told himself he was successful because he had made it even further than the day before no matter the distance. He spotted a small hut a little ways up with a warm glow and smoke coming out of it’s chimney. He knew this spot very well. In his best efforts, he made it to this exact hut on previous journeys. He pushed onward with that goal in mind. Once he got to that hut, he could take a break and relax and relish his work thus far. Out of breath and with aching muscles and broken blisters and blood dripping around, he made it to the hut. He was greeted like a long lost friend with cheers and smiles. He dragged his broken body over and sat down at table. With a massive successful grin, he pulled out another ball and chain clasping it on his left wrist. Everyone cheered him on.
The moment I integrated drinking into my “work” mind, it took a whole new shape. Drinking lost all sense of darkness and became something I was supposed to do. I was discussing alcohol as a “job” so I must drink; and I did just that. I drank and I worked. And I wore myself into the ground. I just kept going and going until I drank all the time no matter the time. I wasn’t getting piss drunk, but I was steadily drinking during the day and then brought the drunkenness at night. I would go to events and always insist of alcohol being present. I was working for money to spend on drinking. All the while I told myself it was part of work; work that I created for myself and work that wasn’t providing any income. Then one day, not too long ago and for a completely unrelated reason, words were spoken out loud, they may or may not have been directed to me but they resonated with my heart so strongly that I feel I will never forget them.
“This can’t go on any longer. Something has to change.”
That night I went home and drank myself silly while turning this phrase over and over and over in my head. I couldn’t stop thinking about it and the more I repeated it, the stronger it branded itself on my mind.
The following morning the man woke up so tired from the climb that he decided to take a day off and recuperate to attack tomorrow with a renewed energy. He hung about the hut with old friends and talked about life and held laughs all day. As the sun was setting he saw some people walking towards the hut. They were jovial and light on their feet. Everyone cheered them on just as they cheered on the man as he made his ascent. The people were surprisingly fast. “How were they so quick,” the man thought. They made the climb and waved and thanked everyone for the encouragement and kept on going right past the hut without a second thought. It was then that the man realized how they moved so easily and quickly. They weren’t wearing any ball and chains. They were free and unlatched. He suddenly wanted to join them, he needed to join them. He went to get up but didn’t make it all the way; he fell back down in his seat. There was a fifth ball and chain clasped around his neck. When did he do that one? Why was it there? Why was he wearing all the other ones? How was he going to make it to the summit if he was so weighed down by these things? Why had he done this to himself? He looked around at his fellow peers and saw many had ball and chains as well. Not every person and not all of them had has many as he, but he finally saw what was so hidden before. He sat in that chair all night with the realization that he could not make it to the top if he didn’t change what he was doing. The next morning he got up and walked back to his cottage. He knew that he had to go back down to take these chains off. The key was in his home at the very beginning.
I didn’t sleep much that night. There was a war going on in my mind. Maybe even my soul, if you believe in something like that. When I finally crawled out of bed, there was not a single desire to pick up alcohol again. That one phrase was like a key unlocking all the doors and horrific things drinking had caused and it shown a light on who I was when I was drunk. I loathed that person. I despised what that person did. I wanted nothing to do with that person. I began looking at many moments of my life filled with pain and anger that led back to drinking. I was ashamed of who I’d become and the excuses I stapled to my being.
Drinking led to many problems in my life and was the cause for an immense amount of depressing turmoil, but it isn’t an excuse to why I did terrible things or made bad decisions or even hurt people. I don’t want this explanation to be looked at as a lengthy diversion for my behaviors throughout the years. Those actions and words are mine. And the consequences are my responsibility to live with for the rest of my life. I’ve come to realize it was-or is- my self hatred that manifests itself when I lose my inhibitions. It is then that I become my demons and it is then that I project my darkest thoughts and fears of myself onto others. I cared so much about being worthy that I drunkenly screamed the opposite and attacked those around me so I could maintain the allusion I fought so hard to keep. It was and is a horrible thing and I am truly sorry to all that were affected. I don’t truly know if the demons will ever dissipate and allow me to enjoy alcohol again. I don’t truly know if I’ll ever be in a mental state to trust myself with that responsibility. I proved time and time again under many different circumstances that I can’t control the darkness within and that scares me. Instead of repeatedly chaining myself every day and trying to climb a mountain with expectations to succeed after patterned failures, I will make that change and I will leave the chains behind to climb a different path.
I couldn’t go on like that. I had to change.
