Reasoning

When alcohol rules your life, reasoning skills simply do not exist.  The most primary example is being offered one more drink, even though you are already obliterated, and responding with "sure, why not".  For me and my lack of reasoning, I would never turn down a round of brew, especially fresh draft beer in a tall frosty mug.  I was not going to be the one to end the party, or be the first to go home, or for that matter let someone else out drink me. 

There is scientific proof that reduced brain function, while under the influence, inhibits reasoning skills.  Well, no shit right?!  I, myself, have been behind the wheel of a car drunk more times than I can count.  I have also done more stupid things on a seconds notice, usually with money or some kind of bet involved, than I care to admit.  I have gotten into fights, arguments in which I couldn't even recall the subject matter, and have been kicked out of bars all because of over consumption of alcohol lead to poor decision making...or better yet the inability to make a reasonable decision.  And of course, I have woken up in places thinking "where the hell am I".

So how do you, as a loved one or family member, deal with an addict's lack of reasoning?  Tough question with an even tougher answer.  Honestly, you can't.  The age old solution of trying to reason with an addict should at this point be thrown out the window. It is not that they do not care about the people they are hurting.  It is an unintentional consequence of excessive use of the drug of choice.  They simply lack the skill set to make a reasonable choice.  Whereas most of us wake up thinking about breakfast, an addict wakes up in the morning with one thing on their mind...how can I get a quick buzz and make my life tolerable again.

Every addict drinks for a reason, and it is not because they love the taste of alcohol. It is primarily for the buzz...the inevitable disappearance of reality.  As for me, mine was based a lot in my childhood.  I used alcohol to make feelings disappear and create a happier life that did not truly exist...as well as to appear to friends that everything was perfect.  Others over indulge in alcohol to "overcome" loss of loved ones, to deal with or actually not deal with family issues, or to avoid remembering something that is eating away at them on the inside.  The list could go on forever.  In my opinion, the first step is to find the root of the problem.  As easy as this may sound, the root may be burried so deep, the addict may not even be able to define it themselves.  It took me months of counseling before I was able to identify, at least in part, why I turned to drinking as a solution.

So if you are looking for a quick or immediate, definitive solution, you are probably more likely to win the lotto.  The one and only thing I have found to have any percentage of success is support and love.  As frustrating as it may be to all parties involved, support for an addict, through the bad times and the even worse times, gives the addict options...one being hope.  With support and love, comes a sense of trust, and with trust comes the possibilty of opening up about the root of the problem.  And all of these combined begins a healing process for everyone involved.

This is not an overnight solution.  It is only the beginning of a long journey; think of it as a climb up Mt. Everest.   Until that one day arrives, where the weather is perfect, and the people climbing are 100% invested, only then will the summit be reached.  But please, don't give up, walk away, or turn your back on an addict; they too desire to reach the summit of sobriety and a guide of sorts to help them make that one reasonable decision.

Judgement

The stigmas associated with being labeled an alcoholic, or any type of addict for that matter, is a fairly long list that can often have negative consequences on the individual.  The negative connotations, often unfair and some times uneducated beliefs, disapproval by friends and family, a simple mark of disgrace; all of which can lead to discrimination at work, difficulty even finding a job, harassment, the idea that you are a failure and will never succeed in life.

Stigma = shame and shame = silence.

I have spent a lot of time reading about alcoholism and addicts in the last year and a half, simply to try and understand my own issues.  However, research on functional alcoholics is minimal at best. Mainly due to the what you just read.  Thankfully, in my small part of the world, I never experienced much of what is listed.  I was well known as the big drinker among friends and colleagues.  For me, if I didn't have a beer in my hand, or both, then the harassment began.  I also no longer have a high profile job, which in a sense allows me to have more freedom to say and write exactly how I feel without any negative consequences.  In the same respect, I have always been pretty outspoken on certain subjects, and would and still will give you my opinion regardless if you ask for it.  Just ask any of my current or former bosses at work.

Stigmas are a pretty shitty way of stereotyping a person based on something that has happened in their life, even if it is an uncontrolable disease.  Take the 1850's novel The Scarlet Letter for instance.  Yes, I have read it...not just watched the Demi Moore version.  A woman was forced to wear the letter "A" and face public humiliation for an adulterous relationship.  I am in no way saying adultery is a disease, just simply using Hester's downfall as an example of what happens when someone is placed in a position of being publicly labeled, whether right or wrong.

I have had plenty of judgemental remarks towards the way I look, dress, how I present myself, and even some in relation to my job...simply because I choose to work in retail and am a blue collar worker must in some way mean that I am uneducated.  Surprisingly, or maybe not so much, a lot of these were initiated by my parents.  I guess that is part of the reason why I am not ashamed of admitting that I was an alcoholic, or professional drunk as I like to call it, that I did seek counseling for it, and I do now rely in part on certain meds to get me through the day.  And I can honestly say that the feedback has been extremely, and overwelmingly positive.  Although, I am sure someone out there thinks I am a nut job that can not overcome alcoholism...once a drunk, always a drunk right?! Well, I'm not dead, not certifiable, and no longer a drinker, except Big Red and that doesn't count. So, judge me as you please because I will prove you wrong.  I am not ashamed of the disease that I battle and I will not be silent about it.

The moral of the story is this:  if there were less stigmas attached to alcoholics, maybe there would be less silence, thus more information gathered about the disease...all leading to a single resolution and avoidance of using alcohol as a cover-up.  But for now, we are stuck with the mom and pop age old response of "don't drink because it's bad for you".

I Should Be Dead

I guess that pretty much goes without saying.  I spent 27 years drinking and 23 of those years drinking and driving.  But in my last 8 months or so of drinking, I could tell my body was shutting down on me.  I no longer even liked the taste of beer or alcohol.  I only drank it because that is what I knew...that is how I escaped from my problems.  That was how I lived.

I remember several friends and I were at Wurstfest.  After a couple of pitchers of beer, I broke down crying.  I couldn’t hold back any longer.  I felt like shit.  I looked like shit.  And I knew if I didn’t quit soon, I would be dead.  End of story.  At the same time, I did not know how to cope without alcohol.  My coping skills had stopped developing right about the time I started drinking.  In a sense, I skipped those years of my life.  So, my lack of coping skills carried me through another five months before I actually quit. 

Those months were horrible.  I was drinking from sun up until sun down and would get up in the middle of the night to drink more.  I kept count of beers left in the fridge so that I would have enough for over-night drinking as well as a six pack for the morning hours.  If I didn’t have the correct amount, I would make late night beer runs to get another 18 pack or case.   

I never slept more than a few hours a night and when I did sleep, I had horrible nightmares.  I also had anxiety issues when it came to simple things like showering and leaving the house.  My anxiety attacks got so bad that more than once I thought I wasn’t going to live to see the next morning...or the next five minutes for that matter. 

After work, on the days that I made it to work, I would make a mad dash over to the liquor store next door to get a cold six pack of 16oz beers.  It would make me physically ill to go into the store as well as slamming the first one to get my buzz back.  I was always forced to eat something with a lot of flavor to get the first one down.  But once that buzz came back, all was back to “normal”. 

I was becoming a recluse of sorts due to my drinking.  I couldn’t go anywhere without being drunk.  And if I was the least bit sober, I would get physically ill.  There were many times that I would be at my favorite bar/restaurant, order something, and then not be able to eat it.  At this point, I was starting to get bad stomach cramps that would hit me out of the blue...but became more frequent as the days went on.  So in my infinite wisdom, I decided that food was no longer a necessity as long as I had beer or a bottle of vodka.  It was the same wisdom that led me to believe that drinking all night and day was “normal”.  Any and all rational thinking at this point was drowning in alcohol. 

pretty much sums it up!

 

Supply and Demand

In order to get a perspective of my life as a drunk, it is important to understand the quantity of alcohol I consumed throughout my life as well as how it increased dramatically over the years.  As a kid 11 years of age, when I was first introduced to the ultimate hideout from  all problems, I would drink one to two wine coolers.  It was typically on the weekend when my mom and I were chilling at home.  It became such a wonderful and desirable feeling to me that I would occasionally sneak to the pantry for one during the week.  This was usually due to a fight between my parents, getting into trouble, or some other undesirable that I wished to hide from.  By the time I was in high school, I had freedom in the form of a Pontiac Grand-Am, my first vehicle.  My alcohol consumption by this time, and you are only looking at a four year difference, had increased to one 750ml bottle of vodka during the week and one for the weekend.  I also picked up smoking consistently during this time period, Marlboro 100’s in the soft pack. 

When I first started drinking, the wine coolers were purchased by my mom.  But as I increased my consumption, I had to hide my purchases.  So where did the money come from?  I was given a weekly allowance and gas money like a lot of kids, but my drinking typically exceeded the money I was given for the week.  There were times when I would do extra chores for five bucks a pop, but on numerous occasions, I would “borrow” twenty to forty bucks from my mom’s stash.  She used to keep a large sum of money in a white envelope on the right side of the second dresser drawer.  My mom did not keep track of her allowance thus providing me with plenty of opportunity to collect drinking funds.

During high school, partying in the form of drinking happened just about every weekend.  So, the consumption of alcohol also increased.  The bottles of vodka got bigger and I began incorporating bottles of cinnamon schnapps.  The cinnamon flavor replaced the gum cover-up and you could keep your buzz.  Awesome!  Summer time meant pool parties and gallon, yes gallon, daiquiris…with extra shots of course.  And while purchasing the gallon size beverage, why not have some cherry bombs while you wait…or jello shots.  Daiquiri Express, or the round building as we called it, became a primary location for obtaining anything buzz worthy.  The generic styrofoam containers that held the smaller daiquiris could pose as a soda from almost any joint in town.  Needless to say, they accompanied me to school on occasion and even sports trips.  I know what you are thinking, how did you get around the drinking age and being ID’ed.  In Louisiana, the legal drinking age was 18.  So as long as you had someone in your group that was of age, anything could be purchased.  It also helped that when you became a regular at certain places, they no longer asked for identification.  This included bars, liquor stores, and of course the round building. 

By the time I was “of age”, I was already known at most places around town.  I had one bar that I would frequent for happy hour that included $1 and some change screwdrivers.  Another bar had the best long island ice tea in town and when craving something sweet and mild, an amaretto sour would do the trick.  This place also had plastic cups that you could take home.  I had such a large collection in the back seat of my car, I had to start throwing them away.  Its just like leaving a festival with a stack of cups, except these were of the sixteen ounce variety. 

So basically, by the time I finished high school I was drunk pretty much all the time.  I was stealing money from home to cover my purchases.  Driving drunk was an art and acting completely  sober in front of people was a profession.  I had already become a high functioning alcoholic.