Pouring out that Bottle

I poured a bottle of Wild Turkey out in the VA parking lot this afternoon. It was a big bottle, a handle, $50 worth of bourbon. It had been in my car for the better part of two days, after I bought it at a liquor store off of I-85 at the tail of a long drive. I had convinced myself of the need for my old friendship with alcohol and was warmed by the opportunity to accept the comfort of the misery of remembrances that the alcohol would release. For so many years alcohol was my only friend, the only one I opened up to, the only one that allowed me to be myself, the only one I could acknowledge my failings, my guilt, my sorrow, my anger to.

I was excited to get back home. To sit in my living room, listen to my music, with all those triggers in so many sad and angry songs, and to drink that bottle. True friendship, true understanding, true tolerance. Alcohol would numb me, alcohol would accept me, alcohol would say it was ok. I was going to happily and eagerly throw my life, and my soul, back into a deep, black, cold hole. And I would revel in it.

But then I didn’t. The thought of an early dentist appointment the next day reminded me of my past life, where I would easily neglect such appointments and rapidly dismiss responsibilities to both myself and others. A timely phone call from my girlfriend and the quickness with which I lied to her, telling her everything was ok and that I was just going to watch football that evening, cut me open. Was I going to go back to that life? Hadn’t I given alcohol enough of a chance? Wasn’t over four years of self-medication and self-destruction enough of an opportunity for booze? My attempts to relieve my suffering through alcohol had failed. Without a doubt, alcohol had failed me. The bottle stayed in my car when I got home and I called Megan.

Next Friday, November 1st, will be my twenty-first month of sobriety, or attempted sobriety, to be honest and clear. It has not been easy and I don’t expect that handle of Turkey will be the last bottle I will have to empty indecorously down a drain, into a toilet or over a parking lot. But there is no other way.

The most important thing I have heard from friends, what my therapists have taught me, and what I have learned myself, is this process of recovery, this attempt to take my life back, is a long, hard, tortuous effort. Bad days come less frequently now, but they still do come, and when they do, they hurt. Faltering and falling down, but recomposing oneself and standing again, is the very essence of this process. Of course, it’s not possible on your own, you need others, like a psychologist who will tell you, very sternly, to pour that bottle out; and it won’t work unless you build a life, a good life, a happy life, one that is worth the struggle and separate from the distress brought on by your own personal history.

Last spring, a Vietnam Veteran in my group told me: “if I hear someone in church saying he doesn’t have the taste anymore for alcohol, then I know he either never had the taste or he’s lying.” My friends, that taste for alcohol doesn’t go away, its alleged friendship doesn’t ever make good on its promises, and its acceptance of your suffering is illusory and cruel.

Again, I expect to fall down again. If you are going through this process with me, then you most likely will too. But I know there are others to help me up and there are others who will help you up too, including you and me.

Peace.

27 thoughts on “Pouring out that Bottle

  1. Proud of you Matt, hang tough kiddo! Also, I have been telling another talented young man about you and your story (blog), his name is Jason, and he grew up with Josh, Jason is working on a project that you may be able to help him with! I would appreciate it if you would friend him on facebook, talk to him and he can explain what he is doing! His name is Jason Hanasik.

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  2. Grace to you…
    I’ve never suffered with alcohol, but my sister is clean and sober 7 years this month and it has been quite the struggle and triumph for her. My addiction was nicotine, and I although I quit smoking several years ago, I still carry around an “electronic cig” just because I don’t want to give up the “sucky thing” … I get it. I get the bottle in the car. Your writing inspires… I’m passing it on.
    Thank you for sharing your soul.
    ~Lynn

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  3. a friend shared this with me on Facebook and all I can say is this type of honesty is rare and courageous. Keep on sharing and telling it straight from the gut.

    Thanks for keeping it real. I have my own demons and I do my best to see challenges as opportunities to work my program. That said, I am under no illusion that my demons will ever be fully defeated and that this will be with me every day. Knowing I’m not alone helps me feel normal. Thank you, I needed some normal today…

    Semper Fi

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    • Thanks Kyle. I’m glad this blog was of some help today. Feel free to contribute however you would like to this blog. I’m sure you will be a source of strength to others. Peace brother.

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  4. Matt ~ I started listening to Pete Dominick in September this year. His show resonates w/ me. Listening to you this morning was simply inspiring. I am a Viet Nam era vet and I recall the ‘symbolic’ pouring of the rum down the kitchen sink – now, about 17 years ago. When we make these changes in our lives the most we can hope for is follow through. Good luck on your follow through.

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