I am an alcoholic.
Man. It’s hard to say that.
It’s really hard.
I don’t think I am, but my actions betray my brain. How fucked up is that? “Hey, I’m drinking responsibly! I’m safe, at home, not driving. I have my beer here with me, not going anywhere.”
I say this to myself 9 deep into a 12 pack, for the 5th night in a row.
I am an alcoholic and I am trying to convince myself that I am not.
I am six days sober.
As I wrote this I paused. “See?” I said to myself. “You can manage your drinking if you really want to.”
I run it by a guy in AA and he laughs, “You think like an alcoholic!”
Boy, I sure do.
I’ve got all of the ingredients of an alcoholic. Resentment, self pity, denial, blame, guilt, loneliness, jealousy. I love the drink. I think about it constantly. Happy, sad, mad, glad. The drink is good. I love my beer. Home from work? Time for a beer! Kids gone to bed? Time for a beer! Shits hit the fan and I’m losing everything again? Time for a beer …or a few hundred.
Really though, I’m angry. I’m really fucking angry. I hate life. Even my three children, who are without a doubt the best thing I have going for me right now, do not bring happiness into my life. Only the drink seems to do that. If only for a moment, if only to stupefy me long enough to convince me that the swirling in my brain is indeed a form of happiness. My first wife didn’t make me happy. My fiancee didn’t make me happy. I didn’t make me happy. Nothing makes me happy, except the drink.
The drink convinced me I could be happy if I had enough.
I’m still not happy, and I miss it all incredibly.
It’s been six days.
Tomorrow, God willing, it will be seven.
I’m told I can make my own happiness. That I am responsible for it.
One day at a time. That’s all it takes.
Here’s to a sober today.
My name is Josh, and I am an alcoholic (Huh, what do you know… It was easier to say that time).