
I am an alcoholic. (somebody has to have BINGO by now) I’m guessing this is news for some and confirmation for others. I quit drinking eleven years ago today. I was a prolific drinker in college. When I got older I did a better job of hiding it by drinking alone and abandoning my friendships. I tried quitting many times before it finally stuck. I don’t know what did the trick but one day enough was enough. When I stopped I told no one. Not even Liz. I didn’t go to AA meetings. Somehow I quit by reading about recovery and exercising obsessively. (If you’re thinking of quitting alcohol, please do not go cold turkey. It can easily kill you. Talk to any doctor and ask for help.)
I was embarrassed and didn’t want anyone to know I was an alcoholic. I lurked on a recovery forum where I first learned the term “dry drunk”. The general definition of a dry drunk is someone who quits drinking but doesn’t deal with the underlying causes of their sickness. I knew that was me the moment I discovered the term. I dismissed the risk as ‘worth-it’ to not kill myself with booze. I would deal with the mental stuff later and focus on staying sober. I even remember doing the calculus and thinking, “If the baggage lands on my head someday, I’ll deal with it. At least I’ll be alive because I stopped killing myself.” In an ironic twist I dealt with it by self-destructing my career and almost killing myself.
I’ve never let go of a single mistake, bad beat or painful moment in my life. I keep them all like strings around my finger to remind me not to fuck this or that up again. I’m afraid that if I don’t carry them to remind myself I will wind up repeating my past mistakes. If I ‘let go’, how am I accountable for what I did? The obvious conclusion is that I am carrying around way too much baggage. My botched trip to Sturgis finally made me realize how much excess shit I had on my shoulders when it brought me to my knees. This picture is my soul if my soul were a motorcycle. My friends and my family know I pack way too much stuff when traveling. This trait runs far deeper than how many t-shirts I bring on vacation. (all of them if necessary) I can’t carry all these reminders anymore and that’s the catalyst for another social media brain grenade. (sorry folks) I’m sharing this secret so I don’t have to carry the baggage anymore. I am an alcoholic and that’s why you don’t or won’t see me drinking. The next time someone asks I won’t reply with an ambiguous response about quitting. I’ll answer truthfully. And then I’m going to moonwalk away whilst doing jazz-hands.
BTW: if this sounds familiar and you need to talk, I’m your huckleberry. I guarantee you I can tell you stories that will make you feel better about your own messed-up life. Here’s a freebie: I once drunkenly asked a waiter, “Who the f*** do I have to bukkake around here to get my salad!?” And that’s why I’m no longer welcome at Randy’s Wooster Street Pizza. FYI please don’t Google that term, especially if you’re at work. It’s gross but I wanted my salad.