Today, March 12, 2009, I celebrate my third year of sobriety. It was three years ago today I entered an alcoholism treatment facility for the third time in as many years. Today I celebrate life and 1,095 days free of drugs and alcohol. The above picture is a note my mother attached to my luggage as a kid before I went away on my first trip. It has special meaning to me and she sent it to me in the mail yesterday.
Three years ago today was a dark day for me yet a turning point in my life. It was the day I left behind my perception of the world and my place in it. After years of struggling with alcoholism, a failed marriage and several lost jobs, I had come to a place of desperation. From a loft apartment in downtown Kansas City I would make my final stand. With money in the bank and a liquor store three blocks away, I was in heaven, and hell. This is how I remember those last few days.
Eight hundred pounds, my body, my soul, weighs eight hundred pounds. For days, I have been laying here on this futon, alone in this loft, too weak to walk or eat much. The booze has stopped working. The empty bottles are a reminder of what is left of my soul, emptiness. Every warm drop of life sucked out of them. I remember learning in a treatment center that personal hygiene is one of the first things to go as my disease starts to take control. For the last few days, I have forced myself to crawl the twenty feet to the bathtub. Not any more, I don’t care. My fingernails are long, I used to hate that.
There is a pipe running through my loft about ten feet from the floor. The paint is chipped and peeling. The smooth outer shell that once hid its cold hard underneath, enabling it to blend in with its surroundings, is falling away. In the corner, a half-built entertainment center, my 32’ Hi-Def TV sits on the floor. Next to it, a pair of Monster Cables, I will use those to hang myself from the pipe. How fitting to kill the monster I have become inside. It’s going to be epic; my story will touch the lives of others and give them the strength I lack. Maybe I will borrow the video camera from my employer; I could film my own demise. I’ll be famous. Who am I kidding, I’m too weak to even walk two blocks to the liquor store and my car has two flat tires and tags that have been expired for a year and half. I would never make it. Besides, I doubt my keycard would still get me in the building since I stopped showing up for work two weeks ago.
Strewn about the loft is evidence of my last days here. Several dozen empty vodka bottles—more hidden in the empty cabinets—as many empty beer bottles, a pile of unpaid bills, dirty clothes, sunflower seeds, and one of those single sandwich grills where I cook frozen hamburger patties to force-feed myself. A blanket covers the window, making it hard to distinguish night from day. Paranoia insisted I cover the peephole in the door and pillows line the small closet where I spend most daylight hours in case someone tries to enter. On the street below, iron sheets cover holes in the street—unfinished work to be done. Cars passing randomly, “thump-thump,” add to my paranoia. Was someone knocking? From my latest count, there are 530 bricks along the north wall. That can’t be right, it’s a big wall. I loose concentration. I am going crazy.
Growing up my mother would say, “The greatest gift a child can give is that their parents they outlive.” She hasn’t come to see me. My father came last week to see how I was doing. He left with tears in his eyes when I told him everything was going to be OK, his response, “its not OK son.” My parents live about an hour away. For my father to come to the “big city” says a lot. I don’t think he has ever been here before. I wonder how he found me. A cousin of mine came by too, as well as some friends from the last time I was in treatment. Treatment hadn’t worked, look where I am. I sent them all away. But not before thanking them and telling them everything was going to be OK, that this was my decision and I’m OK with it. I was concerned for their conscience, that it be void of any regrets that they didn’t try something. Although my mother hasn’t come, she’s been praying for me. I know her. She knows a lot about the disease of alcoholism. Enough to know there is nothing she can do for me but pray. I did promise her that I would call everyday to let her know I’m OK. The calls stopped but I try to send an email each day. The days have run together so I’m not sure when the last email was sent. The voice mail on my cell phone is full. It hurts too much to listen to the messages.
My sister hasn’t come this time either, although I have talked to her on the phone, I think. Or was that an email? She does not feel sorry for me, and I know she is not coming to save me this time. She told me so the last time we had contact. “I don’t feel sorry for you and I won’t come save you, but if you chose ‘life’, call me and I’ll be there.”
I have a niece; she must be almost seven months old now. I wonder what her face looks like. I bet she smells of life, innocence, happiness and freedom. I wish I were innocent. I was not there when she was born. I was isolating in another place away from her world. The only place I have ever really known, and really hate. I hate that this place of isolation has become more comfortable than failing as the person I want to be. I treat loneliness with isolation, I am sick. I wanted to be a good uncle, a great uncle. I always had the best of intentions and always wanted to be there for my family and my ex-wife. She let me go; she knew I was sick.
About a week ago I tied a belt around a vertical pipe that runs from the floor to the ceiling along the West wall. I know people in jail use belts to hang themselves. I look at it again, knowing I’m too weak to stand on anything or reach the pipe overhead to use the Monster Cables. STOP, just stop. My head will not stop playing the images of the man I never was and have always wanted to be. That man is too far now—unreachable. I want to die. The prayers of getting robbed and shot on the way to the liquor store didn’t work. Sleeping under the bridge to attract a would-be killer didn’t work. The prayers of getting cancer so I can die with some dignity didn’t work. Alcohol isn’t working now either, causing my entire body to wretch in convulsion as it touches my lips. My mouth tastes like metal, cold iron.
War Games; my mind is eating itself again. Global Thermal Nuclear War or Checkers, life with or without alcohol, there’s no way to win at this game. I just want it to stop, the regret, the guilt, the loneliness—me. I wish my head would stop spinning with thoughts and images folding in on themselves. Liquor used to stop the brain eating, not anymore. Now what? I have two choices, kill myself, or try recovery again. Killing me would be easy, I hope. Living is hard, I know.
I hear my mother, “the greatest gift a child can give is that their parents they outlive.” Does my phone still work? I tried using it a few days ago to order some food, but I couldn’t dial, my brain refused to stop eating itself long enough to put the numbers in the right sequence. I want to die, I’m so so tired. I’m just tired. My mother… God what I’ve put her through.
Speed dial, my sister is number 1 on speed dial; she’s a few miles away. I hit the number 1 on my cell phone, she answers, and I say “I’m at that point. I can’t do it anymore. Come get me.”
I chose life.
Eight hundred pounds. My sister helps me carry my eight hundred pound soul out of the loft. She sits next to me all night as I lay in her stepson’s bed. I tell her I don’t love myself. She tells me she does. That she can love me enough until I can love myself. She sits with me with her hand on my forehead; I feel a hundred pounds lift. The DT’s and night terrors start. I concentrate on the toddler clothes hanging in the closet. I notice the little hangers holding little clothes that keep little bodies warm. The bedroom smells of children—life, innocence, happiness and freedom. God what I wouldn’t give to be that innocent again
The next day my sister drives me to the same treatment center I’ve been in twice before. I’m scared but I chose life. Seven hundred pounds, my soul weighs seven hundred pounds.
For the last 1,095 days, I have awakened each morning and chosen life. I pray each morning when I wake and again at night before going to bed. Each day I concentrate on three things: trust God, clean house (morally), and help others. Today I am closer to being the man I always thought I could be. My soul has been lifted from a weight that once pulled me to the depths of hell to one of lofty spirit. And for that I am grateful. But that’s just today and tomorrow I start all over. And for that too I am grateful.
Click here to listen to a song I wrote about the experience.
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So glad I was there Jared. Congrad’s.
Right on Jared!
I’ve been doing this for a long time, and that is the best story I can remember reading! You really understand what sobriety is about, and you remember the horror of the last days – never forget that horror and fear, they turn to strength over time.
Great job!
@Chad,
Thanks for your generous comment. It’s appreciated.
I agree, fear only lasts for so long, it is then I have to rely on something greater than myself (strength from a higher power). Sharing my story is one way of helping me remember.
Amazing, at a noon meeting yesterday our meeting leader led off the meeting with the following paragraph from Step 6 in the 12 x 12,
“When men and women pour so much alcohol into themselves that they destroy their lives, they commit a most unnatural act. Defying their instinctive desire for self-preservation, they seem bent upon self-destruction. They work against their own deepest instinct. As they are humbled by the terrific beating administered by alcohol, the grace of God can enter them and expel their obsession. Here their powerful instinct to live can cooperate fully with their Creator’s desire to give them new life. For nature and God alike abhor suicide.”
- Twelve Steps and Twelve Traditions
That one paragraph takes me back to this time in my life more than any other. A God wink ;-)
Jared -
You are an inspiration to us all. Your attitude and spirit humble me every day. Thanks for letting me in.
Jared, Congratulations on your three years of sobriety. I don’t have the experience of drinking or doing drugs but I know the effects that alcoholism had on me from growing up with the family disease of alcoholism. I am an adult child of an alcoholic. I have quite a few friends who are active in A.A. so I am familiar with the program.
I went to Al-Anon and Adult Children of Alcoholics meetings for 10 years and then took a 10 year break from meetings. A little over a year ago, a friend asked me to go to some Al-Anon meetings with her.
Years ago I went to all the open A. A. meetings I could find as a way of getting to know me better. I don’t drink but I have some of the characteristics of an alcoholic. As an adult, I took on traits of my alcoholic father and grandfather and also some traits of my co-dependent mother.
Learning to live and to feel was the best thing that came out of my recovery work. Like you, I learned that sharing my story with others was one way that I could give back to others. Thank you for sharing the story. I was deeply touched by your pain and sense of hopelessness. It is a blessing to know that neither of us has to live that way today.
I came here from Albert’s blog and the comments that you have been leaving. Thanks for sharing your wisdom there too.
Patricia
@Patricia
Thanks for stopping by and the kind comments. I look forward to learning more about you on your blog as well.
Jared, every time that I read one of your writings it AMAZES me. You Sir, are truly talented. I hope that God has given you strength and courage to share your story with others. Do you remember in HS when they would have Options and Answers day? I remember the speakers most of all. I think that your story would really help people. God bless you and congrats on three years. My Dad celebrated 28 years in October. His bottom was a 100 year old oak tree.
@Joe
Thanks Joe and congrats to your father and the old oak tree!
Jared, thanks for sharing this. It touches lives and does help others to know there are others out there that have been through similiar situations.
May God Richly Bless You.
Thanks Jared for the song that you wrote about experience.
Jared,
You had this experience because you were intended to come through it and inspire others and you are doing exactly that! Your parents and sister were a big part of that as well, they knew how to be there for you, but also when they had to leave it up to you. You went to the depths of pain before allowing yourself to awaken and you can help a greater number of people due to that. Luckily though, we don’t all have to suffer to that degree in order to awaken. I feel that you will help many to find the freedom you have found without having to hit bottom first. That is a true blessing.
Namasté
@Julie,
Beautifully said. That’s it exactly!
Jared… what a beautiful, touching story. I am SO glad you chose life. Although I haven’t had to deal with alcoholism much in my life (except for one ex-boyfriend many moons ago) I have experienced my fair share of hopelessness and despair… both in friends and myself. I really get it when you wrote, “I want to die, I’m so so tired. I’m just tired.” I’ve known that feeling.
I guess you and I both were meant to feel the depths of despair so that we may empathize with others and act with compassion.
Thank you, for sharing this.
@Lisis,
Thanks for stopping by and your comments. Well said about empathizing and acting with compassion.
Hello Jared,
You wrote:
“I hate that this place of isolation has become more comfortable than failing as the person I want to be.”
And my response:
WOW! I have been sober now for just over 9 months and I am starting to feel myself naturally come out of my alcoholic isolation. I am craving life and I am awkwardly making my way toward it. That one statement that you wrote above really spoke to me because it took me back to my bottom and helped me be grateful for where I find myself today – thanks for sharing.
You also wrote:
“Each day I concentrate on three things: trust God, clean house (morally), and help others.”
Thanks for sharing the simplicity that recovery can/should be. As I am a newbie in recovery, forgetting that (the simplicity) of it all, is my number one offense and I always feel better when I keep that close.
mk
mk,
Congrats on your 9 months! That’s awesome! I have a friend in recovery that no matter how long you have, he always says, “that’s a critical time.” ;-)
I’m sure you’ve heard the saying that alcoholics treat loneliness with isolation.
It is a simple program, but we often make it more difficult. Like worrying about our 5th step when we’re on 3 or 4, worrying about step 9 when we’re on 7. I find it best to simply concentrate on where I’m at today, and to remember that I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be.
Thanks for sharing!
we will know a New Freedom and a New Happiness, We will not regret the past or wish to shut the door on it. We will comprehend the
word Serenity and we Will know Peace. Your story is so familiar. Grace…..Keep showing up my friend. The journey that you have impart upon is a ride you don’t want to miss. Congratulation’s.
I just celebrated 24 years Jan 3rd.
Tommyg
Congrats TommyG! The promises certainly are coming true my friend! Thanks for stopping by!