Humble Beginnings (Requiem 20)

Vegas. Sin City. Not exactly the place you'd expect a bunch of sober people to go to have a conference. But there we went. And the timing couldn't have been better. I had been running out of the pills the doctors had me on for a while. I had weaned myself down to make quitting them easier. In Vegas I finally ran out. Since then, I haven't had to take any antidepressants.

Getting sober feels physically similar to quitting antidepressants. When you quit too fast after having either in your system for too long, you get this weird sensation of being on a boat in rough seas. Except that you're not on a boat. It's a very swimmy, swishy feeling. One minute you're fine and the next, your equilibrium is off and you feel like you might tip over or throw up. With acute alcoholism, throw into that mix the shakes and sometimes hallucinations. Either way, it's enough to keep some people drinking or taking antidepressants for much longer than they ordinarily would. Also like quitting booze, when I quit taking antidepressants I had a strong desire to drink at times. Being around other sober guys really helped.

While we were down there, I spent time with JM's sponsor, Kim. He was a guy who had been sober for 22 years at the time. When we talk about wanting what someone has in recovery, I wanted what this guy had. Not his house or car or money, but his state of mind. He seemed to be very serene. He handled situations a lot better than I did. He could comfortably talk about his experience getting sober. More than that, though, I just related to the guy. He was a cancer survivor as well as an alcoholic. He talked about how he used to be angry a lot and it was like he was telling my story. He was a musician. We bonded a little bit over this and agreed that we would get together and play. Unlike most times I made tentative plans with people I barely knew in recovery, I really wanted to follow through with these plans.

The trip was a success. Not financially (this was Vegas, after all), but we all stayed sober and had a good time. I got to meet one of my hero's in recovery. A guy whose speaker tapes I had been listening to for years. I was shocked by how normal he was. I guess I was expecting him to don a cape and tights or something. It made me respect him all the more, though. When we got back, I really felt connected to recovery. I went to meetings regularly for a few months. I ran into Kim at a meeting and we set a date for me to come over and play. It was for the coming Saturday. I had heard that Kim had sponsees over on Saturdays to read from the book. That he was giving me a Saturday 'slot' didn't connect. When I went over that Saturday, we set up the drums and guitar and started looking for common musical ground. It didn't take long. While we were probably painful to listen to, we had a good time and agreed to keep playing.

After a few months of bliss following the conference, I started falling into my old patterns. I was missing meetings and slipping towards another relapse. It finally happened on the 24th of July, 2007. I snuck a couple of beers home while Katie was at work. I drank them, fell asleep and woke up when Katie got home. She was none the wiser. The next night I tried the same thing because Katie was going to be gone to a meeting. I went and got the beers. As I got home, Katie called me and said she was coming back because she wasn't feeling well. I scrambled to hide the beers under the socks in my dresser before she walked through the door. The next day I went to work. I got off work and went home. I drank the now warm tall boys (24 ounce cans of beer) that were hidden in my dresser as I was watching poker on TV. I decided I wanted to go to Wendover to play in a poker tournament. I jumped in my car and took off. I called Katie on the way. She knew right away that I was drinking or planning on getting drunk. I was driving fast, probably 95 miles per hour. As I zipped through Tooele, I saw lights in my rear view mirror. I stayed calm, pulling over. I tried every trick I knew to show the officer that I was sober. (Hands on the steering wheel at 10 o'clock and 2 o'clock, car turned off, no sudden movements) The officer took my information, went back to his car, then came back with a ticket for 11 miles over the limit. Somehow I had avoided the DUI I most surely deserved. It should have stopped me in my tracks to get pulled over drunk. As it was, though, I continued on to Wendover to finish my last debacle.

We're told to never say never, but it seems fitting to me that I took my last drink the way I began my journey into recovery. Wendover seems to have bookended four of the most difficult years of my life.

So this is how I began my sobriety: My eyes slowly roll open. I feel like my eyelids have been glued shut with superglue. As the small amount of light hits my eyes, I feel an explosion of pain in my brain. I crawl out of the bed and over to the toilet in the next room. My stomach is cramping as I wretch and heave vile. After a few minutes, the cramps subside. I take the opportunity to pull myself up to stand in front of the mirror. I'm wearing nothing but boxers. I start wracking my mind for memories of what happened the night before. All that comes to mind are various snapshots. I'm playing a table game. I'm on the phone with Katie. I'm being dragged by security to the front desk. I must have got a room and gone to pass out. Coming back to reality, I grab the glass on the counter and fill it up with water from the tap. I take a short drink, testing my stomach. I seem to be fine, so I take a bigger drink. Hopefully this stays down. I put the half finished glass back down and start shuffling into the other room to lay back down.

I notice my clothes in a pile by the bed. I reach down for them to get my shirt on. I'm a little chilly. As I pick up the pile of clothes, I realize they are wet. I know before I even pull the clothes to my face to smell them. I've been here before. This isn't the first time I've done it. I must have thrown up all over myself. Repeatedly. I notice the clock on the night stand says it's 10:30. I don't even have time to dry these clothes or lay down for an hour before I have to be out. Just then my stomach starts cramping. I manage to just make it over to the toilet before I'm sick again. A few minutes later, I get back up and turn the shower on. I'm hoping a shower will help me feel human again. After the shower, I'm forced to get back into my clothes covered in vomit. Just the smell is turning my stomach. I grab my phone and call in sick to work. My boss seems to be cool with it. A few minutes later his wife calls and lays into me. I realize I'm about to be canned. I keep waiting for her to say it, but the words never come. Maybe they'll do it when I come in on Monday.

I smell so badly, I know I won't make it home without getting sick. I gather up my stuff and decide to try to find a gift shop to buy a new shirt. As I walk, I try to keep the wet shirt on my back from touching me too much. I'm pinching the shirt in two places trying to keep it off of my skin. In the gift shop, I don't find a single shirt. I'm afraid people are going to start looking at me. What a sight I must be. I decide to try a gas station on my way out of town. As I open the door to the outside of the casino, I'm hit with sun. It's paralyzing. I can barely see and my head is exploding in agony. And the heat. It's July in the desert. I've got no sunglasses, I smell like puke, and for a minute I don't recognize anything. My stomach is starting to cramp and I'm hating life. I start walking around and eventually find my car. I drive over to the gas station on my way out of town. I had been hoping it would be empty, but for some reason at 11:00 am on a Friday it's packed. As I come through the door, the bell rings and everybody turns to look at me. I walk in, look around, and I realize there are no shirts for sale here. I am defeated. I buy a water and some aspirin as people stare at me and cringe. Getting in my car, my head is throbbing. The sun seems brighter than it ever has before and I'm not sure I'm going to be able to make it back without getting sick. I pull the wet shirt off my back, and start driving. Humble beginnings, eh?