Alcoholism: A Love Story

My life is, more or less, in shambles. My boyfriend charged me with assault after a night of drinking. That's what started it. My life, apparently, became a roll of toilet paper, which proceeded to unravel before my eyes from that point on. Here I sit, with only a few sheets left in place, wondering what the hell I'm gonna do if I get diarrhea...
I am an alcoholic. I have been coming to terms with my condition since June; I had screwed my life up for the second time since January 1st, the day I resolved to stop screwing up my life. It's only been recently that I realized that it was the second time- I had been quite clever about tricking myself into thinking that the first screw up was someone else's fault. The second fiasco, however, involved true love; one of those pesky things that will always make you see the light, no matter how much you'd rather not.
January was a screw up. Life was falling apart, and all the jumping through hoops I was doing did nothing to juggle that mess... I finally had to rely on my mom and dad and move back home. Aside from the fact that I was completely retarded to think I could put things back together before admitting to my own participation in the break-down of my life, everything was fine.
Then came February. All was quiet on the home front. Yes, Mom and Dad's home, but quiet, nonetheless. I got antsy; I had been clean and sober for a whole month. I started the online dating game. I met Mr. True Love, lets just call him Carl. We started chatting.
March came in like a lion. I was still chatting with Carl, among a couple others, but he was clearly the favorite in the running. I went on a bad date, and almost quashed the whole online dating endeavor. However, I had spoken to Carl once on the phone. He sounded sweet. The wierd thing was that he was just never free. Finally, we made a date. We brought our kids. I forgot to mention that our sons were in the same class and very good friends; his ex-wife and I were neighbors twice in this small town. It really is a wonder I had never even heard of him... Oh, how I long for my ego-centric oblivion of yester-month!
Date one went amazingly. No, it was Perfect. The first time I laid eyes on him, I knew he was going to be my new addiction. Tall, dark, and handsome; more than enough to make me believe in love at first sight. I asked him for a kiss before I left, and that was the most perfect first kiss dreamt up by any little girl's imagination. For the first time since I was ten, something other than booze gave me butterflies.
Date two went better. I went to meet him at the bowling alley. He was on the bowling league with his dad- another rare and interesting quality to find in a man of only 28. The nervousness had only built on the drive from my town to his- an entire half an hour to wonder if I was dressed nice enough, if his dad would like me... Oh my goodness, what if his friends from bowling didn't like me? This is me- I'm actually crazy enough to care what a bunch of bowling geeks think of me.
First things first; I go to the concession stand to get a drink. I ask them to put it in a pop cup instead of a bar glass, so that Carl's dad doesn't know I'm drinking. He's very religious, a menonite to be precise, so I rationalize that I am only hiding my drinking from him, when really it is just myself I am fooling. After bowling, I drive Carl and I down to the local water hole. We had the time of our lives getting to know each other drunk. I'm pretty sure we did for the whole time because he says we did.
I woke up next to him Tuesday morning, with the biggest hang over in my life. I puked- once quietly in the bathroom, and once violently in the driveway. I would still consider this to be the best day ever, coincidently the first day of spring. First of all, I had my clothes on. You cannot understand the joy in waking up with your clothes on when you don't even remember going to bed with this virtual stranger. I was, again, impressed by this man. The second thing to make my day was that, in spite of still being dressed, I could quite unmistakeably tell that this man had a banana in his pocket. No, wait, that doesn't make sense... Must have been something else...
The third charm of the day was that, even after I returned to bed from puking, Carl asked me if I wanted to go out with him. I should have trusted my guts, which had made their say already, and put it off until I could make anything other than a rush decision. Even if I hesitated and wasn't entirely sure about making a commitment so soon, it still made me giddy. March 21st is a day I will always look at with a sick fondness.
April came and went, as did May. Carl and I had become a party couple. I hadn't realized it; it seemed only natural that if the only free time he had was on weekends, we should make the most of it and stay up late. Carl was just like me in almost every concievable way. He shared my wierd sense of humor, was intelligent, great with people of all walks, and liked to drink. We had many deep, drunken, discussions about life, love, and the future. It was a moment I will never forget when I turned around from the public toilet I was bent over to tell him "I think I love you." (I wish I could say the same about the rest of the night.) It was an even better moment when he said it back two days later- on one of those tv shows that you can text your message onto the tv from your cell phone. There was nothing like us. We had something. Too bad it was a disease called alcoholism.
June is my favorite time of year. One day, when I get married, it will be in June. The world is so full of promise in June. I can't think of anything better to do in June than sip on a cold one under the warmth of the sun. Or, at least, I sure couldn't think of much better to do last June. Long story short, I was drunk this June. I was having a blast with buddies, enjoying being the hot one in the group when I accidentally let oneof the guys seduce me. I can't remember how it happened, but I sure know it wasn't worth it. He was good-looking, but far from tall, dark, and handsome. Carl found out. It wasn't pretty. It broke us up. It broke our hearts. Somehow, though, he found it in his heart to speak to me again, and, being the queen of drunken linguistics, I convinced him to see me at least to say good bye. I spent June 21st, the longest day of the year and first day of summer, in addition to my all time favorite day of the year, with Carl. We said good bye at "our spot", but it was not what one might suspect it should be. It was one of the most romantic nights of my life, complete with a fire, stars, and, of course, some booze.
On the way home, I was choking back tears. I was about to absolutely break down with grief, when a voice echoed in my ears. "Everything is going to be alright. Follow a plan. Carl is your plan."
Carl left for the city for work. I awoke one morning to the most brilliant sun illuminating transparent letters spelling "SLUT" across my wall. I instantly was reminded that there wasn't any sunny day that could take away the pain of not having the man I loved by my side. I made a decision that morning to attend Alcoholics Anonymous that night. I found out later from Carl that he had wrote that with his own tears, the day he found out about me and the other guy. Holy, ouch.
July yielded some progress. I continued my meetings, gained even more faith in the God that had spoken to me in my lowest points, and even reconciled with Carl. My son had gone on holidays with his grandparents, leaving me with just the baby. At a moments notice, it seemed to be a good idea to go to the city. I just had to see my Carl. I had friends in the city that I could stay with. On my second day there, Carl and I had come to the conclusion that a new start in a new town would be good for us. I got a job instantly at a local restaraunt as a waitress. I found a dirt-cheap baby-sitter. I was feeling as though fate were shining upon me.
My friend I was staying with, however, is also an alcoholic. She and I were doing alright, until, at my mention of attending a meeting in the city, we decided we ought to hold our own meeting. She grabbed us each a couple of coolers, and the meeting began. She started, "Hi, my name is Tina, and I'm a lush." she laughed. I laughed, "Hi my name is Sara, and I'm a drunk!" We laughed harder and harder until we finished off the six-pack.
My little excursions from sobriety were kept a complete secret from Carl. He and I were trying to get a place to live together, and quite excited about the plans we were making. My birthday was in July, and we had made big plans for my it, sort of. We had decided to rent a room with a jaccuzzi. We got my dirt-cheap baby-sitter to come to the room, so that we could get some alone time. Thinking about it now, we really had no plan. We spent the day shopping; he bought me lots of pretty things. I had a great time; I never once doubted that he loved me and wanted nothing but the best for me and my day. That is, until the day was closing into evening, and he made the first move towards letting it all go to hell.
"You've done so well, I bet it can't hurt to have a drink or two." Famous last words...
He ordered some champagne and coolers and liquor to be delivered. I was so relieved to be able to drink freely and openly, that I finished two bottles of champagne in about half an hour, while in the jaccuzzi. I don't remember leaving the hotel, but apparently I had agreed to going to the bar to meet up with Carl's friend. I hate BJ, but in my drunken stupor, I somehow found the logic to think it would be okay to hang out with the jerk on my day.
The night fades in and out of my memory like it had happened a hundred years ago. It was a gong show. I got lost, thanks to BJ's friends and their idea to take me for a drive. I wasn't the girl BJ said I was, so my drunk ass got thrown out on the side of the road. I was lost and couldn't remember what I was even doing in the city. I found my hotel room only after being accused of being a call girl. When I got there, all hell broke loose.
Carl was angry that I had left without him. I couldn't understand why I would have done that, so I fought back. It got heated. The baby-sitter got scared and phoned the police. I got threatened to get tasered if I didn't settle down. Carl was going to kick us all out of the room, but finally let the police take only the baby-sitter home.
In the morning, I awoke to Carl packing up and leaving with BJ. I called Tina. We had another meeting, which really only solved the problem of my hang over. I quit my job, and returned back to Mom and Dad's the following Monday.
I got back on the wagon. I got a new job. Unfortunately, I knew what the outcome would be the first time I opened the office fridge and saw its contents. There were 4 40-ounce bottles of liquor in the freezer, and an assortment of beer and coolers in the fridge. I tried to be strong. I had will power; at least I had will power for almost a month. The regional company barbecue was at a golf course. I thought I would be strong enough, if I didn't bring any money. Lovely company that it was, however, paid for all the booze we could drink. Upon hearing this news, I immediately grabbed two and hit the greens. I wasn't sure I was ready to see if golfing sober was even possible.
I suppose I have always had the power to influence people, but I really hadn't realized how much until that day. My golf team consisted of three of us, since we were the late-comers who had been working all morning. I was the subordinate to both of them, but managed to forge the rights to declare myself team captain. As per the captain's orders, my teammates made sure that we all had two drinks at all times. Inevitably, we were laughing so hard we were falling down by the nineth hole. It was okay, we thought, because the other teams were as well. Panick didn't strike until we hit the clubhouse and were bombarded with drunken sensibility from the boss' wife. "Good! More drunks to spend the night with me in the parking lot!"
I remember coffee, lots of coffee. Then, I remember sneaking out the back with Gerry when no one was looking. I took a nap on the drive home. I don't remember saying good bye to Gerry or coming through the door for supper. I vaguely remember talking to Carl on the phone. Miraculously, he didn't have any idea I was drunk. That is, until he mentioned something we had talked about a week later, and I had to confess that I had no recollection of the fact. He wasn't as mad as I thought he'd be.
In light of exposing myself as a lush at work, and my boyfriend not being too concerned about it, I took up drinking again. This was August. My company had another barbecue, this time just for the staff at our hometown office. It was at the boss' house. In the same manner as all of the company's events, there was enough alcohol there to intoxicate the entire neighborhood. I took full advantage. We were all feeling exceptionally jovial, when the bottle of whiskey was passed around. In my alcoholic wisdom, I had already determined whiskey to be a taboo for me when I was about 14 years old. I can't imagine what I was thinking when I took my fair share of shots from the bottle, but I will never know what I was thinking or did after that point. I woke up late, in a house that I didn't recognize. My only concern was to get to work, where Gerry could immediately tell the events of the night prior. "People like you go to meetings, you know..." I laughed. He didn't.
Because I didn't call Carl, and he knew full well that meant that I was hammered, he broke up with my voicemail while I was at work. I was indignant about the whole thing, and got drunk after work. I was drunk on the computer when he signed on. He asked me why I cheated on him. I was like a deer in the head lights for a moment, wondering if he knew something I didn't. So I told him I didn't know. He stopped talking to me, for some reason.
I spent the beginning of September alone, just me and my bottle. I had gotten into some trouble with the law and my brother. He picked a fight, won, and then charged me with assault. (This was in August, when I wasn't drinking, so I am still quite sure of my innocence in this particular matter.) I went to court to enter my plea of not guilty, and I had a good friend who was with me, dealing with his own court matters. We started a tradition; getting drunk after court was all the rage. At a local bar, we drowned our legal sorrows. I was trying to make the best of being single as well, and spotted a man who looked enough like Carl to make me want to talk to him. I did. Don't ask me what I said, or where all I went with this man, but he wound up being the one to drop me off at home.
Mr. Wannabe Carl, we'll just call him Graham, was very interested in me. I have no idea why- I had to ask him countless times if we had already talked about things when we first met. He tried to assure me that he enjoyed hearing me say things as many times as I wanted, but I couldn't get over feeling foolish. Not to mention, he reminded me of the man that he just couldn't ever be- Carl.
Carl and I started to talk again. We always had the best courtship... He would send me pictures of him blowing me kisses via our cell phones. I would send him pictures of rocks that I had found that reminded me of him. It was silly, but silly was 'our thing'. Next thing you know, I am going to the city to see what I can do about getting back my man.
The 'date' was supposed to be another one of our infamous good-byes. We decided to go eat at a lounge neither one of us had been before. Before we could decide what to eat, Carl ordered a drink. I followed suit. We were drunk by the time we left. The date turned into a couple day binge. We had a blast during all the parts I remember. I asked him to be my boyfriend again, and we were once again us, in all of our maddening glory. We've still never eaten at Madhatters.
In October, we were barely hanging on. He was still working in the city. While we were broken up, he had made plans to go to his sister's wedding with his ex-wife. I was not impressed. I told him that I would trust the situation if he would trust me while I set out to get drunk during the event. We broke up again.
I heard of lay-offs coming at work. I didn't wait to be laid off to get drunk. So, I got fired instead. I got a job at a local pub that I had worked at when I was 18. I started the job off with a chip on my shoulder, because Carl and I had finally found a place to move in together that I was not going to be able to afford on my own. I pissed off my new boss and loved it, because the tension would seem to justify the several free drinks I had after work.
I was so distraught, however, because I loved Carl so much and I knew he loved me too, but we were so on-again-off-again that it seemed that we were going in reverse. I paid for his birthday present while we were off-again, trying to keep faith in what God told me. I knew there was no going back when I got it engraved.
I dragged that man to town with me. I told him that he was going to fulfill his promises to me- siding the house I was renting. We spent several wonderful days drunk and trying to make progress on the house. I got him to agree to at least be, if not my boyfriend, my roommate. I was finally feeling like we were moving ahead.
He and I lived together in complete harmony. We drank every single day from day one of living together. This was a seemingly good arrangement. I began to wonder what was to become of Carl's working circumstances, as he hadn't worked since doing the siding on the house. The tension finally started there, and heightened with each day of Carl going to his ex-wife's house while I was working. He still swears to this day that it's just to see his sons, but I was growing suspicious when he wouldn't get home until midnight, at the earliest. I tried to keep as much faith as I could. I, afterall, was the drunken cheater, right?
We celebrated his birthday the only way we knew how. It was fine, I think.
November seemed to flow in unexpectedly. I was growing more and more concerned about being the sole bread-winner. Luckily, I made good tips and we were never for want of anything. Carl and I had our good and bad days, the tension making the drinking a feat of courage. We started fighting more and more about his nightly visits to 'see his boys'. I couldn't drink away the feeling that something was wrong, but I was determined to do so. Persistently, I drank away my feelings.
The year's first snow was beautiful, especially to us alcoholics who saw it as another celebration. It snowed for days, and we were snowed in with just enough alcohol to make it bearable to walk to the store for more. I called work to tell them that I wasn't going to make it; that made it an official snow day. As all alcoholics know, there isn't much better than a snow day to celebrate. We had as much booze as the two of us could ever want. We were completely hammered by supper.
I can't remember what led up to it. I remember, vaguely, putting the kids to bed. I remember sitting at the table, but I don't know why Carl was yelling at me. I remember him saying that he had cheated on me more times than he could count, and that I had been so stupid that I had no clue. Then, I remember flying. Ask Carl; my feet never touched the floor. I flew across the kitchen from a seated position and threw 125 pounds behind a fist in his eye. His head snapped back, and I vaguely remember being concerned, followed by an intense feeling to run like hell.
Neither of us remembers the following events clearly. The police came, however, and took Carl's word for the absolute truth. He told them that I hit him, but he didn't know why. He said that he was the wage-earner and that it was his house. I was carried off to jail. I was bailed out by my mom, and went back to her house. I was allowed an escorted visit to my house with an officer. Carl had been told to leave the house, but I saw him when I got there. His eye was some kind of black. He was, however, entertained with the idea that his nose was now straight from the breaking it had recieved when he and his wife broke up. She was right-handed, so Carl was happy about my south-paw. We shared a laugh before he left.
I grabbed a few things. I wansn't too concerned about the rest, believing I would be back in my rightful place soon enough. I was some kind of wrong.
Carl and I were trying to work things out, but we had one hell of a mountain to climb. It was fight after fight, then kiss after kiss, and, finally, betrayal after betrayal. While I had been sent to jail, Carl had access to my dad's truck keys. He went on a drunken joyride, taking out his frustrations with me on the truck. We may never know what all that poor truck endured, but it had been through enough that the computer chip in the engine tripped it into limp mode.
On my way home from work late one night, half drunk, the truck stalled as a result of running in limp mode for too long. I went into the ditch on the other side of the road. If only the truck would have gone out of limp mode, I would have been able to drive it home. This was not to be so. I took a nap, hoping that some good samaritan would come and rescue me.
I awoke with a start to the unkind police officer. Great! Not only was I smelling of alcohol, he had found where I had stashed my pot, and put it in my pocket. Not only was I in the ditch on the wrong side of the road, but I was out past the curfew set out in my recognizance for bail. Back to jail I went. Carl was mad because he was expecting me to go see him, so I made sure to phone him from jail.
I went to see him almost immediately after being let out of jail. I forgot to mention, that was one of my conditions too- not to have any direct or indirect contact with Carl. I was not interested in those conditions. I showed up at the house late that night. I was so distressed, and I wished he would make it better. He didn't. He told me that he hated me; he told me I should just kill myself. He said he would phone the police if I didn't leave. I was so hurt. I was desperate to not go to jail again. I took his advice- and took as many pills as I could fit in my mouth. He was already on the phone when I ran as fast as I could through the snow down the back alley. I was stoned before I could reach the end of the block. It was snowing, and I was certain it was an exercise in futility trying to run away, since the police would just follow my footprints. I was right for the first time in weeks.
I went to the hospital, then jail. I hated myself. I hated my life and what had become of it. Court was exhausting. I went every week, it seemed. Carl had always been saying that he would come, to fix the conditions against me and my house. He never seemed to be able to make it.
December depressed itself on me. I had to go to court. Carl didn't show up, and I was so hurt. He texted me while I was in the court room that he didn't want to do anything for me because I had been unfaithful. Again, the hateful words. I had the heaviest heart ache while in front of the judge, which he took as a personal insult. I was ridiculed while trying to explain my circumstances, and told to have a lawyer speak for me. I spoke to the lawyer during the break, and he told me to come back at quarter after. Being almost noon, I assumed the break to be a lunch break. This assumption was wrong. I showed up 50 minutes late, and was put into custody for failure to appear. When put before the judge again, he refused to vacate the warrant. He felt he had to teach me a lesson about 'making faces' in court. If he only knew that I was only trying not to cry...
I was used to the process at the cells. I felt like I had pulled one over on them by not having to take off my bra. It was the only consolation I could find. I was let out once more, and once more my mom came to get me. Carl had sent me some text messages while I was in jail, and the police phoned him to let him know he shouldn't, right in front of me. I was pretty sure I didn't want to talk to him anymore, and I was glad it was like that.
I was broken. I had given Carl money for the rent, but I was still getting calls from the land lady. I had no home, no money, no man, no respect. I did the only thing I knew how to do when faced with adversity. Any alcoholic can tell you, nothing tastes better than the first sip of that consolation drink. I drank away my problems. Unfortunately for me, my whole life had become a problem, including my job. I quit. I hadn't had the nerve to tell my mom that I had quit my job, so I took the truck as usual. I phoned my best girlfriend, Kat, and we went for lunch. I used to date her brother, and I was sure that he would be a good crutch to lean my broken affections on. He was just another one of those guys who reminded me of Carl, but would never be the one I wanted, so I got drunk and faked it. It was my daughter's second birthday. I didn't make it home until the wee hours of the next morning.
This whole disaster did nothing for my self-image. The worst came when I talked to Kat. Her brother said we messed around. I could neither prove or disprove this. I had no recollection whatsoever. I knew I didn't like him enough to sleep with him, but I wasn't sure if I had! I haven't felt much lower than the day after my daughter's birthday.
I took a few days off from drinking, which almost drove me crazy. I had two mickeys under my bed from a prior hidden binge. I called up my best guy friend, and told him to come help me get rid of them. He did. The problem being, I could still remember my problems even after they were gone. We decided to go back to the town he was working out of, and continued drinking in his room. All was fine, until he remembered that he still had a job. He went to bed. I was left to my own drunken resources. I called the only number I can never drink away from memory. I shouldn't have. I cried. I told him I still have faith in what God told me about us. I told him that I miss having my best friend even more than I missed having my boyfriend. Then I told him about Kat's brother. And that was the end of that conversation. This was last Friday.
It's now Monday. I am back from court. I have trial set for next March. I miss the love of my life. I only wish I could tell if that was Carl or Alcohol...
Is five minutes later long enough to write the epilogue? I'll wait five more...
I am alone, broke and broken-hearted. All is not lost. My life is, in fact, unravelled like a roll of toilet paper. I do, however, still have enough sheets to dry my eyes. I will wipe up the mess from the alcohol. And I will get a new roll/role.