fighting alcoholism
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Fighting Alcoholism: My Personal Battle

I awake from my drunken stupor to another morning. My mouth dry and bitter, again I go through the motions in fighting alcoholism. Stumbling out of bed I go to the refrigerator looking for a cold water. To my surprise, I find a Gatorade that has been sitting there since last night.

Taking long deep gulps, I feel the sweet watery drink cascade over my gritty throat. The coolness of the drink flushing down dry saliva and the crumbs around my mouth.

My saturated stomach grumbles and echoes around my small room as my bowels come back life. Rushing into the bathroom, I’ve learned over the last few months to never forget toilet paper again. My new life has become synonymous with the coming and goings of the bathroom. After several painful and burning minutes, I again lay back down to my bed. My tomb.

Looking at my phone, I have only one hour left until I have to go to work, but the sheets and bed beckon me. Calling me.

Another pang in my stomach.

A guttural hunger began to set in as I further procrastinate behind the ticking second hand.

I know I wasn’t going to stop drinking, so if only I had just blacked out by eight o’clock, I would have been better prepared for the morning to come.

My back and forth battle between telling myself “I’ll never drink again” and “only on the weekends” has largely come to an end. I’ve more or less accepted that I won’t stop drinking. Instead, now I just drink earlier. Sometimes I’ll drink on my way back from work, but mostly I just wait until I get home.

My hunger forces me out of bed and back into my fridge. Empty Styrofoam containers stare back at me from the cold emptiness of the fridge. I must’ve raided the fridge again in a drunken storm. Heading back towards the room, I see where most of the food ended up.

The living room couch had blotches of red and yellow sparsely spread around it, traces of ketchup and mustard I assume. The living room table is littered with the bones of shredded through chicken wings, my leftovers from last week.

I run around to get ready quickly, I’ll have to leave showering for tonight.

My head again throbs with the all too familiar hum of sobriety. My stomach, almost in sync, begins to make more sounds forcing me back into the home away from home: the bathroom.

Now I’m running late.

I rush through traffic. Almost like clockwork, I damn myself for drinking in the first place. How could I have been so stupid? Maybe I should end my fight with alcoholism?

My goals to eat healthier will again have to wait for another time. All I truly crave is a cheeseburger or something massive and greasy.

Again, my stomach grumbles.

Arriving at work, I show my face and head back over to the bathroom for another round.

Back at my seat, I try to focus on the work at hand, but can’t help but to be bothered with myself. Even with brushing my teeth and rinsing with a pint of mouthwash, my throat and mouth still feel dry. I feel as if I could taste my sour breath. Drinking coffee never seems to really help, but I do it all the same.

It’s been a few hours now, and I’ve decided that I will no longer touch another alcoholic drink. This time, when I get home I’ll detox and watch a movie or do something productive. This time, it’s going to be different.

As the day drags on, my stomach and head not making the day any easier, I finally begin to feel a moment of clarity as the clouds of withdrawal fade from my view. I still feel the occasional pains, but it feels almost unrelated to last night.

With the work day over, I decide to pass by the supermarket on my way home and stock the fridge with some fresh food and prepare myself for the life I want to start living.

Before entering the supermarket, adjacent to it is the liquor store. I know I don’t want to drink tonight, but I might sometime later in the week. I might as well get the stuff I need now, rather than drinking what I have left and then driving around drunk in search for more. It would be irresponsible of me to do so.

I almost always get this weird feeling of guilt. A feeling of a problem staring me in the face, but I never truly pay it any mind.

With the liquor in my bag, I continue shopping.

Alas, arriving at home I contemplate if I should go to the gym and get a head start on that life I want. I want to look different and I want a partner. I won’t ever delude myself into thinking that someone might ever care for me the way I look now.

I’m nearly fifty pounds overweight, and I wouldn’t even want my partner being that big. I have to take this step in the right direction. I fear dying alone and I am so sick of being alone.

One of the reasons I stopped hanging out with friends was because of seeing their happiness. They were either falling in love, falling out of love, or deeply embedded in it somewhere. I had none of that. I felt I always deserved that love. Maybe a pity party is all I’ll ever throw myself, but I want companionship. I want someone, and the only way to do that is to start today.

Trudging over to the kitchen, I prepare several containers with a chicken salad for me to start taking to work. Then I begin to wash my workout clothes and pull out my phone looking for the closest gym by me.

I don’t really have it in me to workout today, but I will tomorrow. I just need to get my ducks in a row.

After running around and getting everything in order, I decide to lay in bed and watch some television to soothe me into a sleep, a sober sleep which I so lacked. Drifting off to sleep was something I rarely remembered. I mostly just wake up with no memory of how or when I fell asleep.

On the dresser, I see the glass I used last night.

As the television runs its course, I begin to feel unfathomably bored.

All the programs are dull and the humor I found in comedy simply wasn’t there. Channel after channel I’m greeted with terrible programs and shows that seem silly to even air on television.

Pulling out my tablet, I thumb through different YouTube videos.

As I thumb between them, one after the other I feel my interest again fade. I wasn’t enjoying what I was doing. Maybe a drink would change that a little. In fact, I don’t feel remotely like I did this morning, plus it was still early enough in the day that if I decided to drink now, I’ll just wake up earlier anyway. It’ll be fine.

I pour myself a drink. I don’t drink beer or mixed drinks anymore.

I feel that all drinks except liquor tend to be more a waste of time than anything else. I want to feel good, and unfortunately, all other means take too long to get there. Liquor feels like a straight shot to where I want to be.

As I pour the drink, hearing the liquor crash with the ice cubes, which crack as it burns the weaker sides of them, I recoil in spite.

The typical burn with the first sip soothes me back into a happier state. As I drink, I thumb through the internet until finally turning back to the television. After several more sips and even more minutes, I finally break into a smile. The television envelops me into the world of comedy. I scan the on-demand menu for some comedy specials or stand-up.

In my ecstasy  of laughter, my stomach begins to growl as my hunger grows.

Maybe just a salad will do me great, it’ll quench my hunger without all those calories that work so strongly against me.

Bringing the salad back to bed with me I cry and laugh at the different things on the television. Scenes with memories tying back into my life, reminding me of a time past.

I browse through several different shows as it loses my interest. I’m having a harder time keeping up with plots or story-lines anymore.

After finishing the salad, I realize I’m still a tad bit hungry. Grabbing another salad container, I head back into my bed for more entertainment. I don’t even really remember what I started watching, but my eyes were back on my tablet, where I was browsing through Facebook, where cheerful and artificial smiles stared back at me.

Through my watery eyes, I begin to wonder what life I might have had if only I was more like the people here posting.

Another drink, this time less ice, more liquor.

I feel the waves of emotions crashing into my consciousness and decide to sing along to some of my favorite music videos.

Another salad.

Before falling too deep into a drunken oblivion, I decide to drive over to the convenience store for some food; the salad simply isn’t cutting it. I need something heavier.

As I stood in line, I felt the eyes of everyone on me and I couldn’t understand why. Did they know I was drunk? I doubt it, I was known for always holding my composure when drinking and I have a certain pride in that.

Chips.

Hotdog.

Burger.

Burrito and a Gatorade.

Back at my house, my mouth begins to salivate with the smell of the warm food radiating the air around me. I plow through the food, quenching my fierce hunger.

Another drink.

Did I brush my teeth? It didn’t really matter anyway; what was one day missed going to do?

With the television blaring, I go back onto my tablet.

Tears well up again as I think about my loneliness. I want company. I’m pathetic and alone.

I’ll change it all tomorrow. Tomorrow, everything will change.

I awake from my drunken stupor to another morning. My mouth dry and bitter, again I go through the motions in fighting through alcoholism. Stumbling out of bed, I go to the refrigerator looking for a cold water. To my surprise, I find a Gatorade that has been sitting here since last night.

Fighting Alcoholism, but Afraid of Losing? Call Us for Help

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