Every story has a beginning, right? Some endings remain unwritten – such as mine – but there is always a starting point, a foundation, a moment in time when the story begins.
Though the entirety of my story begins decades ago, this “episode” or “chapter” starts in early April of 2017 when I reluctantly had to come to terms with the imminent death of my father. It was just a week later that my wife took dangerously ill and was hospitalized with a life-threatening infection. She required emergency surgery – the first of numerous procedures – and was abruptly an additional concern for me. I knew my father was dying and I could do nothing to stop it. Suddenly my wife was fighting for her life and I could do nothing to help her.
Being something of a “control freak” meant that I was placed in the worst possible situation for my fragile ego to tolerate. I was an emotional wreck, volatile, unstable, and prone to both verbal and physical outbursts. I was out of control in more ways than I could count and I needed something to help me deal with everything I just couldn’t deal with. It wasn’t hard for me to find a ready-and-waiting cabinet of liquor at the bottom of my cellar steps and thus began my latest foray into the realms of self-medicating with a chemical I already knew would eventually make things worse.
Eight months after I started stealing little nips here-and-there to get me through the emotional pogo-stick I was bouncing about on I reached a point in which I had to sit in front of my slowly-recovering wife and admit to her that not only had I been drinking, but also sneaking the occasional prescription painkiller to get me through what I saw as an ever-stressful daily life. A trust had been broken and must be restored. Over twenty years of sobriety had been shattered and must be started anew. And here I sit, struggling as I write this, wondering how I begin again.
It isn’t easy and it’s not going to be. I’m hopeful that as I chronicle this journey back into sobriety that maybe one or two of you might also take something from it that you can use.
The odd difference for me at this point is the ‘anonymity’ portion of it. Once I mustered the courage to confess my transgressions to my wife, I’ve found it surprisingly necessary to bring my condition to the attentions of others, such as my employers and coworkers as well as my doctor.
If I’ve brought nothing else from my ages-old experiences to this it’s the knowledge that I won’t get through this alone. That might be the very thing that saves me.
God Bless.
Hello, My Name Is Steve 