My Story - Hell

In the previous post and associated podcast, I described my journey of crossing the threshold to being an alcoholic and the 10 years spent trying to fight and figure out my control over alcoholism. This insight into when I crossed the threshold was not revealed to me until I spent time in rehabilitation after entering recovery. The knowledge and awareness of this next part of my story was no mystery to me as I was trudging through this time period in my life. I was unequivocally in my own self-created hell and I had no idea how to get out and save myself.

The Lie

It all started at the end of 2020. In November of that year my wife had informed me that she was pregnant with our first child. We were elated, our next step as a couple and a family had started. Deep down, I wondered, ‘would the responsibilities and pride of becoming a Dad fix my lack of control with alcohol?’. We innocently and joyfully talked about and prepared for the arrival of our child in the early weeks of the pregnancy. There were home projects to finished, rooms to be moved around and reconfigured and ungodly amounts of baby supplies to purchase. Somewhere in that mix of nervous excitement I proclaimed to my wife - ‘if you’re not drinking these 9 months, I’m not going to drink either’.

While she thought the idea sweet and innocent enough, she continually said I did not have to do that for her, but I was bound and determined to make it the stretch of time with her. It was my alcoholic thought process coming to the forefront again and telling myself that if I could go 9 months without alcohol that would surely prove that I am not an alcoholic! And the break would allow me time to step away from the maddening cycle that had slowly creeped into my life where I would have short bouts of overindulgence followed by a few weeks off. It’ll be good for me, I thought!

Then, sometime in about March, I broke. Why? I was devastated, embarrassed and suddenly realized that I needed to shield myself and my wife from the fact that I had broken my solemn oath to her (an oath she never asked me to swear to). Crafting a continual lie that would be with us for the next two plus years was the only logical step that my alcoholic mind could think of in the moment.

I will hide my drinking from her, figure out my issue of control with alcohol, and then I will be “normal”. This was the grand plan. I even involved a psychiatrist that I went to see every 2-3 weeks to discuss my bouts with what I was positioning as manic depressive disorder. The scary thing was, I wound up manifesting the exact ailment that I was feigning as a part of my plan. While sober, my highs became extraordinarily high. So high sometimes that the only thing I could think to do to bring myself down to earth was to drink! And my lows were becoming lower with every micro-cycle that occurred with my drinking.

Cycles and Extreme Detox

I was becoming increasingly consistent in my cycles. 7-21 days sober, 3-7 days of a bender. The advancement of my detox symptoms were becoming extremely scary and severe. I would have tremors so bad that there were days I could not type in my password without using one hand to hold the other hand and typing single fingered. Additionally, during a detox period I would lay and just have to focus every bit of energy I could on taking my next breath and ensuring that my heart was still beating. I was genuinely afraid that I was going to forget to breath if I didn’t pay close attention to it.

In entering rehab and now spending significant time in the active recovery space, I have learned that I am actually quite lucky with my detox symptoms. Although they felt like absolute hell to go through, I have friends and acquaintances who suffered incredibly during their detoxes. Hearing voices, seeing things/people, having conversations by themselves and of course the always present and deadly risk of seizures. Before rehab I was completely unaware of how deadly the detox from alcohol can be, and I genuinely feel lucky to be alive right now as I write this and think back on those moments of holding on by the slimmest margin and just hoping my body takes its next breath.

Additionally, every time that I drank, I would obsessively go through my cover up plan. I had my hiding spots where I put my stashes of empties. There were places that I hid away single cans that Alyssa never looked, but they were at a higher risk of being discovered. I never like keeping cans there too long, so if I went to bed and couldn’t remember if I had fully hid everything away I would lay there and obsess over the concern that Alyssa was going to wake up before me and find them. I would wait until about 2:30-3 am and then sneak downstairs to check all of my hiding spots. I made sure I was cleaned up so the cycle could start again the next day.

Hanging on by a Thread

By this point, every single aspect of my life had stagnated, if not started trending backwards. My relationship with my wife had hit a point where when I was sober, I was irritable and annoyed by the world. My mentality was that everything and everyone was against me and I cannot believe how unbearable I was during these periods. Then, a bender, and we would just hang on and do everything we could to make it through. Then the days following a bender. I would avoid her, avoid talking about it until a point came where it all became too much and we just had to sit down and talk. I never initiated the conversation.

More excuses, more beating around the bush, difficulties with eye contact. Maybe a hug at the end, but usually not because I never offered myself or offered much in return for these conversations. I just had them to get through them. I wanted to move on. I knew that I didn’t want to be this way, but I did not want to devastate my wife with the news that I had been losing this battle despite giving what I felts was my best effort. I started telling my wife, ‘I just feel like I’m slowly dying’. I claimed to not know what it was, but I knew, I just felt like I couldn’t say it.

My physical condition was destroyed. My emotional state was a wreck. I had no sense of purpose and no spirituality. I was losing hope. I found myself thinking about the end of my life a lot. Without realizing it, this was the beginning of the end of this period of my life. But alcohol did not want me to go easily.

My Death Bed Vision

I began having a vision pretty frequently around February of 2023. I imagined that I had “figured things out”, that my three year plan had worked. I convinced the therapist that I was no longer manic depressive and I had figured out how to control alcohol. I was “normal”. My wife and I could finally live our lives, build our family and grow old together.

Then I started thinking, what am I going to do in this future scenario when I’m on my death bed with Alyssa sitting next to me - am I going to tell her that I lied to her for five years (remember this is two years of struggle plus a robust three year “normalization” plan playing out here), or am I going to literally take this lie to the grave with me? This thought exercise ripped me apart. I could not imagine taking any lie to the grave with me, let alone one this massive with the woman I love more than anything in this world. And the alternative? Dropping this kind of bombshell on her right before leaving her on this earth? No way, I couldn’t imagine that either.

I suddenly realized that the truth had to come out. I needed to be done with the lie, done with the cycles and figure this out. I just didn’t know how to tell her. I was so embarrassed, so ashamed, that I didn’t think I was brave enough to sit down with her, look her in the eyes and say, ‘Alyssa, every time I have been acting unusual or depressive I have been intoxicated. I have been hiding my drinking from you, it has become severe. I can’t take it anymore, it is making my life unmanageable.’

I wish that was the way that I did it. My wife deserved that. Instead, I got ridiculously drunk and feigned another crazy manic depressive episode. Family encouraged us to go to the hospital immediately to get me seen. And I agreed. I knew they would do blood work and I knew that they would find a high level of alcohol in my blood. So we spent hours at the hospital and the nurse finally came in with my results. I’ll never forget this moment as the nurse said, ‘everything looks normal, but you have an incredibly high BAC. Have you been drinking today?’ The entire time the nurse was talking I was just looking at Alyssa.

The nurse left. We were alone. Alyssa asked how often that this was happening and I finally let the words leave my lips - ‘every time I acted odd or had an episode I was drunk. 100% of the time.’ It was out there. Finally, people knew that I was drinking and that I was genuinely struggling. I wish that I could tell you that Alyssa and I took the paperwork home that the hospital gave us that contained resources for dealing with alcoholism and called to get me in to rehab. Again, that would have been the sensible thing to do.

Instead, my alcoholic mind wanted one last chance, one more shot, at taking me out. Over the next two days I made the decision that alcohol was either going to end my life, or that things were radically going to change. For those of you wondering, how the hell do you go and get drunk for two days after everyone finding out about your drinking? How do you even find the time or space to do that? To those questions I reply, with honest bafflement - welcome to the actions of a true addict, an alcoholic who would do anything for one more drink. It is difficult to explain to those who do not suffer.

Thank God I woke up on Sunday May 14th, 2023. It was Mother’s Day. My parents had bought plane tickets the night before to come out to be with us because we needed the support as I was going to take the next step in my journey. While they were in the air Alyssa and I sat down and made the decision - I needed help, I was going to rehab. I was so scared, but deep down so grateful to know that I had the opportunity to turn things around, to get back in touch with my true self. For the first time in well over 12 years I was feeling something that I had rarely felt in that time period. Caring and love for myself. I wanted myself to get better, I just didn’t know how. The next step in my journey was going to show me the way.

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An Additional Note

I do want to add in here that this post covers the extremely dark periods of my life, of which I am very critical of myself. In reading through it, there’s a sense of, ‘why would his wife stay with him?’ Despite all that was going on, there were still moments where I was a good husband, a good father and I was genuinely trying. It’s just that alcohol has a control over me that I can never ‘win’. I think a key part in evaluating your own struggle with any addiction is this question - is your life unmanageable because of the substance or behavior pattern? My life did become unmanageable, but sitting here now and reflecting back on that time I was still a sweet and caring person that was worth loving. I just didn’t see it during the struggle.