The
shy, approval-seeking young man with choirboy politeness transformed, magically
into a fun, cocksure, sexy bad-boy! Intoxicated by this new, renegade,
‘don’t-give-a-damn’ attitude, I flung myself, at quick-speed velocity into the
fire. Several times, throughout the rocky liaison, I pledged separation. On a
trial basis. But, the mere thought of saying good-bye sent chills of expectant loss
so intense I’d hurry back, dismissing any crazy ideas of parting. My Life developed
into a comfortable dependency and denial -- my annoying, arrogant friend – cemented
our bond of lifelong togetherness.
Now,
after 30 years of faithful, reckless devotion, I am ending my relationship with
Alcohol.
The
long good-bye accompanies intense sadness and loss. Who am I without my loyal
companion, my liquidly soul mate? The
comparison to a lover is provocative yet interestingly accurate. What began as
nonchalant flirtation at the age of twenty-six blossomed into a lifelong
burdensome secret? Even my marriage, with its untimely ending and ultimate divorce
seemed easier to handle. The emotional pain experienced over the loss and
separation of a liquid heart far exceeded the damage endured by the abandonment
of a beating one. Alcohol was there, available and eager for my affection,
offering me that slight rush, that enigmatic ‘click,’ and finally that
pistol-ready release into the gallows of uninhibited darkness.
I
would never allow myself the privilege of hitting ‘rock bottom,’ as twelve-step
programs refer to that identifiable moment when addiction crushes the human
spirit making a Life no longer able or willing to continue living in such a
wretched state. Nope, not me. I performed my
role perfectly. Always. I never lost a job, never arrived late, never lost time
at work, never, never, never… admitted my vice and called myself an alcoholic.
Me? Heaven’s no. I was above all that.
Was
I what ‘they’ refer to as a functioning…one? Probably. My defense mechanisms --
state-of-the- art artillery – buried deep in my structured unconscious guarded
the lurking monster. Did I want to admit it? No. Of course not. I teased with
it for years, danced like Nureyev around the topic, avoiding all truth and any inevitable
confrontation. Instead, I looked forward to that next chilled martini glass,
that salty rim of a margarita, knowing the forgetful ‘click’ was only a few icy
sips away. Deceptively delicious, indeed.
I scrambled headlong into the arena of my self-destruction. What was left,
after the effects of Alcohol wore off was regret, a letdown, loss of integrity,
respect and, let’s not forget, shame. Instead of pondering these feelings, I
sprinted like a world-class athlete back to its
solace. Alone, I could bury myself in its languid grip, wait expectantly for its
recognizable take-off, hover dangerously overhead circling for deliverance and
then, with reckless abandon, plunge myself into the absent abyss, that surly void
where perfection failed to exist. The lack of calculated awareness allowed me a
defiant, proud and defensive posture, a cover up to continue the abuse -- a slow-suicidal
routine as scheduled and relaxed as drawing an evening bath.
Alcohol
had no agenda. I was the taskmaster playing the slots, unable to balance my
odds, eager to lose myself in the bells-and-whistle payoff -- I thought -- a
win-win situation. I lost, of course. Years later, I realized the odds were never in my favor. Are they
ever in self-delusion?
I
have been given, by grace, the elegant choice to surrender my need. I am in deep
gratitude for this option, this awakening into mindful awareness. As Sami
Saxton expressed candidly in A PERFECT HUSBAND:
“But
those days are over. Too much drama, too many lost days, and too many missed
opportunities catapulted me into soberness. A shaky sobriety. One, I fight
daily. One, I often lose. I’m aware of the symptoms, what sets me off. And I
try, like hell, to heed the warning signs.”
I
find Sami’s admission honorable. Honest. I too, will fight the good fight for
the rest of my Life. I refuse to go back. My path is forward, my direction clear,
my intention for the future…to heal.
All
in good time. All in good time…
“…the ideal spiritual journey needs
the balance of ‘gloriousness’ and ‘wretchedness.’ If it were all glory, just
one success after another, we’d get extremely arrogant and be completely out of
touch with human suffering. On the other hand, if it were all wretchedness and
we never had any insights, and never experienced joy or inspiration, then we’d
get so discouraged that we’d give up. So, what’s needed is balance. But as a
species, we tend to overemphasize the wretchedness.”
Chogyam
Trungpa
