Supplement This

Through 25+ years of excessive beer and alcohol consumption, I must now rely on a handful of drugs to get me through a day.  Where I was once a big believer in "sucking it up" at all costs, I now believe getting through and enjoying each day is more important.  If various prescribed medications are required, then so be it.

[On a side note, I actually grew up with an aversion to swallowing pills, and a fear of the effects of medication.  Located above our kitchen sink was the equivalent of a small pharmacy.  My mom was on countless medications throughout her life.  She was diagnosed with multiple sclerosis when I was in high school, and years prior to that was a human guinea pig for doctors trying to discover the cause of all of her symptoms.  Every morning she would choke down countless pills, some with horrible side effects...and I wanted absolutely nothing to do with anything doctor or pill related.]

Back to the subject at hand, supplements.  I have been critiqued for my muscularity since junior high.  With the amount of steroids I have been accused of taking in my life, I should be dead, broke...or dead-broke.  Since getting back in shape, and strength gains occurring regularly, of course, I must now be back on 'roids, HGH, or just good ole testosterone supplements.  Not quite.  For me, it is all about sweat your ass off hard work.  I have already destroyed my body with one substance, I sure as hell don't need help in that department...nor would I waste my Big Red and cookie money on something I don't need.  But, if you really want to know, here is what I do take on a daily basis...

#1:  Effexor
Here is my what you need to know about anti-depressants:  when you find one that works, stick with it.  These drugs require a tedious trial and error process, and typically several weeks to take effect.  If it does not work, then the process of getting it out of your system begins.  It is a serious pain in the ass.  If I am not mistaken, I had to repeat this process about four times.

#2:  Amphetamine Salts
Like the rest of the world, I am ADHD...of course, mine was not diagnosed until after I stopped drinking.  With meds, I can plan my day, prioritize things, formulate one single thought.  Without meds, there are a million unfinished, varying thoughts and ideas that will pop in my head at any given moment.  I am unable to finish a single task, which quickly leads to frustration, followed by anger, followed by all hell breaking loose.

#3:  Krill Oil
My daily Omega-3.  I always hated fish oil...the fishy taste alone was enough for me to throw them in the trash.  Krill oil provides the same benefits in one pill, with zero fishy taste.

#4:  Digestive Enzymes
I have wrecked my body's ability to properly digest many types of foods.  Without sounding like a high school science book, I basically destroyed the enzymes required to break down the nutrients in food.  Thus, I have to take an enzyme supplement prior eating any size-able meal or snack.

#5:  Aleve
Every athlete's best friend.  During the latter part of the strongman season, this becomes a daily supplement in order to minimize the swelling in my joints.  I only take one, first thing in the morning.  In college, I found myself relying on a much higher dosage of anti-inflammatories, and subsequently ended up with some very memorable stomach issues...thus the reason I keep these to a bare minimum.

#6:  Carbohydrates
No, this is not a joke.  I eat an enormous amount of carbs, and most for a reason.  The short of it...it has to do with low serotonin levels.  I learned the hard way that without carbs throughout the day, which will result in a drop in serotonin levels, I am negatively affected with enough aggression to destroy four aisles of a store in a matter of minutes.  And yes, that did happen, and I did clean it up.

If you are an athlete, you are probably thinking...what about protein?  At this point in my life, I rely on my meals for protein, eggs and meats, no shakes.  When I first got back into shape, I had a hard time keeping weight on, so I did rely on shakes as an extra supplement.  Now, I do not see/feel the benefit of protein shakes as much, so I cut them out of my diet.  And in a nutshell, this is how I live each day.

This is not a recommendation, or a "what you should go out and buy" list.  This is what works for me, and me only.  It has been a learning process spanning two and a half years, as well as an adaptation to the changes that have occurred since giving up booze.  Finding the right mix of meds is not an easy thing to do for an alcoholic, and many give up too soon.  Picking up the bottle again was never really an option for me personally, but initially, I did face a lot of frustration and anger.  Ultimately, being hard headed about staying on track finally paid off.

B double E double R U N

I almost caved...to stress, to pressure, to searching for a resolution under time constraints...but I didn't.  It would have been the easy way out, yes.  But would I have taken the correct steps in helping to rectify the situation, no.  In fact, beer would have only made the situation worse, and deep down I knew that.  I just had to take time, sit down, and sort through all of my feelings and thoughts.

When a loved one is put into a potential dangerous and harmful situation, for me, there is nothing I wouldn't do.  Literally.  Although I can not go into any detail about the events, just take a moment to think about your worst fears coming true.  And those fears directly affecting your best friend, the one person you love more than any thing in the world.

Anger is my achilles heal, which I will discuss more in another blog.  It is typically my first response, my first reaction, if you will, to a situation in which a friend's well-being is threatened.  I have battled with anger for the majority of my life.  Let me define my anger for you.  First, it is not linked in any way to frustration.  Missing a lift is frustrating, cleaning up after people at work is frustrating, forgetting to dry your work clothes is frustrating.  For me, anger is an emotion that occurs like the flip of a switch, some times resulting in irrational responses such as punching the closest inanimate object, to uncontrollable tears and trembling hands.  Other times, clinching my jaw so much that it hurts the next day.  The majority of the time, I get blind-sided by my anger.  I am a very laid back person by nature, but when a certain button gets pushed repeatedly, I let it build up, although I have no feelings of it building up, and it ends in a grand explosion.  It is all a very quick process.  How long does it take your vehicle to go from zero to sixty?  That is how my anger works.

For example, years back I was with three friends at a bar playing pool.  Three chicks sat down at a table close to the pool table, and immediately started making rude comments about my friends.  Granted we were an odd four-some...two of us in workout clothes and two in business suits, with an age difference of about 10-12 years.  One chick would not stop with her comments, just loud enough for me to hear.  Before anyone else knew what was going on, I threw my pool stick on the table, leaned down in her face, and asked her what the fuck her problem was.  I told her to fucking stand up if she wanted to say anything else, and before I knew it her 5'4" boyfriend was in my face...or chest rather.  Her boyfriend, the bouncer, told me to leave.  I insulted her and her boyfriend a few more times, turned and punched the back of a chair, knocking almost everything on the table to the floor, and headed for the door.  Once outside, I threw a handful of quarters into the parking lot and then drove home...cooling down on the way.

Last weekend my protective nature leading to an explosion of anger was exposed again.  This time I had no control of the situation, and once I began to put the pieces together that lead to a very unexpected outcome, my car door paid the price.  And then my tires, as I peeled out of the parking lot like some teenager showing off a newly discovered talent.  During moments like this, my first thought is that beer will help.  I actually went as far as to pull off at a gas station with the intention of purchasing beer.  And it wasn't a moment of rationality that stopped me...it was, instead, the tears streaming down my face.  Hell, I can't expose my soft side in public! :)

This day ended with a good outcome, partially because there always seems to be someone out there slapping me in the back of the head when I face moments like these, and partially because of the support system that surrounds me.  If it were not for a great friend from Dallas and one man that cares more about people than making a shit ton of money, I am not sure where I would be or what would have happened.  As far as my anger goes, it is something that I work on every day...to understand and control.  And if you read this far, don't worry, it is highly unlikely that you will ever see me explode...most people haven't.

The Continuous Battle

I began training a client about a month ago on the north side of town.  For those of you familiar with San Antonio, it is up in Stone Oak.  So, every tuesday and thursday morning, before the sun comes up, I drive on the quiet, dark roads to train, and then return home during the beginning of rush hour.  Typically, on the return trip I am thinking about the day ahead and what I need to get done...as well as enjoying watching all of the tired, angry people headed to work.

Today, I don't know what was going through my head, but I started thinking about all of the drinking I used to do up there.  I always pass by the store I used to work at which sits directly across from Stone Werks.  I spent countless lunch breaks there and many evenings with friends running up a tab.  SW also played a huge part in entertaining me and my co-workers at Office Depot.  From finding people passed out in their cars, men dropping off their drunken hook-ups in the morning, to finding wedding rings in the parking lot, and having the resident drunks come into the store after happy hour.

On the other end of the shopping strip is a giant liquor store...they knew me by name.  I knew them so well, in fact, that if my store ran out of one dollar bills at the register, I could always count on them to help me out.  In the same strip center used to be a wine bar that denied my friends and I entry one late night, and an Applebee's that always had a good happy hour.  Their food sucks but beer was always served in ice cold frosty mugs.

Just down the road is a brewery that serves brick oven pizza.  You can not go wrong with that combination.  They also serve $2 Lone Star sixteen ouncers.  If your on a tight budget, you can't go wrong with the $5 lunch special and some Lone Star.  Their in house beers are also fantastic.

Do I miss it?  Unlike most recovering addicts, I truly don't.  It probably helps that my life is finally heading in a good direction, and I don't feel the need to cover up my feelings anymore.  The only time I do miss having an ice cold beer is after a really hot day of yard work or sweating my ass off at the gym...but even that is rare.  I also don't mind being around people that are drinking.  I am not bothered by it at all, nor do I sit there consumed by thoughts of drinking.  I do occasionally wish I could enjoy one with a group of friends, but I know that would be a huge step in the wrong direction ...and quite possibly have serious consequences.  Life is not worth that risk any more.

The risks that are worth taking is a continous pursuit of success and happiness...in my life, with my family, at work, and with lifting.  Nothing is guaranteed in life, I could get hit by a car putting the trash out in the morning.  But adding additional external factors, such as alcohol, only leads to failure and missed opportunities.  This is by no means an anti-drinking blog, hell, I am all for people enjoying themselves!  Instead, it is just more of a reminder to anyone that battles addiction...you will always face challenges, whether it be driving by your old hangouts or fighting off cravings.  But face them head on, almost stubbornly, and fight like hell because life is way more important than an ice cold brew.

"The Long Run"

Last night I was tagged in a post on Facebook by a person I met back in 2009 at the CrossFit regional competition.  She was my judge for the first event...a miserable row and thruster WOD.  She, Pam, is pictured on the right and obviously, I am rowing.  And yes, I had ass white legs back then too.

Pam had tagged me in her blog entitled "Someone Who Inspires Me".  I was absolutely speechless and floored, but at the same time I could not stop thinking...wow, I have been called inspiring.  I have been called a lot of things and most are far from inspiring.  But her kind words really touched my heart, yes I do have a sensitive side and don't tell anyone!

So today, I started thinking...I have written blogs about the people that have gotten me through some really rough times, but have not even mentioned the numerous books, blogs, and my x-large puppy, Killian, that all played a roll in my first weeks of becoming sober.  I will have to save Killian for a separate blog, but I will say the compassion of my four legged friend is something no human could have provided. 

Going through the recovery process is not something that I was familiar with...I did not have any friends at the time that I could to turn to...mainly to ask questions like why is this happening, or why do I feel this way, or what the hell is going on.  So, I turned to books about anything and everything relating to alcohol addiction and recovery.  From celebrity books, to boring research studies, to one written by Mishka Shubaly, a relatively unknown writer at the time.  From his Facebook page:  "He writes true stories about drink, drugs, disasters, desire, deception and their aftermath. His work has been praised for its grit, humor, fearlessness and heart. 'The Long Run,' his mini-memoir detailing his transformation from alcoholic drug abuser to sober ultrarunner is one of the best-selling Kindle Singles to date."

 

His memoir alone helped me understand and come to terms with a lot of things that were happening in my life.  In other words, I could relate to it...and I highly recommend his story over any of the others that I read.  I don't know the guy personally and he sure doesn't need my plug to help him out...but if you know someone going through the recovery process, it is worth the read. 

 

    

My Worst Day Sober

Who ever started the phrase, "my worst day sober is better than my best day drunk" was obviously not a functional alcoholic.  Maybe a holiday binge drinker at best.  Either way, this phrase is completely untrue for me.  Remember, I was a professional when it came to drinking all day, partying till all hours, and living a drunk lifestyle that most people would never admit to...and in my lifetime, I have had some damn good drunk days!  But on the downside of things, there was a "worst day sober"...

Everybody has experienced a “worst” day so far to date.  At some point, each one of us has encountered something that we wish would have never happened, something we wish we could have fixed, changed, or made right.  The loss of a loved one, a divorce, failing to get into college, breaking something dear to you, the spectrum here is endless.  Maybe we don’t regret the experience per say or even desire to fix it, but instead have learned and grown from it.  Or maybe it just remains in the back of our mind, a reminder of what could have been or what once was. 

In my humble opinion, human life is the single greatest thing bestowed on us.  Whatever one believes as to how and why it happens is of no significance here, a case study in religion is better left for…well, not me.  Now for me an utter disregard for human life is nearly incomprehensible.  We are given something so beautiful, a blank canvas to develop and nurture; life is a continuous learning experience, a fascinating growth process both inside and out.  So why would someone even consider bringing an end to it, life that is.  What is so important that takes precedence over living?  It is almost mind numbing to think that anyone would contemplate an abrupt end to their life….…but it happens.

I have never feared death…although I will admit that somewhere along the way I developed a fear of flying.  I live life with the philosophy that the fat lady could sing at any moment, ready or not.  I could walk out of the house right now and get hit by a car.  I have also never sat and contemplated death except when I was forced to read various philosophical views in college.  It will happen soon enough why waste time thinking and worrying about it.  Shit, after some of the things I have done in my life I am sometimes surprised it hasn’t happened already. 

During one of my first sober months, I found myself in MY worst possible scenario.  I became THAT person; the one who contemplates taking THAT step…the permanent solution, the way out, the quick escape.  I had no concern for my own life…zero.  Looking back on that day, I am not even sure what led me to that place mentally, to the single moment in time where I contemplated such a cowardly action.  I do know that I truly believed that I had ruined my life by abusing alcohol and there was nothing left for a failure like me.  There were, what could be considered, external factors that contributed to my mental state, such as fatigue, new medication, a longer than normal day at work.  But none of those should have led me to sitting in my car at the corner store actually attempting to formulate a plan.  Thoughts consumed my mind.  I felt like I had lost all control.  I felt helpless, mentally not physically.  I was overcome by thoughts of how to end my life.  I had an hour of free time, a knife in my car, gun at home, an overpass to jump off less than three miles away, plenty of places…but again one hour to decide and execute and no one to talk me down off the ledge, no pun intended.

It appeared as though today was my day…the fat lady was warming up and there was nothing I could do.  I could not put a thought in my head other than the end.  My mind was a runaway train careening off the track.  I had never experienced such an overwhelming feeling and sure as hell didn’t know how to stop something I could not gain control over.  I sat and cried because I had failed…at life and the process of living it was no longer a concern.  Undecided on an action to take or a plan to follow, I noticed through my tears that my free hour was up. I started the car and headed home to change for a concert that evening.  I was mentally exhausted but all of the sudden it was over.  I was able to refocus all my negative thoughts and concentrate on the present, what I needed to do and where I had to be.  I had successfully survived, literally, the worst hour of my life.  All those thoughts gone in a moment’s notice…with a sincere hope they do not ever return. 

The problem I now face…I felt no fear.  It is a piece of the puzzle I had hoped to never find…more or less hoping that it would be lost forever.  Usually thoughts that even remotely resemble these scare me to death, but for the first time I did not blink at the thought of taking my own life.  I don’t really know what turned that switch on and besides a deadline of sorts; I do not know how it turned off so abruptly.  Now I wait…will the fearlessness, that has only begun to exist, and lack of concern for human life reappear like two trains in a head on collision or will they simply fade away.

Support System

 

I am not a big believer in group therapy, such as AA.  I did not use it nor will I promote it, although I do believe that some people may benefit from it.  It is just my choice and I know I do not respond well to various people that I do not know patting me on the back, praying for me, or giving me advise on life.  In fact, put me in a group of people and I will either not say a damn thing or I will be the one to crack all the jokes at the wrong time or just be an asshole.  So, I chose to attack my alcoholic problems by myself, but not without a handful of people, new friends and old, that have come into my life at exactly the right time.  I was not naïve in the fact that I did know I needed some help.  Where was it going to come from? That was the question that time would answer.    

My best friend has always been there for me.  She knows me better than I know myself, and knows what to say when…from letting me crash and burn when needed, to picking me up.  There is no way in the world I could have undertaken this enormous task without the support of the one constant in my life.  If you are one of those people that have to deal with a loved one with an addiction, I can honestly say, for my situation, it was handled 100% in the correct manner.  I had to decide for myself that it was time to quit, and after twenty plus years of drinking, no one ever saw it coming from me.  There was no push, no intervention, no dumping out bottles, no I am going to walk away if you don’t quit situations.  It was me and my decision.  Although it was needed, for my health and sanity, I was allowed to do it on my terms.  Even though “my terms” was originally a bet to see how long it would actually last.  And I would be the first to tell you, it won’t.  I had made that critical decision more than once in my life and failed, but on one morning in particular…I would not fail.  In addition, I have never had to ask for support, its just there…all the time.  This person is the essential part of any recovery program, whether it be a best friend, family member, co-worker...as long as it is someone who truly knows the real you.

I began therapy before I quit drinking to deal with the issues that caused me to drown myself in alcohol in the first place.  Prior to my first session, I chugged three 16oz beers just to calm my nerves and be able to open up a little bit.  My second session, I was wasted.  I started drinking at 8am, my appointment was at 2pm and kept drinking the rest of the day.  She had no idea…that shows you right there how “functional” I really was as an alcoholic.  And it was not her first day on the job by any means.  By my third session I had sobered up for good, and began to do work.  She has single handedly helped me through some extreme rough points in my early months of sobriety.  From depression, to thoughts of suicide, to anger, to being a failure, to piecing my life back together one day at a time…she has heard it all and provided me with countless solutions and ways to get through each scenario.  I can say that without a doubt, I would not have made it this far without her.    

As with any type of addiction recovery, you are always encouraged to find something to do, something you love and have a passion for…a distraction, a release, whatever you want to call it.  Mine had always been sports and lifting.  I played basketball, soccer and volleyball in college and turned to CrossFit in 2008 as a means to stay in shape and feel that competitive edge again.  I competed in the CrossFit Games in 2009 in Aromas as an individual and regional competition in 2010 with a team.  By this time, I had minor injuries that were keeping me from being 100% all the time, so I hung it up as a competitor and turned to the only thing I knew would help, beer.  As my drinking got worse, I walked away from any and all things athletic shortly after that competition.  I began to realize that I needed to get my shit together and being around the gym where I was no longer competitive was not helping.  To me, it was seeing failure first hand day in and out.  So I drank more.

The first day I decided to attack a morning workout, sober, was the first day of the rest of my life.  I could feel that passion deep inside and had to find a way to pull it out.  I spent several months doing things on my own and researching every thing I could about powerlifting.  I knew I could rebuild my bench press to be respectable and I love to deadlift.  The third element of powerlifting is the squat, and in my mind, two outta three wasn’t bad.  Injuries had kept me from squatting for quit a while and I really had no desire to ever squat again. 

As with anything competitive, I hit a point where I need a coach, someone to teach me the ins and outs of the sport, critique me, and best of all kick me in the ass.  I have had some great young coaches in my athletic career and the best ones always pulled things out of me by doing just that.  So, I did my research.  I found the best of the best when it came to competitive and knowledgeable women in lifting and shot her an e-mail.  I’m not gonna lie the quick response kind of scared me a little bit.  I set up an appointment to discuss my goals and show her where I was in my three lifts.  In one session, I learned that I need to tweak my bench form, no problem there, my deadlift form was horrible, and I had no leg strength.  Years of not squatting because of injury had turned my squat to shit, which I was well aware of, as well as my deadlift.  But after one session I was hooked.  It was simply her passion for lifting and her passion to teach…and her ability to kick me in the ass from day one.  Long story short, I had found a person that was going to keep me on my path to recovery, even though she had no idea. 

I could have easily walked away from the challenge that I was about to undertake, but that is not me, not how I operate.  Challenge me to a drinking competition and I would have never backed down.  Challenge me to get stronger and become a better lifter…I am not backing down from that either.                  

So all in all, this was and still is my support system.  Adding to this list, I received a huge amount of support from several co-workers through my hardest moments.  Not many have a boss/friend that was as understanding and supportive as mine.  I was extremely lucky in this department.  The simple fact that I have some of the most caring and supportive co-workers is beyond what I can write or say about them.  When I was at rock bottom, they still showed me love and support.  It is important to note that these are not people that I met overnight, most had known me for years.   

And I can not forget the friends from near and far, old and new who sent me messages of support.  They always made me smile on days when I needed it most.  I still battle issues with anger, frustration, and depression, although they are a lot less frequent, and deal with those moments as they happen.  But my life without alcohol has been amazing to say the least.  I am alive…physically and mentally and extremely appreciative of everyone and everything that has gotten me this far in my new journey. 

Overcoming Fears

So, yes, I have a fear of flying.  I don't mind getting on scary rides at amusement parks, I have been skydiving, and will pretty much do anything for the thrill of it...except fly.  Every time I drive by the airport I hope that it will spontaneously combust.  And with every day that passes, I get a little more nervous about my flight on Thursday. 

Since I started working out again, I have overcome my fear of ripping my knees apart by squatting again, thanks to my wonderful coach and learning how to squat properly.  And just yesterday, I hit another milestone by snatching 100lbs.  No, 100lbs is not a lot of weight, but attempting a 100lb snatch back in '09 is where I first started having knee issues.  So late last night, I loaded the bar and landed it...after trying to talk myself out of it about three times.  It wasn't pretty but I stood up with the weight none the less.

Oh and did I mention that I have overcome my fear of living life without a beer buzz.  Yes, that has happened too.  And I am loving every minute of my sober life!  Even as a I type this, I feel like I have been run over by a semi after my leg workout...but still loving it! 

So what is up with getting on an airplane?  I know my fear began just after grad school.  I was on a flight back from Baltimore, where I had spent the weekend defending my master's thesis...I think in 2001 or so.  The plane landed in Atlanta and all flights that ran through Houston had been cancelled because of massive flooding in the area.  The next morning I boarded the last leg of the flight and as we got closer to Houston we were diverted around more storms.  Around that time, the plane hit some turbulence and it felt like we dropped about eight feet.  That was the end of my sober flying experience.  Ever since then I have been buzzed or completely wasted on every flight...until now.

This time is different.  There is no alcohol to disguise my fear.  I am venturing out on this trip alone which means that I can not attach myself to a friend like a spider monkey.  And don't think I haven't thought up ways to get kicked off.  But I am committed to this competition and getting my ass to San Diego...in one piece.  Whatever it takes, I WILL get on the plane.  Maybe there will be a professional fighter on with me...one head shot and I will be out like a light!  Wishful thinking :)       

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.