In The Beginning (Requiem part 1)

I started drinking when I was about 11. My parents had a box of wine in the fridge. I took a travel mug and filled up on my way to 6th grade. I'm not sure why I did except that I've always had a tendency to defy authority and I thought it would be a fine trick to drink booze under the teachers nose. I didn't drink much of it, though. I didn't care for the taste. In junior high I progressed to drinking before school. Mixing a little of everything out of the liquor cabinet, I would fill them back up with water to maintain the levels. I started smoking pot a little bit and on a couple of memorable occasions, tried acid and cocaine. I was in the gifted and talented classes at the time. I maintained a high honor standing despite the chemicals and the harder classes I was taking.

In high school I didn't experiment as much, but I continued to drink when I could. Out of high school I started drinking more and more. I had a scholarship from the state for graduating high school early and started college a year later. Within two weeks, I decided that school was cutting into my drinking time too much. I had a day job, but quit it after a fight with the boss. After a period of unemployment, I met a girl and moved on a whim to a college town an hour and a half away to be near her. I got a job and stayed away from alcohol for a few months. I was eventually fired for missing a couple of days and moved back home. The girl came to live with me back home. During one fight, I downed a half of a fifth of Canadian Host. Another time, I downed a bottle of sleeping pills. The relationship eventually came to a head when I was arrested for domestic violence. It was one of the best things that ever happened to me. I had to re-evaluate my life and the choices I was making. I was sentenced to 6 months of classes and moved back home with my mom to put the pieces back together. I had a truck repossesed right before this happened so I had throughly hit bottom. Or so I thought.

I kept up the drinking, sometimes drinking so much I would be sick for days. Living with my mom, I noticed she was keeping unusual hours and had strange friends stopping by for 5 minutes or so. I knew what was up, so one day I asked her if she could get me some coke. A few days later she came down to my room and told me to follow her to hers. Once the door was locked, she pulled out some powder and lined up a couple of rails for me. I did the lines and we chatted. At one point, she pulled out a glass pipe and took a hit off of it. She offered me one, showing me how to do it. (I want to say here that I would not change anything if I could. I love my mother and she was taking care of me the best way she knew how.) It was at that point that I crossed the invisible line in the sand. It was my Rubicon, and there was no going back. The next six months watched me smoke myself down to 92 pounds at my lowest. I begged, borrowed, and stole what I could to keep high. I had a job at the time. It kept me in money every two weeks for a few hours and kept the line of credit with the dealers open. I was a fiend and not beyond knocking on my mom's door at 3 in the morning to beg for one last hit. I have strong memories of this time. I would go get a post dated check loan and start smoking at 7 or 8 at night. I would go until 3 in the morning or until I ran out. I would beg first for more coke. If there was no more, I would beg for Valium, Soma, or anything else that would take the edge off so I could get to sleep (including alcohol if that was all that was available). I'd get to sleep at 3 or 4 (if I got to sleep at all). I was paranoid and was once so delusional, I spent 5 hours in the bathroom convinced the police were there to get me. I had showered with all of my clothes on and pushed the last few rocks down the drain to destroy the evidence.

The alarm would go off at 6:00. I would get up, more drained than I have the power to explain. I would try to wake up in the shower. Then it was off to work on my bike. It was a little over 3 1/2 miles and some mornings it was absolute hell. My legs would tremble and ache, furious at having to do so much with so little. We were on church welfare, so lunch was usually ramen noodles or (more often) potato flakes with warm water poured over them and stirred with salt and chased with a multivitamin. Every once in a while I could get my mom to let me borrow her car the few miles or I'd get a ride from her boyfriend Tony. One night a few days before Christmas I was locked in my room and started having a sort of seizure. I lost control of myself and lay on the ground shaking uncontrollably. The next day I went to my grandmother begging for her to help me. I spent about a week at her house. My father had come back into my life after 3 years of not seeing him. We called hospitals asking for help. They asked what I was taking and I told them all about the coke, but neglecting to tell them about how much alcohol I was drinking. They told me that I didn't need to detox from coke and that I should try Cocaine Anonymous.

I tried my hardest to stay sober (or as sober as I knew how). My grandfather was dying and I was stealing his pain pills before work to help me get through the day. I made it about 3 weeks without coke or alcohol then drank and ended up back at my mom's house begging for coke. I moved in with my dad and kept trying to stay clean. I lost my job after calling in sick one too many times (the irony is that the occasion I was fired for was a time I actually had the stomach flu. I missed countless days being hungover and drained from coke, but the stomach flu killed me) I started just drinking, but I would crave coke when I was drunk. I once bought a quarter ounce of coke after drinking about 10 beers. I didn't have a proper pipe and wasted most of what was there. When I ran out I was drunk and high, but severely depressed. I tried to kill myself, but chickened out at the last second calling out for my dad before I bled out. Then in February, my grandpa died. I took it hard and went on a bender. I drank prodigiously. The day of the funeral I had made plans to work on putting a band together. The girl came over and we started working on some songs we both liked, but I eventually drank the bottle of wine she brought and the 12 pack of beer I had. We went on a beer run and I blacked out. I woke up the next morning still drunk and took inventory. I was in my bed wearing just boxers with only a vague idea of what had happened. I had a couple hundred dollars left from my last check and knew I would soon have it spent if I didn't conserve. I had the idea that if I went to Wendover, I could drink for free. There was the added benefit of not knowing any coke dealers out there. I took a cab from our apartment to the bus stop and took the fun bus to Wendover. I blacked out. I have vague memories of being layed out at the back of the casino. The ambulance showed up. I remember smelling the salts they put in front of your nose. I've smelled them several times since them, but this was the only time they didn't cause me to cringe. I can remember them rifling through my wallet and then being in the ambulance. As a cancer survivor, I felt I should tell them. Except I just kept saying 'kidney cancer'. They took it to mean I had cancer. They called for a helicopter and I woke up in a hospital in Salt Lake surrounded by my family. They took my actions as another attempt to kill myself. It wasn't, at least not consciously. They told me I could voluntarily go to the hospital or I could be court ordered there. I told them I would go. I later learned that when my blood alcohol was taken about 5 hours after I blacked out, I was at a .24% That was still 3 times the legal limit and it was hours after my last drink. I had hit bottom again, this time via a helicopter.