Beginning, middle, end…begin again.

Before I begin with what life used to be like, I feel it is necessary to mention that it may be hard for me to recall so much of my story. Maybe because of the bottle and the damage done, my mind repressing emotional neglect to protect me, or maybe it was that snowboard accident where I ended up with transient global amnesia. I was sober when that happened… I think. Those moments of sobriety were few and far between throughout the vast majority of my life. My first drunk, not drink, was possibly somewhere around the age of 13. I would say it was out of curiosity, but in my quest to be rigorously honest, I would have to admit it was presumably to look cool to others. (I later learned people-pleasing, perfectionism, fear of being unloved and alone, and low self-esteem were sworn enemies of my amygdala and prefrontal cortex.) Part of me really wishes I could remember that first time “John Barleycorn had other ideas,” but the now wiser me ponders, “Would knowing that or any causes really make a difference or be helpful to me now?” I imagine I drank “Schmiller Scmlite” with a few of my childhood friends. That was the first beer I ever stole from my father, and the one beer I dislike most to this day. Recreational drinking moments like that snowballed into drinking and drugging whenever possible—whenever I had a window of time to not get caught, whenever I was able to gather the money, and whenever I could find a stranger outside the liquor store to procure this magical elixir. The pursuit of this wonderful feeling had a direct correlation with getting in trouble, doing really stupid and dangerous things, and even getting arrested. The infatuation with feeling high and chaos led to another now-obvious character defect: the insatiable yearning to feel even better. So I tried other drugs like mushrooms, LSD, PCP, inhalants like “Rush” and nitrous, snorting speed, and even crack for a very brief part of my summer before college. Thankfully, I had a personal boundary of no needles or pills. In college, most of my drug use went by the wayside due to lack of funds, but I found binge drinking large amounts of booze to be a solution. As I write this, I am just now coming to the realization that many decisions I made back then revolved around my ever-growing obsession with alcohol and drugs—what time my college classes started, the jobs I worked, the people I hung out with, and even buying my first car (I chose a small pickup truck so I never had to be the designated driver.) After college, still clueless that alcohol was becoming a need, the music I loved and the images of partying with rock stars backstage pointed me toward my career as a radio personality. This job also strangely helped with my low self-esteem issues. I could really mask my internal problems that I had no clue about, and it gave me more opportunities to justify my partying. I wanted more… and MORE. More fun, more “friends”/listeners/fans, more excitement, more sex, more chances to drink and drug… more dopamine! I rode this wave for almost 20 years until I met Lauren. Subconsciously, she helped push all my “mores” into a state of dormancy. My devotion switched to her, and when she became pregnant, I completely rearranged my priorities in life. My new infatuation became trying to be the best father in the history of the world. Maybe the love of my wife and daughter would fulfill all my underlying emotional needs—affection, validation, empathy, and acceptance for who I truly am (whoever that is).

When my daughter was born, my alcohol intake certainly decreased. Looking back, I honestly did not have an itch to drink. I spent all my free time with her. I had a purpose. This, I subsequently learned, was essential to my life. We did EVERYTHING together! Playgrounds, playdates, naps, meals, listening to music, shopping—whatever. I even bought a jogging stroller so she could run with me. The universe now revolved around her. I got a job that allowed me to be with her during all of her awake hours… managing a bar. Free drinks were also a perk—or a demise. The job also helped with social needs and boosted my self-esteem. When my daughter began preschool, I became a volunteer to help. I really did it to be able to spend time with her. I repeated this pattern when she went to kindergarten and I became the class parent. I eventually put myself back in college and became a first-grade teacher. Now I had a whole bunch of kids to hang out with! I was surrounded by joy and innocence. I found a place where I did not have to wear a mask and where I could be helpful, inspire, make a difference, and smile and laugh every day. It gave me a deep sense of meaning. Fatherhood was my first true calling; teaching was my second. However, teaching has a strange connection to my bottom—or, should I say, lack of teaching. The COVID pandemic happened, and teachers found themselves teaching virtually from their homes. There was not much a teacher could do via a computer when the students you have cannot really read yet or use a computer. With my wife working virtually upstairs and my daughter in virtual school down in her room, I was left alone and bored out of my mind in the kitchen. One morning, I decided to have a beer with my breakfast because… well, I could… with no consequences. I guess I should say with no immediate consequences. I believe this is where the downward spiral began. With a beer or two already in me by the time my short virtual workday was over at noon, I started the day drinking. I would take a nap and then have my “normal” few beers at night (supplemented with shots). This became a daily habit in which the amounts of alcohol steadily increased. Before I knew it, I was drinking and blacking out every single day. Some mornings I would try not to have that first drink, but the result was uncontrollable shakes and vomiting until I cured it with alcohol. It got to the point where it seemed like I could no longer even get drunk. Oddly, I actually only felt intoxicated when I was sober. I was no longer drinking to get drunk. At this point, drinking was no longer fun. Depression hit hard, and I used alcohol again as a cure. I was physically and mentally addicted to alcohol. Ashamed and scared, I withdrew from everyone. I hid, I lied, I manipulated, and I stole. I even took money from my daughter’s piggy bank—more than once! Yet this was not my bottom. On mornings when I was too ill to work, I would call out sick but then just drink all day long… in and out of consciousness. My wife found me like this once and convinced me to go to rehab. I remember being relieved that I was finally caught. I wanted and needed to get better. I went in just for detox, thinking I just needed to beat the physical addiction and that my never-failing willpower could handle the rest. I did everything I was told: AA meetings, attended an IOP, got a sponsor, stayed away from people, places, and things, journaled everything, and got a therapist. I made it almost seven months sober before I started again. Lauren had enough of my bullshit and threw me out of the house. With thoughts of no longer having anything to live for, I bought a shit ton of cheap vodka, checked into a hotel, and tried to drink myself to death. I awoke in an emergency room, escaped, and bought more vodka to try again. I stumbled home a failure (with deep bleeding gashes in my torso, causes still unknown) and went back to rehab. This time I stayed for 30 days. While there, I knew I was going to drink as soon as I got out. I convinced myself I needed to grieve alcohol and properly say goodbye—just one last drunk. This put me on a lengthy rollercoaster ride of quitting and relapsing every two weeks. One day, I awoke drunk alone in bed. I noticed a packed duffel bag and my daughter, but no sign of my wife. My daughter shouted at me, “Go back to bed! Mom went to get a rental car to take you back to rehab.” With alcohol still in me and the allergy of needing more rampant inside of me, I panicked, grabbed the bag, forced myself past my daughter, and ran out the door. A memory that will probably haunt me forever: I looked back to see my daughter just outside our door crying hysterically and yelling, “Don’t go, Daddy! Don’t go!” I still kept running. Determined to never be found, phone purposely left behind, I bought a handle of the cheapest vodka ever and a fifth of good tequila, paid a taxi driver cash to take me over the state line to Camden, NJ, and checked into a seedy $99-a-night motel that took cash and required no identification. I paid for only one night. This was my bottom. I closed the shades, sat in the dark, and tried to drink everything. Somehow, I came the next morning. I stumbled down the street to a liquor store, bought the exact same alcohol combination, paid another $99, and tried again. I did this five nights in a row. The next time I gained consciousness, I was in another emergency room with two security guards at the door of the room. Apparently, the police found me face down in a patch of mulch somewhere.

On April 2, 2024, in walked my angel—AGAIN[1] [2] . Inexplicably, she found me in a random hospital under “John Doe,” with not much recollection of the past days, extremely weak, and drowning in shame and guilt. Knowing this chronic illness of alcoholism is a progressive disease, I understood my next bottom would logically have to be death. Incomprehensibly, at this moment in time, I had a sense of clarity. Instead of the end, I saw this juncture as a beginning. I felt I had no choice but to surrender, accept, adjust, and adapt. Body and mind broken and beaten, back to rehab I went. I committed to staying 60 days. I think I chose this duration because I was afraid to go back to life, to work, and to face people. This time around, I would confront my fear of what people think of me and many other fears and character defects. I handpicked the toughest counselor and also joined a trauma group. I went to every possible meeting and activity I could. My most impactful decision was to really dive deep into my meditation practice. At this point, I had only really dabbled, but recovery highly suggested living in the here and now. Anxiety is worrying about the future; depression is dwelling on the past, and I had been diagnosed with both disorders (and OCD). Being mindful is being present. Additionally, I was reading a lot about Buddhism to help liberate my suffering. Meditating at least three times a day for approximately an hour at a time and filling my head with knowledge of connection, compassion, peace of mind, and loving-kindness was life-changing. I cannot explain it. I am not a religious person—I’m agnostic, if anything. But there was a clear spiritual psychic change that third time around in rehab (funny, as I typed that, I was reminded of my synchronicity with things happening in threes). I left there at the end of May, terrified to reenter the public sphere. At first, I felt like a tourist in my own life—clarity coupled with confusion. I was happy to be sober but carried so much guilt initially for what I did to my wife and daughter. Thankfully, because I was a teacher, I had the summer off to devote myself to myself. I enrolled in an Intensive Outpatient Program and went to AA meetings every day—beyond 90 in 90. I saw my therapist weekly, got a new, less passive sponsor, journaled like crazy, meditated daily, wrote gratitude lists, read AA books and more books about Buddhism, stayed away from potential triggers, and was prescribed an SSRI to treat my depression, anxiety, and OCD. More importantly, I was home, even though my wife, my daughter, and I were not on the best of terms. I had broken trust, abandoned them, and caused so much wreckage. My daughter could not even stay in the same room as me. She would not even speak to me. My wife was rightfully angry and profoundly hurt. Apologies were pointless. I focused on showing commitment, action, and changed behavior. The first year was filled with some highs and many lows. I just could not love myself. Guilt and shame dissolved so slowly, but progression was there. I immersed myself in my program, asked for help when needed, and heavily relied on my collective support system, which empowered me to stay sober: the fellowship of AA, my therapist, my big bro (Big Ups!) and relatives, genuine friends, and coworkers. Miraculously, my wife and daughter stayed by my side. Extended time was imperative for our healing. Throughout my life, patience was always a constant obstacle for me. Now that patience would be truly tested. I leaned into “one day at a time.” Not slowly, not quickly, but in just the right amount of time, life did not go back to normal…it began again. In this life, I am fully aware of my impatience, low self-esteem, control issues, self-pity, anxiety, depression, obsessive-compulsive disorder, dissatisfaction, people-pleasing, perfectionism, need for validation, and fear of being unloved and alone. Humility is key. Instead of flaws, I accept them as part of who I am and reframe them as catalysts for self-improvement. In this life, I will pass on my newly awakened wisdom to anyone curious and willing to listen. Am I still an egomaniac with an inferiority complex? Yes—and I am still working on it. Progress, not perfection.