Last Drunk
Today I am grateful for an early morning walk with Oliver and my tired, sore legs. We all feel better now (Oliver, my legs, and I.) I am also grateful for my last drunk on August 12, 1989.
That last drunk was not pretty. I don't remember a considerable chunk of it because I blacked out. (Just in case you don't know the difference--passing out means you have fallen asleep, or are so drunk that you are down for the count. In a blackout, you are still awake and taking actions, but you don't recall those actions. Blackouts could accurately be described as alcohol-induced amnesia.) Blackouts are both a blessing and a curse. I was a blackout drinker and that created pure mental torture the next day when I tried to connect the dots. The blessing part is that I don't have recollections of my sick, alcoholic behavior on some of those nights, or just brief glimpses, which was more than enough.
August 12, 1989 was wedding day for my cousin who was marrying my long-time school friend. I knew a lot of people there. Those who didn't know I couldn't handle my alcohol very well knew it by the end of the evening if they witnessed me at all. Some of those who did see me in my full alcoholic mode expressed their concern within the next few weeks, particularly one of my sisters. (Thank you Leonice!) I was sick and tired of being sick and tired. I was humiliated by my behavior and my inability to control my drinking. I drank a few more times over the next weeks, but never got really drunk like that again.
My last drunk ended up being a blessing in disguise. I don't want to forget that day because I don't want to forget that I have a daily disease that requires daily work to sustain recovery.
That last drunk was not pretty. I don't remember a considerable chunk of it because I blacked out. (Just in case you don't know the difference--passing out means you have fallen asleep, or are so drunk that you are down for the count. In a blackout, you are still awake and taking actions, but you don't recall those actions. Blackouts could accurately be described as alcohol-induced amnesia.) Blackouts are both a blessing and a curse. I was a blackout drinker and that created pure mental torture the next day when I tried to connect the dots. The blessing part is that I don't have recollections of my sick, alcoholic behavior on some of those nights, or just brief glimpses, which was more than enough.
August 12, 1989 was wedding day for my cousin who was marrying my long-time school friend. I knew a lot of people there. Those who didn't know I couldn't handle my alcohol very well knew it by the end of the evening if they witnessed me at all. Some of those who did see me in my full alcoholic mode expressed their concern within the next few weeks, particularly one of my sisters. (Thank you Leonice!) I was sick and tired of being sick and tired. I was humiliated by my behavior and my inability to control my drinking. I drank a few more times over the next weeks, but never got really drunk like that again.
My last drunk ended up being a blessing in disguise. I don't want to forget that day because I don't want to forget that I have a daily disease that requires daily work to sustain recovery.
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