I'm not what you'd call the "typical" alcoholic. That doesn't mean I'm not one, just not what you'd think of as one.
I don't sneak drinks. I don't hide them. I don't drink during the week, except maybe when I go out for a meal and the meal calls for a beer, and then it's just the one. After all, I have to drive home from the restaurant, and I don't drink and drive. I don't need to "hide" being drunk, and I've never even attempted to be functional while drinking. When I drink, I drink on one night a week, Fridays, and, though I seriously make up for not drinking the rest of the week that, I always made sure that I had no other plans, besides going home and talking to a friend late into the night.
And all of that above is nothing but excuses.
A few months ago, I started drinking a little heavier on Fridays than I had been. Was a little worse for wear at the end of the night. So I decided that I should cut down. One six pack, I said, and I stuck to it for a while. If I had a glass of something harder, it would be five from the six pack, and the one glass.
Then things started to go south at work. Suddently it wasn't a six pack anymore, it was a six pack and a glass of whiskey, then maybe a shot later on. Then I'd start getting a second six pack - of pint cans, mind you - and keeping one at home to drink when I got there. Then there was maybe 3 or 4 shots thrown into the mix, a couple of glasses of whiskey, the six pack at the friends, the six pack when I got home.
And so on.
Last Friday I blacked out. I remember the start of the night, and I remember the end of the night. I do not remember more than fragments from the middle portion. Just flickers. I guess we watched Adventure Time and Key & Peele, but I don't really recall what happened in the episodes. I guess I watched Birdemic with my friend when I got home, because it sounded just stupid enough, but I don't remember a whole lot of that either.
Spent until Tuesday convincing myself that it was just forgetfullness. And that the stomach pain I was currently suffering from - and had been suffering from since waking up on Saturday morning - had nothing to do with the amount, or alcohol content, of what I'd drank.
Then I woke my wife up and told her I was going to stop drinking, and told her why. She asked if there was any way that I could go back to just doing the six pack - bless her, she knows how much I love drinking, for more than just getting wasted - and I said no.
I can't trust myself anymore around alcohol. Once I start, even if it is the one that I have at dinner, I don't want to stop. I want a drink starting saturday morning when I wake up until Friday evening when I finally do drink.
It's not the most pleasant of realizations to have as you're trying to get to sleep at night, that you're an alcoholic. I can't imagine it's a pleasant relization at any time, in fact.
I didn't hit bottom, as countless others do, but I've been there before and know what it looks like. Didn't want to see it again, and I'm just glad that I got to figure it out now.
Of course, as I type this, I'm trying to think up a justification for a last hurrah, one last night of drinking. Guess I'm just going to have to deal with that.
I don't sneak drinks. I don't hide them. I don't drink during the week, except maybe when I go out for a meal and the meal calls for a beer, and then it's just the one. After all, I have to drive home from the restaurant, and I don't drink and drive. I don't need to "hide" being drunk, and I've never even attempted to be functional while drinking. When I drink, I drink on one night a week, Fridays, and, though I seriously make up for not drinking the rest of the week that, I always made sure that I had no other plans, besides going home and talking to a friend late into the night.
And all of that above is nothing but excuses.
A few months ago, I started drinking a little heavier on Fridays than I had been. Was a little worse for wear at the end of the night. So I decided that I should cut down. One six pack, I said, and I stuck to it for a while. If I had a glass of something harder, it would be five from the six pack, and the one glass.
Then things started to go south at work. Suddently it wasn't a six pack anymore, it was a six pack and a glass of whiskey, then maybe a shot later on. Then I'd start getting a second six pack - of pint cans, mind you - and keeping one at home to drink when I got there. Then there was maybe 3 or 4 shots thrown into the mix, a couple of glasses of whiskey, the six pack at the friends, the six pack when I got home.
And so on.
Last Friday I blacked out. I remember the start of the night, and I remember the end of the night. I do not remember more than fragments from the middle portion. Just flickers. I guess we watched Adventure Time and Key & Peele, but I don't really recall what happened in the episodes. I guess I watched Birdemic with my friend when I got home, because it sounded just stupid enough, but I don't remember a whole lot of that either.
Spent until Tuesday convincing myself that it was just forgetfullness. And that the stomach pain I was currently suffering from - and had been suffering from since waking up on Saturday morning - had nothing to do with the amount, or alcohol content, of what I'd drank.
Then I woke my wife up and told her I was going to stop drinking, and told her why. She asked if there was any way that I could go back to just doing the six pack - bless her, she knows how much I love drinking, for more than just getting wasted - and I said no.
I can't trust myself anymore around alcohol. Once I start, even if it is the one that I have at dinner, I don't want to stop. I want a drink starting saturday morning when I wake up until Friday evening when I finally do drink.
It's not the most pleasant of realizations to have as you're trying to get to sleep at night, that you're an alcoholic. I can't imagine it's a pleasant relization at any time, in fact.
I didn't hit bottom, as countless others do, but I've been there before and know what it looks like. Didn't want to see it again, and I'm just glad that I got to figure it out now.
Of course, as I type this, I'm trying to think up a justification for a last hurrah, one last night of drinking. Guess I'm just going to have to deal with that.
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