I haven’t written about my emotions in quite some time. Hell, I’ve been trying to escape them with the drink. At least, I think that’s what I’ve been doing. Really, I’d lost my focus and my direction a long time ago and finding the numbness seems like it was my guiding principle, if I could even be accused of having a guiding principle.
Anyway, I just finished Day 20. And it was a hard day to close out.
I woke up early, got showered and dressed, poured half a cup of coffee down the hatch and then left the house with my 14 year old son. It was a brisk winter morning, cold but not unbearably so. We got on the public transit together; he would be getting off at his regular stop to go to school and I would be continuing on downtown. My destination: my initial intake drop-in appointment with Addiction Services.
The initial appointment didn’t take all that long, I filled out some paperwork and talked to an advisor who gave me a list of groups and classes and programs to get into before taking the next step.
I left there feeling powerful and strong and in control. I maintained that feeling until the afternoon. It was quiet; my wife was still sleeping, my kids are at school and everything that’s on TV is shit. I’m bored and I’m coming off that endorphin high.
One thing that I’ve learned about myself is that with every major extroverted expenditure of emotion I have, be it joy or rage or love or frustration, the event ultimately leaves me in an emotional deficit. I become quiet, introverted… and then the dark thoughts enter.
At this point, I haven’t quite wanted a drink yet… but I’m feeling uncomfortable. Kind of like I’m a bit stir crazy and maybe thinking a little too much. The boredom doesn’t help. So, I channel flip and grow slightly anxious. I clean up and rearrange the desk in the Man Room to keep my head and body busy. My MacBook Pro gets set into place. So far, it’s working.
The kids get home from school and the wife wakes up; there is a whole bunch of coming and going with everyone that doesn’t include me until everyone is gone for the evening. The younger two boys make their way home together via public transit around 10:30pm. During that time on my own, I’d drank two cans of Dr. Pepper, watched the Detroit Red Wings beat the Edmonton Oilers in overtime, cursed out my Apple TV and watched episodes 1 and 2 from season 2 of The Strain on my MacBook.
(The Strain was supposed to be FX’s answer to AMC’s The Walking Dead, which it fails miserably at. Taking it out of that context, however, it’s not half bad.)
Anyway, during the whole day there are tons of commercials for Molson Canadian, Coors Light, Budweiser, Gibson’s Finest, Crown Royal, Ketel One and programming showing people drinking straight vodka or Scotch out of refined glasses during what is a burgeoning apocalypse. I don’t think you realize how much is there until you’re trying to ignore it.
For me, the advertising and seeing people drink in shows doesn’t seem to affect Me yet. It’s the boredom. It’s the loneliness. It’s the seeming lack of purpose that drives me to want a drink. That feeling I had all afternoon and into the evening. I acknowledged that I could walk to the liquor store and buy a bottle or a case of beer. But what would have been the purpose? What would be the end game for that? What would be the gain?
I couldn’t figure it out so I went to bed and started writing this post. Because I need to tell someone. Even if I don’t know you.
