My Eyes Were Lifeless Again.
As summer wound down, and my 25th birthday rolled past, I was feeling entirely dependent on Paul. I didn’t know the word “dependence” but I knew I felt antsy and irritable. I wanted to do my own thing – whatever it might be.
Something didn’t feel right when I wasn’t with Paul. So one Saturday night in September, I went to an AA meeting.
As I sat at my table alone, with no foundation on which to build my new identity, I thought, If this meeting doesn’t work, I’m going to drink.
The meeting was dark and smoky. People talked. I waited for my miracle. I sat through the entire meeting, waiting.
Surprise! Being at the meeting did not change me. I still felt irritable after the meeting was over, and it was Saturday night.
So after more than four months sober, I walked to the local bar and I got drunk. I had less foresight about buying beer than I had when choosing what to eat for dinner.
I didn’t think, I should call my sponsor.
I didn’t think, My family will be disappointed.
I didn’t think, Will I be able to stop if I start again?
I didn’t even think, What if I die?
I simply walked down the street, walked in the door to my favorite dive bar, and ordered a beer.
The only difference between this drunk and all the others is that I was, for the first time ever, completely aware that I was shutting the door on reality.
For four months, I’d been invested in reality. On this night, I wanted fantasy.
It was that simple. I didn’t call Gregg; I didn’t get high. I didn’t do anything I used to do, except play the jukebox. When I went into the bathroom, I found my dead eyes staring back at me.
That fast, my eyes were lifeless again.
I sat at that bar until it closed and then I went home and passed out on the couch without even making it into a bed.
On Sunday morning, I awoke feeling the way I’d felt every day for literally years before rehab: Brutally dry. Pounding. Sad. Aching. Guilty. Nauseous. Morose. Parched. Desperate for anything to liberate me from my hangover – but with no alcohol or drugs within arms reach.
I lit a cigarette, drank a liter of Diet Coke and stared at the wall.
This does not feel good.
I thought about Paul – sober Paul – and realized that I had just done something that would destroy our relationship forever. I didn’t think about my own life, or my family.
I invited Paul over to talk to me on Sunday evening, and he showed up on time as always. He was barely inside the house and I said, “I drank.”
Paul hugged me. “You’re an alcoholic,” he said. “That’s what we do.”
“But I’ve ruined everything!” I said. “I had four months!”
“Are you going to drink today?”
I looked into his beautiful green eyes and remembered that I had something to live for.
“No,” I said, “but ….”
“Then you have today,” Paul said. “That’s all you need to have is today.”
I did not understand this concept at all, but it sounded like he wasn’t dumping me. On the contrary, it seemed like he was helping me.
“Let’s go to a meeting,” Paul said.
So we did.
And through this white-knuckling, do-it-for-Paul mentality, I got sober again – staying on the periphery of AA, using Paul as my rock, my god, my everything.
Instead of depending on AA, I just depended completely on Paul.