Twenty Eight: 2. Sober
The hardest part about becoming more sober is losing my favorite mask.
#
A beer and a glass of wine. This is my introduction to alcohol. Sitting in an attic with jet lag, I sip both drinks. A raggedy folk band flex their talent on a stage made of old rugs. The instruments they perform with are made of bath tubs and other household appliances. Follow up talent, three women from another continent, perform only with their voices and mostly in their native tongue. I lucidly fall asleep in the crowd. My last memory is the vibrant neon wigs each woman wears with grace - swaying beneath dimming warm light. What feels like seconds, I wake up. I find myself on a coach - wedged between two dogs and a fire roaring in a furnace. One of the band managers leans over me franticly begging me for instructions on how to use the shower. His husband saves me from my anxiety by quickly finding a solution and shouting back at him. My friends, who brought me to this home, hop down the stairs. It’s time to have breakfast with the musicians. We’re heading down the road to a tea shop. I don’t have a hangover, but my memory is foggy and my eyes feel euphoric. This is my introduction to alcohol. A beer and a glass of wine.
#
Alcohol isn’t a mask yet. Not how it is introduced to me. It won’t become a mask for a while.
#
I moan out of my black out from the night before. It was fun. Blacking out isn’t a normal thing for me. But last night wasn’t normal. When it happens, the repercussions are small. I’ve been drinking for about 5 years now. I’m careful. I’m considerate. I’m practically a professional at it now.
My anxiety is a little worse than normal, but it’s okay. The anxiety isn’t related to the night before. It seems like it’s about everything else. My co-workers and friends and I are bonding over our shared experience. They were with me. It was a good time. We celebrate what we do and don’t remember. This kind of stuff draws us closer together. Physical pain feels temporary when you’re this joyful.
I get a phone call a few hours after I crawl out of bed. I don’t really feel like drinking, but I’m back at a bar. It’s where I work. Makes sense. The line disconnects immediately. Bad reception. This person never calls me without a text first. Weird. I step outside and call them back. It’s my friend’s dad. She died last night. Just a few hours after our last text, and minutes into my black out. All color leaves my face.
I call out of work and get a flight across state to see her family. The celebration of life is happening fast. For the first time in my life, I want to drink to feel numb. But I can’t. I won’t. It’s too slippery of a slope.
I stay sober for two weeks. I get mocktails and lace the rim of my drinks with liquor so they can’t tell it’s fake. I’m lying about my drinks to avoid peer pressure. I don’t know why I’m lying. It’s not necessary. But I am lying. The lying feels good. People can tell I’m off, though. My energy is off. I’m sad and it’s making them uncomfortable. Knowing they can tell I’m sad makes me uncomfortable, too. Week 3, I cave. I use friends who have healthy relationships with alcohol and drugs. I pretend right now is a good time to start drinking again. I lie about being okay. I stop being sober after two weeks.
The alcohol changes me. My personality isn’t gone. I’m just grieving. But my personality feels like it comes back when I’m drinking. This is nice. I don’t stop. I’ve missed me. I like this version of me. I’m fun. I moan into a black out tonight.
#
Alcohol is now a mask. After a solid run, I choose to abuse my relationship with it. It took a while to get here, but alcohol has become a mask.
#
Morning traffic glows beneath the sun rise several thousand feet below my hotel window. It’s a weekday. My head is throbbing. My entire body aches. My eyes are swollen. I can’t remember anything. I can’t feel anything. I barely know who I am.
My phone. It’s charging. Sweet. I’m half naked. I can’t find my clothes. Not sweet. My phone glows the time. It’s early. Awesome. I have work, though. I need get to work at some point. Not awesome. I remember I make my own schedule. Okay. How convenient. Awesome. My wallet is missing. My keys are missing. Not sweet. It’s charged. My phone.
I record the traffic and post it on social media. I add a folk song to make it feel romantic. “My life is a movie.” Proof I’m alive and okay. I delete all of my texts. I don’t have time to deal with those mistakes. I scan social media. It’s essential I own my narrative. Social media is my second favorite mask.
I find my clothes. I find my wallet. I never find my keys.
I got a concusion. I got sick. I gotta spend $3,000+ on my tabs and fixing my mistakes.
Even though I have no memories of what happened, I feel a little proud. The person who does those things is fun. The people I was with are telling me I was fun. I want to feel fun. I’ll be proud, even though I have no memories of what happened.
Since other people like me when I drink, I tell myself I can ignore my problems. This time, things got a little dangerous. I recognize how extreme it is. I’m punished by others and punishing myself for it. I want to change, but I don’t need to. I’m not going to. I’ll be better next time.
I barely know who I am, but it’s okay. I can’t feel anything, but it’s okay. I can’t remember anything, but it’s okay. My eyes are swollen shut, but it’s okay. My entire body aches, but it’s okay. My head is throbbing, but it’s okay. It’s a weekday, but it’s okay. Morning traffic glows beneath the sun rise several thousand feet below my hotel window.
#
Alcohol is now more than a mask. It’s become something different for me, and I’ve become something different for it. We won’t be able to go back to who and what we were for each other now for a while.
#
My siblings struggle with alcohol, but it’s okay. My roommate struggles with alcohol, but it’s okay. My friends struggle with alcohol, but it’s okay. Everyone struggles. We’ll get through it together. Or not. Doesn’t matter. I’m better than everyone else. I’ve got alcohol under control. I struggle with alcohol, but it’s okay.
Without it, I don’t want to smile. Without it, I don’t want friends. Without it, I have to process my feelings and listen to my thoughts and actually do something about the things I hate about myself and the things I love about myself and the things making so much noise in my head and my heart and … it’s too much. I don’t need to be vulnerable with myself, I just need to be vulnerable with everyone else. I can do those things drinking. I don’t need me. I really don’t need sober me. I need whoever I am drinking. I need him.
#
Alcohol becomes my identity. I need a reintroduction to alcohol. I’ve been wearing my mask too long.
#
This is my reintroduction to alcohol. Driving Under the Influence. I’ve finally caught up to myself. Drinking, legally, needs to stop. At least, until I get this all sorted away and swept under the rug. Wait, no. It isn’t healthy to think of it this way. “It happens. Don’t let it happen again.” Okay. I get it. It won’t. But, also … Wow. I’m not going to stop because a court tells me to. I don’t want to. But I need to. Something else has to give. My brothers. My roommate. My friends. I love a lot of people dealing with my same issues. I haven’t been able to give all of me to all of them for a long time now. Maybe this is it. Maybe loving them is what makes being sober more often okay. As much as I hate me, they don’t. I’m hiding from myself, not them. I love them more than I love myself. I need to fix this. I need to be an example. I need to give all of me to all of them. I love them so much. Loving them makes me love me. This is it. This is how I’m getting rid of the mask. Overthinking this mistake will get me know where. I’m not going to overthink. But my mistake is calling out bigger issues. I can work on those things. I’m going to. These changes make me a better man. I love so much better now. I’m not ashamed of my mistake. I’ve proud of the outcome now. Driving Under the Influence. This is my reintroduction to alcohol.
#
The hardest part about losing my favorite mask is realizing how uncomfortable I am looking at my face - but love and patience fix this, it just takes time.
Life is good.