Three Little Words & the Big Bad Truth
- Apr 19, 2023
- 4 min read
My Story
Alcohol was my best friend. Alcohol was my absolute constant in life. I could rely on alcohol when everything and everyone failed me. I went to extreme lengths to avoid pain, and alcohol granted me that relief for some time. Key words there: “for some time.” Alcohol, and in the end, wine, was my comfort blanket. You would not find me anywhere without my Blanky. I was known as a “wino,” a “lush”, a “wine head”, and I wore those names
like badges of honor. I was proud of
my “ability” to drink.
The night that changed my life was like most nights since I can remember. It was a Saturday night during Christmas break. It was the 2nd day of the new year. 2020 had demolished any sense of control I had over my drinking. Wine became my dictator and I was merely a servant at that point. I have always been a drinker. I started drinking in college to mask my social anxiety. I took on an alter ego when I was drinking. She actually was named by a friend of mine at the time. Penelope. She was fun. She was outgoing and a little dangerous. She took shots and played beer pong. She went out to the bars and slept with the guys. She made out with random girls at those bars (highlight of most of my nights). She was the party girl! And I loved her. I loved being carefree and fun.
“I hate you”
Those three words. Those three words came out of my mouth. Those words came out of my mouth and were aimed at her. My Wife. My favorite. The one who I chose to spend the rest of my life with. To have and to hold. Through good times and bad. Those words...I still cannot believe those words came out.
From what I remember, I was pissed about something. Something of course that did not matter. Nevertheless, I was pissed. I spewed, “I hate you” at Amy. I gasped. I leaned forward. Pure terror hit my stomach. I knew I had said something terrible. Something so NOT real that even drunk me knew it. All of my anger was immediately redirected inward. I apologized over and over. I guess she placated me until I passed out (which was not long after the incident). I don’t remember anything after that. It all went black.
“I am worried”
The Next Morning -
My eyelids were heavy as usual. I was a little queasy, and extremely thirsty. I did not remember the event from the night before. I reached for my wife, and she reluctantly let me into her arms. I felt the distance, and knew immediately I had done something to upset her the night before. So, like a lot of mornings prior, I asked if she was mad at me. See...I can be quite the persuasive speaker. I knew that if I asked what happened or what I did, then I had to take the full blame. I had to own what I had done and why I had done it. So, I learned to ask if she was mad at me. I knew she loved me more than life itself. I knew this and yes...I took advantage of that knowledge. I did not do this consciously. It was something I learned to do to protect myself from the unbearable shame and guilt I felt deep inside. So I asked if she was mad….and the words that came out of her mouth aimed at me, shook my soul.
“I am worried.”
Three little words to match mine. Three little words that changed our lives. Mine were crushing. Hers were just as crushing. I laid there unable to move. Unable to speak. Barely able to breathe. I laid there in our bed and the tears of fear flowed.
The Big Bad Truth
It took me almost two more years of moderation attempts, complete “fuck it” times, and all out fails, before I truly said the words that freed me.
Three little words that were undeniably the big bad truth. Three little words I spoke out loud to myself. Those words saved me. They saved my family. Without them, well...I do not want to think about that path.
The morning was like many countless other Monday mornings. I woke up with a massive hangover from drinking close to 3 bottles of white wine the day before, and I was dealing with the raging hangxiety. My blood pressure, which I had been battling for years, was through the roof, and my wife was worried…again. It was a school day, and she was busy getting the kids and herself ready. Meanwhile, I was laying in bed crying. I was a mess. Not the cute “hot mess” we all joke about being, but a real live crying mess. I was afraid I would once again end up at the ER and have to look her in her fearful eyes as they hooked me to monitors.
My wife opened the door as she was getting ready to leave, and said, “The girl wants to say goodbye.” My heart sank. I really did not want our daughter to see me this way again, but I knew it would be harder for her to only imagine how bad mom was feeling today. So, she came into the room. She grabbed my neck and hugged me tight. She whispered into my ear. “I hope you feel better mom.”
That was it. The words landed hard. This time, this day, this hangover, I finally heard her.
This beautiful daughter of mine was begging me to feel better. She was begging me over and over to get my life together so I could be her mom! So, she could count on me. So, she did not have to worry about me during her school day. She wanted to be able to just worry about who she was going to play with at recess, not that her mother was home “sick” again. I heard her pain. I heard her desperation. I truly heard my daughter that day. And I knew what I had to do.
For the first time in my life I said out loud, "I need help." These were my words.
This was my truth.
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