Getting Sober

Recalling what it was like fifteen years ago, living my first day sober, still evokes painful memories.  It should and I hope it always does.  For when I can look back and experience no pain, I will have entered a dangerous place – a place that could take me exactly back to that time.  Hence, I remember.  I reflect.  I feel.  I stay sober. 

Throughout early 2000, I had been on and off of work, due to anxiety and panic attacks. What began in January as a couple weeks off, suggested by my therapist, evolved, by February, into several months of Family Medical Leave accompanied by short term disability payments.  The panic attacks ensued.  I was seeing a psychiatrist in addition to my therapist (a psychologist).  The psychiatrist had prescribed several psychotropic medications.  Depakote was described as a mood stabilizer; Risperdal for the mild Schizophrenia with which I was diagnosed; Zoloft as a general anti-depressant, and of course, Xanax for the anxiety.  I saw the psychiatrist each month for 15 minutes for a medication evaluation.  In the meantime, I took these medications for some months before actually getting sober, which meant I took them with alcohol, which along with being deadly, also negated any effects they might have.  Later on, when I asked for my records from that psychiatrist, I was astounded to find that the very first entry on the very first page of her hand-written notes read, “Might be an alcoholic.”

The weeks leading up to my admission into Gateway Rehab (outpatient) were exceptionally tough.   Although the third DUI was the primary catalyst for going to rehab, the seed had been planted and the thought process started weeks earlier.  I had been traumatized by a relationship that ended whereby I felt hurt and abandoned.  To cope, I drank more, I did more drugs, I stockpiled weed.  I took pills.  During that time, I was sick.  I trembled constantly.  I woke up in the morning finding towels all over the floor from the night sweats that I didn’t even know I was having.  I paced.  I didn’t eat; I couldn’t.  I had stomach pains.  I lost a lot of weight.  The fear of hurting somebody with my truck due to the trembling prevented me from driving at all.  I didn’t know what to do with myself.  Alone in my house, I played Solitaire over and over.  I smoked cigarettes.   I trembled more.  I contacted no one.  I took no calls.  I returned no calls.  I was truly in a state of distress.  Drinking and smoking pot was the only way I could sleep. 

 “I can’t do this anymore,” I said to Kaaren, my friend and barmaid at Cump’s Bar in Carnegie that Friday night (July 28) as I slowly sipped the Coors Light bottle that she had so habitually placed in front of me.  (Cump’s had become my favorite bar.  It was close to my house so I could walk to it.  Having had a history of DUI arrests,  that was important).  I never sipped beer; I downed it.  Everyone who knew me, including Kaaren, knew that.  On this night, however, I did.  I had gotten plenty wasted the night before and gone to work this day, hungover - something that had become all too normal for me.  “Do what?” Kaaren replied, perplexed.  “I can’t drink like this anymore.  I need to stop.”  Despite being arrested two weeks earlier for a third DUI, I had continued to drink as I always had.  “What are you doing to do?” Karen asked.  “Rehab, I think.”

The brief conversation that night with Kaaren was my moment of clarity.  It was that life-changing moment whereby one can all-of-the-sudden see clearly what the problem is, envision the person they want to be, and see the path forward to get there.  It is a defining moment that becomes the impetus for change.  For some, like me, it’s a once-in-a-lifetime moment.  Others, sadly, never get the opportunity.  I was one of the lucky ones.  Lest I forget that, I could lose what I have.   Sobriety is elusive; I learned in rehab that only 10%, who try, succeed at it.  Countless others, who by virtue of not having that moment of clarity, never even get to try.  I always knew I was an alcoholic.  I just assumed I'd live my life that way like so many in my family.  I never realized I had a choice.  That moment allow me to see that I did.

I had hit my bottom.  Finally.  The DUI was just the tip of the iceberg and the latest incident.  My irresponsible money habits along with drinking and drugging- and now more fines and attorney’s fees, had left me virtually broke with a credit score that was likely in the single digits.  Most recently, being on Disability, I was unable to even pay my bills.  I withdrew all of the money from my 401K that I had managed to barely maintain for the seven years I worked at my job.  It covered me for a little while, but killed me with taxes.

Every other aspect of my life was a disaster as well.  I couldn’t maintain any relationship because of the abandonment and trust issues.  I had really no friends, except Kaaren and she was (justifiably) preoccupied starting her family.  The others were just “drinking buddies.”  I had avoided and neglected my family and certainly had hurt them over the years by causing them worry and distress.  At work, my company was bought out and reorganized.  I had to apply for my own job and didn’t get it, although I did maintain some position there.  I’ve already mentioned the financial mess I had created.   Life was simply not good.

 Some say it was my Higher Power that intervened that night at the bar.  I see now that it had to be.  I didn’t want to see that then, because I had given up on God.  But I learned a lot since then about how I view God versus a higher power.  I lost all faith in the God of the Bible when I was a child and I’ve struggled to regain it and I probably won’t since I see this God as a man-made deity not a spiritual concept.  Back then, while Dad was beating my mom regularly and my siblings periodically and cheating and drinking and threatening and constantly embarrassing us, I prayed to this God of the Bible.  I prayed hard for the madness to stop – for Dad to stop beating Mom, for Dad to be the dad he was when he was sober – calm, quiet, non-violent.  Over and over again, I lay in my bed, terrified and trembling, praying and begging God to make it stop.  He didn’t.  Today, I embrace the concept of a power greater than me, but I don’t see this power in the form of God as the Bible asserts, but rather as something murky and unclear – something that I don’t need to define clearly.  It’s more of a sense.  This “spirituality” as opposed to religion, allows me to see the beauty in the world – even in the midst of negativity, disaster, and hatred.  Religion is black and white.  Spirituality is the gray area that transcends the black and white and allows me to see that beauty.  Consequently, it allows me to thus better accept the ugliness, and have some faith without all of the rules, expectations, and judgement that the religion (hence man)-defined God puts forth.  In the end, though, the most important thing for me to remember is that whatever my higher power is, it is NOT me.  That’s what keeps me right-sized, humble, and sober.

Regardless of why that moment of clarity happened that night at Cump’s, I can only say I am eternally grateful for it.  That very moment began the journey that would change my whole life – likely even save it.  That moment helped me realize a life that is beyond my wildest dreams; it helped me become a person that previously  I only wished I could be, but thought I’d never be; it helped me love and appreciate myself and life and strive to always give back.  It’s given me a whole new level of consciousness.

“So, what brings you here today, Mr. Burroway?” said the cheerful intake counselor at Gateway Rehab on July 30, 2001 at 1pm when I showed up.  “I am completely mentally and physically in-ca-fucking-pacitated.  I can no longer function in life."