Pete and Re-Peter: The Bottom

The first journal entry I published in sobriety was five months after my last drink. It was titled "Unexpected and Revealing". I had no idea.

At that time, I thought I had gained all the rejuvenated belief that I needed to change my life. I felt I was ready to move forward with a new perspective and lifestyle. I thought by the end of the year I would be an entirely different person on a direct path to M.F. Disney Land. 

Yes, life had changed. The elephant was removed from the room, but what about the creepy crawling stuff hiding in the corners? The cockroaches, scorpions, and shit like that. What about the internal and external demons I allow into my mind and life? Ain't none of it paying the rent.

My belief today is that I am on a path. I don't know where it leads necessarily, I am just better aware of where I am right now. Right now, I am in awe. I am also in pain. I am also in love with my life more than I would have ever thought possible.

I never wanted or valued sobriety until I had it. Freedom from the internal prison and chaos was the only thing I wanted every day of my life, and drinking was the only way I felt free. Drugs didn't do it. I did some, and some I did often. I liked enough of it, but never once did a drug grab me the way whiskey, tequila, gin, rum, or vodka did. I liked it all. It was all my drink of choice. I was in love and in professional control of my alcohol obsession. Until I wasn't. Until I was surrendered by it. Until it had its boot on my throat and I couldn't get up for another round. I don't hate alcohol or drinking at all, even today. Money, power, control, sex, fame, or you name it did not measure up even in my imaginations to what alcohol gave to me the second I had it within reach. It was the Golden Ticket to the Chocolate Factory. It was a Saturn V rocket. It was all the power in the Universe one swallow at a time. I had nothing left on December 27th, 2019. Nothing. Otherwise, I would have waited until after the New Year to find out if I was serious. Serious was not my choice.

I wonder how many sober alcoholics prayed for my peace before it hit me? I wonder how many saw themselves in me, as I now see myself in others. They may not be in my life, but they are definitely in my heart. There are many others. Not just alcoholics.

Inhale, cool comfort. Exhale, warm embrace. This thing is real. The torture is so very unkind. It's power is too much for me. The bottom was as far as I could go. There were quiet conversations in the darkness…

"Oh no, Peter. This is bad. Really bad."

"I know. We are in trouble, Pete."

"I know. I don't know what to do."

"We are in pretty deep. Nothing is familiar. I'm scared. Really scared."

Everything hurt. It felt like every part of my body wanted to wither and die. The night sweats had crept into my days. The dry heaves cramped my stomach, back, shoulders, and neck. My skin was red and flaking off in embarrassing ways. I felt gross at all times, except for that one short period everyday I felt like I was on top of the world. Or, at least I was delusional enough to believe that I was somehow headed in the right direction. I was completely at the mercy of my addiction to alcohol. Every direction I looked was a disaster area. The walls were caving in. The grip of the bottle had become a noose.

"We can't do this anymore," Pete said.

"I know."

"What are we going to do?"

"I don't know."

"Does this mean we are going to die?"

"I don't know."

"How did this happen?"

"I don't know."

"Can we survive this? Can we change anything at all?"

"I don't know, Pete. I give up. I am ready to give up."

In the darkness of the basement I fell hard into desperation. My head hit first. Crushed and spun, there was nothing to stop the spiral. My heart exploded at impact. My soul was hanging on by only one final fiber of my being. There was barely a glint of illumination in the single strand of hope that was waving in the ether. 

"I can't grab it. I can't hold on. Too weak."

"Close your eyes, Pete. Take a rest. I will hold on for us. Take your rest. I've got it for now. Let go for now. It's ok, let go. I won't let you slip away."

"I am sorry. I am so sorry."

"It's ok. We are ok. I hope it's not too late. I think we still have a chance. I still have hope for us."

"Peter, I am so sorry."

"Please don't be. This is real now. We knew this was going to happen. We knew this was how it would be. We knew it all had to break. We had to fall as far as we could. We have fallen so far, and it hurts so much. There is nothing we can do right now. We need to stop. Just stop. Let's rest. Close your eyes. We will not slip away. The light is still there. The light will be there when we awake. The light is there. Can't you see it?"

Of course, it wasn't entirely over right then. I believed there was a chance one or two lottery picks could go right and turn this thing around. There was just a little more to go to find out…Oh My God…How could there have been anything left?

"Just one more, Peter. Just one more drink tonight. We need to sleep tonight. Tomorrow is the first leg of the longest journey of our life. We need to sleep. We need to just go black once more. I can't think tonight. It hurts too much. Too much to sleep. Too much to be awake. Need to go black. We need to jump through the night into tomorrow."

"Ok, Pete. Once more. Get it done. Get it out. We are done. We have to be done. There is no more time. We have run out of tomorrows. We are finished after this. Finished. There are no more tomorrows."

For six days I drank around the clock. I was already a daily drinker, but this binge was way different. It had evil behind it. It had pain and fear wrapped up and stuffed like a lit handkerchief in the top of every bottle. It was no game of Roulette either. Every chamber of the gun became occupied once the mission was understood. There was no going back the same to the same. It was one way, or the other. I chose surrender.

The next morning, I drove 650 miles from Des Moines to Denver. It was the longest day of my life.

"I can't stop shaking."

"I know, Pete. We are sick."

"I don't want to drive any faster. Who knows what is still in my system?"

"Be safe. Keep breathing. I am here with you."

"What if the cops are waiting for me?"

"They won't be. We are ok."

"But you don't know that. What if something happened we don't remember or know about. Doesn't it feel like shit is going down?"

"Yes, Pete. It feels really scary. It feels really awful. I don't know what is happening, but the paranoia isn't real. Listen to the radio. Play an interview or novel you have saved, but be nice to us from here on out ok? Start trying to realize we are on the same team. Keep talking to me, and we will get through this. Together. How does that sound to you?"

"It sounds great, but I can't handle all that right now. I am freaking out. Something isn't right. I am in big trouble and I need to get home. Who knows what's waiting at my door or in my mailbox? I need to get home. Now."

"Ok, Pete. There may be trouble. We'll find out when we get there."

"You really think so?"

"Maybe?"

"How can we find out?"

"I don't know."

"Well, it would be nice to know already."

"I know, but we don't."

"I have done a bunch of shit that is going to catch up with me, ya know?"

"Have you now? Was I there?"

"How can I put together any kind of a life or future now? I am basically admitting I am a drunken fraud."

"Is that what we're doing?"

"I don't know."

"Neither do I. So, let's just find out as it comes." 

"Peter…"

"Yeah?"

“I’m scared.”

“I know. Me too.”

"I can't go back there."

"No, no we cannot go back ever again. I love you, Pete."

"I love you too.”

“I always have, and I always will. We have so much more to live for today, and for what is to come.”