A Drunk

I tell ya, being drunk can be a lot of fun for a guy who discounts life. Yeah, there’s nothing like waking up with half a bottle of vodka on your nightstand and taking your first swig at, say, 5:30 am. The great thing about it is that you know exactly what your day is going to turn out like and you’re anxious to get started after the first one. A guy always looks for a day filled with creative thinking! Then you start to sort.

You know, who are you mad at for leaving you and why in the hell didn’t they have a better sense of humor. After all, what’s a little alcohol among friends? It is then that you call a few acquaintances and ask why they’re not coming back until you quit when you’re being so witty and intelligent. Takes a pretty dumb person not to love your wit!

Then, one day, you find you cannot move your legs and you cannot stand. You suddenly realize that your very life is slipping away and you are instantly sober enough to make a call to the one whose left you and ask them to come and say goodbye because you’re dying. She finally comes by and finds you out cold with a limited pulse and little to no blood pressure. Good thing she’s a nurse, right?

You wake up a few weeks later in a hospital and are not able to do a thing for yourself. And I mean nothing! Turns out you were on death’s door when you got there. Your brain was totally swollen and you were expected to end up a vegetable needing hospice care until you died and it shouldn’t take long for that to happen. If, that is, you lived for the first twenty-four hours.

Somehow, you make it through but still have to learn to walk and function in a form as close to normal as you can. Two and one half months later you are released once you’ve proven you can pick yourself up when you fall. Then starts the work of staying sober and, Lord, that ain’t easy. So, you say something along the lines of F. It and head down to buy another bottle of vodka. Why not? You’re still alone and feeling sorry as hell for yourself. She should come home, right? I mean look at poor me . . . I need her help. She is a nurse after all!

Folks, I come to you sober for eleven years and no meetings. After I turned that bottle of vodka down I crossed the Rubicon to sobriety but it was a close thing. I continued to the store and bought dinner and stayed away from the liquor aisle. I’ve not wanted a drink since. There was a bit of a miraculous thing that happened that I should mention to those with weak faith. On my way to the store to buy vodka I had two letters, large letters, N-O pop up in my windshield. I wasn’t hallucinating either as I had been off the sauce for a few months. Who arranged for those letters to appear right in front of me? There wasn’t an autograph attached or stone tablets so I don’t know. Was it my brain that did that? I think not, though I cannot discount it.

That is when I got out the Bible and began strengthening my faith again. God, I was so lost and am now so lucky to be here. It is why I say to be grateful for your ability to breathe. It’s a start to getting your head in the right place. I had a head so full of horror and consternation that I allowed myself to lose my way. Don’t let it happen to you.

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