3 1/2 years sober.
The relationship I have with booze is wildly complicated.

As an aspiring musician, I’m forced into the cult of alcohol. The venues I’m reaching out to are primarily houses for drinking. There’s food and entertainment, but the biggest profit from any evening establishment is always alcohol sales. James McMurtry says on a live album, “Here I thought I was a musician, but turns out I’m really just a beer salesman”.

That’s just the way it is. We can have issues with the system and society, but as long as alcohol is promoted and encouraged for profit, ain’t a thing anyone can do about it.

I’m aware that my discussion is possibly self sabotaging.

As a musician that very much needs to pander to these performance venues, I am biting the hand that I hope will feed me. But there are plenty of bar owners that fully understand alcoholism, the only way they can, by being an alcoholic themselves, reformed or not. I know they won’t be offended.

It’s not entirely their fault. Selling alcohol is their business, although their true intentions are providing a service, a good time and a way to unwind. It’s considered therapy and socializing and Humans desperately need that.

It’s also not any individuals fault.

I don’t want to shame anyone for letting loose. This is where it gets complicated. I fear I come across as preachy at times, and have straight up been accused of acting like a born again religious fanatic. A reformed alcoholic spewing blame and guilting people for enjoying themselves. I apologize if that’s the interpretation, but also, if that’s how you hear it, check yourself, alcoholism is sneaky.

In absolute honesty, it’s just all about me. My own study of myself. It has become an interesting experiment. My beginnings of alcoholism as an eight year old drinking Tequila, whiskey, and beer well into my teenage years of binge drinking, and continuing the party way after the party was over. To the brutal alcoholic deaths of my father, friends, and acquaintances to somehow wind up here on the other side, miraculously still alive. In hindsight, it seems quite predictable that I was destined to wind up with a drinking problem.

Most everyone is aware of the potential to become an alcoholic. Functional or dysfunctional. There are even laws in place to make us keenly aware of the danger. The real problem is how we embrace alcohol as a society. Ignoring the dangers or worse, glorifying them. Turning to drinking when there’s a problem. Turning to drinking to have a good time. It sounds insane if you think about it.

I think everyone has a slightly different relationship with alcohol. It’s something we all have to figure out. Our tolerance, our ability to reason, and our physical limitations. And there’s only one way to study. Get trashed a few times and see how it pans out.

My sobriety has gone through stages. My first attempt lasted about a year. The initial withdrawal was very intense. I couldn’t sleep for months. My brain was rebooting and every thought seemed broken. I eventually started thinking and feeling again and it was weird. It was mostly indescribable but I felt like thousands of small computers coming on line, one by one. It’s still happening today, but not as intense.

The internal rage, bitterness, self loathing, and cloudiness my disease had been cultivating was slowly breaking apart and I could feel it. There was a raging storm inside my entire being.

I still had a desire to drink. Especially since my wife continued to enjoy her wine. It was extremely hard to suddenly remove my entire lifestyle, drinking more than a few beers to relax. Especially grilling and working in the music studio.

I made a deal with myself. I’d only drink during these times and I’d limit myself to three beers. And I would only drink high quality, delicious Mexican beer with salt and lime on ice. It worked for about three months, then three beers turned into eight. But that’s where I stopped. Eight was my magic number. I continued for another year.

I saw a doctor and told him my biggest motivation to stop drinking was the death of my friend, but I had started again. He said, “How many friends have to die?” Then apologized for being so harsh. I thought it was kinda funny. We all need a harsh truth sometimes.

Eight beers was about half of what I was drinking nightly the years before. I actually felt more healthy. I was drinking twelve to twenty-six beers every night for over ten years. I don’t know how I sustained.

I realized that I wasn’t healthy and I was lying to myself. I had pain in my gut again and was incredibly weak. I realized that I was going to have to quit for good, or die. The alcohol revealed itself as a disease that I could not wager. A demon monster that controlled my thoughts and led me to believe lies. The disease made me betray myself. I now understood just how my father died. I understand how my friend died. The disease uses all of your existing sadness, discomfort, shame, and self doubt and coddles you with the intent to kill you. Like an invasive weed that eventually chokes itself out.

The second time I quit was amazingly different from the first. I still had insomnia but there were new things. It felt different. I developed a sweet tooth. My memories came back in true color. My reasoning sharpened and my desire to live returned.

I also know, from experience, that if I drink at all again, I might not survive. I have to leave it forever and that’s a scary thing. Not because I have a desire, that’s actually gone, but because of the stories we hear about relapse twenty years later. It always ends bad. I have to always remember that the monster is waiting. I didn’t kill it. It’s still there. It lies in dormancy and will always be there.

Three and a half years later, I still feel my brain growing. I’m alive again. I feel my hard age, but I’m not consumed with sadness. I believe I have some undiagnosed clinical depression, but going through my dark spells now is more rare and less painful without alcohol. I am aware that my brief suicidal thoughts and sadness are just another monster. That monster used to have a very powerful friend and together, they wanted me dead. They almost succeeded.

So now when a concerned friend asks me if I’m okay with their drinking, I have to respond with a quick answer. “Yeah, fine”. Explaining it takes to long and they are trying to party, but eventually, they’re loose and have lost their inhibition and they ask again. So I tell them about some of this.

I’m not concerned with you. I’m just remembering and imagining myself and how I once was. I’m not judging anyone although I strikingly recognize the symptoms of potential problems for you. But I understand, you’re just trying to have fun. You’re already aware that you’re dancing with a devil, or you wouldn’t be concerned. So was I, until it got out of control. Maybe you will, maybe you won’t. Don’t worry about it now anyway. I’m sorry I make you feel awkward. Go ahead and have a good time. Let’s see if you can let me have one too.