I have nothing but time to think about what it is I actually want out of life. In fact, I’ve had my whole life to think about it, but now I have the opportunity to really put it into words and speak them out to the world. To speak them out to myself. I’ve realized that the truth is: I don’t know what I want. I’m not even sure that I have an idea. I don’t have a framework or game-plan for how I want to live, how I want to be seen, and ultimately, how I want to be remembered.

            I feel as though I’ve lived my entire life as an observer of my own experiences rather than an active participant. Most of the time I feel as though I’m simply reacting to the world around me. No intention, no direction, just cause and effect. While I am at work or out on my spare time, even now as I type this, I don’t feel like its really me doing any of this. I think I’m merely surviving, not thriving. To be completely honest, I feel as though I’m teetering on the brink of complete insanity. My thoughts are scattered and unorganized. They seem to pop in and out of the ether and it makes it impossible for me to be happy or content or remotely satisfied with anything. I’m never calm or peaceful. I’m painfully aware of my own existence but feel my grasp of it constantly fleeting. I feel like my body is a projection of some unknown viewer that I am not a part of. That I’m somehow stuck in the middle of what I perceive to exist and what actually exists all around me. I feel like if I can zoom out and see myself acting within this universe from a third person perspective, then I can finally convince myself that I am a real person and not a hallucination from some cosmic, faceless, nameless entity. Put more simply, I feel like I have no control. That I’ve never had control.

            After saying all of this, I somehow fell like I am still a part of something bigger. A knot in some infinitely large cosmic dream-catcher. A knot connected to another and another like a spider web. Each point being object or person. Each little knot representing a singular point of energy that permeates all of known and unknown existence. In this way I do feel connected to the universe. That my little point on the spiderweb does its job in holding together our universe. This must mean that my life has some inherent purpose. I’ve always tried to convince myself that the meaning of life is simply to live, but if that is so then the trajectory of my life is inconsequential. It can be good, bad, horrible, absurd, funny, terrifying or any word you can use to describe anything. It really would make no difference if I was successful and “happy”, or completely insane and living on the street as a bum. Simply by being alive I am doing my part in keeping our universe together. So maybe I have no control or all the control in the world. Each option scares me. It makes me feel like a deer in the headlights.

            I think what I want the most is to fall in love. If some cosmic deity appeared before me and granted me a wish, that is the only thing I could think of. If I were in love than my purpose in this life would be to provide someone else with happiness and bliss. I’ve never felt that strongly for anyone. To have every part of me exist to serve someone else. Damn my comfort. Damn my happiness. If I can somehow give someone else a reason to be happy, excited, calm, comforted, cherished, understood, respected and loved, then I will have found a reason to keep waking up. To keep existing. To keep pushing through the fatigue and dissatisfaction. If I can finally make someone happy, then I to would feel happy. That would be enough for me. And at the end of my life, I would be remembered by them, as the one who gave them hope and understanding. To have made a positive difference in someone else’s life would certainly and finally give value to mine.

 Therein lies the dilemma. This hope of a life well lived is selfish because it still would ultimately be for me. For my satisfaction and gratification. How can I really call myself altruistic if being loved in return is my price for loving?

Maybe I don’t deserve happiness. Maybe no one does. Maybe happiness is just a word with no meaning. Maybe no words have meaning. And maybe the answer to mine and everyone else’s problems is to simply wait and die. For after death there is nothing.

And nothing for eternity……………             

          Leading up to my 100 days sober, I felt like I was about to experience some type of catharsis or accomplishment. I had my mind set on what 100 days should feel like since the first day at the detox center. I imagined I would be clearer minded, less anxious, and a lot more satisfied with how my life was going but I’m starting to think that the easiest part is long behind me.

          After attending meetings and therapy, I understood the very real possibility that life would get a lot more challenging. Every story or share I heard about the drama my peers were going through during these meetings were always about really basic life choices whose solution should come quickly to any “healthy” individual. Bickering with their partners, disagreements with their boss, difficulty paying rent, that sort of thing… And it never occurred to me why it was so hard for an alcoholic to make simple choices. Until it started happening to me. I like to think I’m a smart person or, at least, halfway capable of functioning in society. But the pressure of having to constantly make decisions that could potentially lead to unemployment or financial truancy turn every step I take into a nightmare. Perhaps I have a problem with “catastrophizing” things as my therapist puts it, but I remember doing things like a normal person used to be so easy. Then I thought: “Oh, before this, I was ignoring all my responsibilities because I was always drinking. And before that I was still pretty much a teenager who still lived at home!” I never actually took the time to learn “how to live properly”, whatever that means. This must be the case for others in these meetings.

          Everyone has their own relationship with drugs and alcohol and thus uses them for different things. For me, I used them to silence my mind. To have fun. But mostly, to take me away from reality. Always sweeping things under the rug so “future me” would have to take care of it. My favorite words to hear were “don’t worry about it”. And that is what was gently whispered in my ear every time I put that glass of whiskey to my lips. Now I no longer have that devil on my shoulder. Well, perhaps I do but giving into his instructions will ultimately lead to death, which I have stared at face to face so many times. After living like that for so long, I constantly doubt which choice is right or wrong and I mostly always end up making no decision at all which ironically puts me in the exact same place I was at when I was deep in my addiction. Now the more I think about this phenomenon, the more I can justify a relapse if nothing is changing anyway. In the very least I would feel satisfied or even accomplished (though undeserved) if I had a drink whenever I hit any small bump in the road. This is the problem now. Should I sacrifice productivity for a brief period of happiness, or continue to abstain with no quick release and still no clue what I’m doing?

          Even after 102 days I feel as though I’ve hit a wall. I know as an undeniable fact that if I ever drink again, I may very well be as good as dead. I can always remind myself that doing nothing and being sober is worlds better than being drunk and fucking my life up in newer more exciting ways.

          Now I won’t lie to you when I say that one of my main motivators to remain sober is the opportunity to engage in another romantic relationship. It has become all that I talk and think about lately. I wonder if this is just my brain and body getting ready to continue what I need to do naturally or just another huge cosmic joke to show me that even though I’m sober, I’m still a shit person to be around. I’m so used to seeing alcohol play a pivotal role in any relationship I observe or that I was apart of. What is usually the first thing a man says to a woman when he wants to spend time with her? “Let’s go have a drink”. Its almost assumed that any first date would have alcohol involved, albeit not in excess but present. It’s been so engraved in our culture as the young generation in America. Even when I was drinking, I couldn’t imagine how I would interact with someone who was sober by choice or someone that drank substantially less than me. I believe it is referred to as a social lubricant. Coupled with the clash that may come from alcoholics and others, I also think about social media’s impact on love today. In my opinion, platforms like Instagram and tik-tok teach people to subconsciously put value in their own vanity. They seem always ready to show the world their life as an open book but can hardly make meaningful lasting connections with anyone on a romantic, platonic, or even conscience level. It used to be played for comedy, but boasting about one’s promiscuity and being unfaithful to their partners has become commonplace. It’s as though being aloof is their only quality. Try to tie recovery with love (as it is practiced today) and you can start to get a picture of how and why I see dating as almost futile.  I’m not saying that no one is genuine anymore. What I am saying is that finding a person who is unlike our aforementioned example of young citizens today is almost impossible. It’s going to sound hypocritical for me to say, but nothing is private anymore and your admiration for someone shouldn’t be contingent on their online presence or supposed social reputation through that presence.

          Looping back around to my original intent of this piece, I wanted to give you a glimpse into the squirrel psyche. This testimony is not meant as a stand-in for what all alcoholics are facing right now. But if anyone out there can understand anything I’ve typed so far, I ask you: where is the pay-off for trying to live righteously? Whether you’re an alcoholic or a normie, when will our struggle to find and hold our virtues be validated? After 102 days of thinking with a sober mind I find the toughest thing to do is simply live life. I keep finding myself saying the same shit I would say when I was drunk. “I’ll do the laundry tomorrow”, “Just one more hour of sleep”, “It’s not going to matter if I show up late again, I always get away with it anyway”, “It’s not like anyone wants to see me, I’ll just turn my phone off for the day.” It’s as though I’m living the exact same life I used to, just without the alcohol. Sure, I may have more energy and money. Even a boost to my confidence or charisma. But so far, my life still seems stagnate. I always imagined that one day I’d pick a wild hair out of my ass or have a brick of motivation fall on my head and wake up ready to make the world mine. I would all of the sudden be the guy who did his taxes on time, who did ALL of his laundry every Friday, who saved a WHOLE check each month. A person who made time for his hobbies and friends as well as maintain a healthy sleep schedule and go to work focused and well rested. It all seemed out of reach a couple months ago, but now its more possible than ever and still seems like the hardest thing to do.

          I’ve been told its not constructive to dwell on the past, but I always thought that if I could go back in time, I would never pick up that first drink. I would apply myself in high school and go to university. I would do everything the “right way”. Even though I may regret the things I’ve done as an alcoholic, I am not regretful to be one. In a way I feel like it has made me a stronger, more considerate person. But even if I could go in a machine and see what my life became after refusing that drink, it wouldn’t change anything. It wouldn’t be my life. It wouldn’t be me. That dream can never come true. But maybe one day, when I become the man I want to be, I can finally be proud of the choices I’ve made

“A nail in my head from my creator. You gave me life now show me how to live”

-Chris Cornell, Audioslave 2002                   

With everything I’ve ever studied, there was always a clear distinction between theory and practice. From the first three weeks of inpatient to the two weeks of PHP thereafter, this notion of the duality of therapy has rung true. Everything I’ve learned so far in the Sharp McDonald’s center, from coping skills to cognitive behavioral therapy, looks all good and well on paper, but in practice, it’s proven to be much more challenging.

It has been told to me many times by the fellowship that over-confidence in early recovery could eventually lead to relapse, if not indifference to the program as a whole. Seeing and hearing about people coming back to the center after a lapse or relapse helped me to prepare for what might go wrong with my relationship with sobriety. But looking back now, simply avoiding the same behaviors and attitudes of those around me couldn’t fully prepare me to assimilate into a “normal” life as I saw it.  

Though my confidence and self-esteem had greatly improved as a result of my cooperation with the program, I still often find myself to be insecure with the outcome of my social advances. I found it very easy to get along with my peers during my stay at SMC, but I failed to take into consideration that since we all had something in common, we more readily formed bonds out of empathy and mutual understanding. Forming new bonds or simply making conversation with new people on “the outside” wasn’t as easy since most people rarely have the time, energy, or interest to really get to know each other. I quickly found that not everyone had previously participated in some type of therapy but for the most part everyone seriously needed it. Not everyone is as welcoming as a group of recovering alcoholics. As disappointing as it sounds, it was a good first reality check to come across. But I digress; you can’t take away the people’s right to be assholes.

Society’s utter disregard for the well being of others being taken into account, I must find a way to live with it as society’s indifference was a main contributor to my alcoholism in the first place. Afterall, your problems are your own to solve and you can’t expect anyone to give a shit about how screwed up your life has been.

My new life on the outside coupled with my education on the inside has helped me to be a better person, but to be a functioning member of society, I’m going to have to interact with these “normies” in one form or another. Though I am learning to calm myself down and to improve upon my shortcomings I can’t expect everyone else to be on the same page. I think the most important, or at least most helpful lesson I’ve learned in PHP has been to keep my side of the street clean. What is the purpose of rehab if not to acclimate ourselves back into society?

The phrase has been repeated time and time again: “it works if you work it”. My greatest tool against a relapse is my sober network and the fellowship as a whole. That’s not to say I rely exclusively on others, as a huge part of our education has focused on mindfulness and being able to get yourself out of a jam in a healthy way. Moving forward, I will continue to expand this network and through UNITY SERVICE and RECOVERY, pledge to be present to my fellows as I am needed.

    “Frothy emotional appeal seldom suffices. The message which can interest and hold these alcoholic people must have depth and weight. In nearly all cases, their ideals must be grounded in a power greater than themselves, if they are to re-create their lives”

-Alcoholics Anonymous; the Doctors Opinion pg. xxvii

            When asked “what was Rehab like?”, most if not all people tend to say something like: “I didn’t know what to expect”. I suppose the same goes for me because I honestly didn’t. But like everyone else I could only think of the stigma that comes with something like a 30-day residential program. I, admittedly, had my own prejudices about the types of folks who needed it. I was incredulous, yes, but mostly in denial; denial that I would ever need treatment. I felt the same about the fellowship of A.A. as well. To me, Alcoholics Anonymous was a cult of broken and pathetic zealots, bottom of the barrel, the dregs of humanity. This could not be further from the truth. My time in the Sharp McDonald center has drastically changed my perspective in the most ironic, yet profound way.

            Before I came here, I was stuck. Stuck in a swirling vortex of shame, embarrassment, misery, and loneliness, fueled by whiskey, cocaine, and a general lack of self-esteem. Even when I considered that I might have needed help, it was quickly dismissed by delusions of intellectual superiority. Afterall, I knew what my fears were. I knew what made me sad or angry, and I was definitely carrying baggage from my childhood. Most importantly, I knew I had the ability to simply stop drinking and using. So what more could Rehabilitation offer me? What could they possibly know that I didn’t? My apprehension mostly came from the vocabulary the fellowship used. Phrases like “I’m powerless over alcohol”. Words like “higher power” and “serenity”. It all seemed so fake and disingenuous. I wanted to stop drinking, sure, but not altogether. I would run through plans and scenarios in my mind where I could go out with the boys on a Saturday night and still rise, bright as a ray of sunshine in the morning. Why not? Everyone else seemed to be able to do it. I fancied myself much smarter and much more capable than my peers. But after every reckless night and embarrassing morning, I would be proven wrong every time.

            The final choice seemed to come to me very suddenly though. Between laying in the bed at the detox center to pacing its halls, I would weigh the pros and cons of rehab. 30 days is a long time. Would I get my job back once I got out? How would I pay my rent? What would my friends think? How was I to pay for it? Would the program even work or would I come out just to relapse again? Then I remembered that I had previously enrolled in a Sharp healthcare plan through my job (which isn’t cheap btw), and I was informed that termination of my employment would be illegal If I had to excuse myself for medical reasons. I finally decided I would give it the old college try. I called those most dear to me and others who needed to know, signed the dotted line and made the phone call. But somewhere between the giddiness and anxiety, I felt deep down in my heart that I was making the right decision, even If I didn’t know what to expect.

            So, what did I learn in treatment? How did my way of thinking change since coming here? From my first day walking into McDonald center, I could immediately see I was wrong about the type of people I believed needed treatment. I looked around and saw a successful blogger and family man, a lawyer who specialized in real estate, a DJ with a seemingly endless supply of stories ranging from hilarious to deplorable. I saw students and scholars, mothers and fathers, from all corners of San Diego. These people didn’t look like addicts. I guess I was expecting to see was something like baggy-eyed, messy-haired, strung-out fiends trying to climb the walls to freedom at any given opportunity. Instead, I saw… people just regular, polite, interesting, funny, charming people. And I remember feeling a sudden strange sense of belonging. I learned personal details about these perfect strangers almost Immediately. Where they came from, the values and beliefs they held, their rocky past and their plans for a brighter future. I was so used to being ignored. Having my actions or emotions ridiculed, but here were people that were warm and welcoming from the get-go. I felt I was in a place where I could finally let my guard down and show the world who I really was without fear of judgment. I learned that all these human souls had something in common: that, like me, have hit rock bottom. Left with no answers in a chaotic world. I learned that every time I looked into someone’s eyes, I saw part of my own reflection. these people were total strangers and I already had more in common with them than some of my closest friends.

            Then came time for my first meetings. Further reinforcing my unanticipated comfort with the group, I started to share some of the things that I was going through. What I was holding down in the past all of the sudden came pouring out like water from a busted pipe. I never knew that something as simple as sharing your feelings could be so easy and rewarding, almost to the point of intoxication. Hearing how other related to my shares made me feel like I was finally being listened to and understood.  An experience that was previously denied me, even by my own family. I started hearing those words come up again. “Serenity”, “vulnerability”, “courage”, “experience” and they started taking on new meanings for me. I learned why I kept failing at sobriety. But most important of all I finally accepted the truth. That I cannot do this by myself. That nobody can. And I found a new found faith in humanity. I started to see people with vastly different political affiliations, religious persuasions, and lifestyles, come together to support one another because they understand. They understand exactly what I’ve been through and have felt exactly as I felt.

            At first the task of constantly maintaining my sobriety seemed to daunting. The thought of having to attend meetings and therapy for the rest of my life made my stomach turn. How am I supposed to do this for the rest of my life? I keep thinking back to the time before coming into treatment. Feeling depressed every night and regretful every morning. Always being in a haze or in the throes of withdrawal. I’ve decided I never want to go back to that life and if I have to work every day at it then so be it. I feel remorseful and nostalgic about my past but Sharp and its patients have taught me to keep looking ahead. To take it one day at a time. That if I fail it’s alright so long as I’m willing to try again. and now armed with new tools and a new perspective, I’m ready to give life another try. I’m scared. If I’m telling the truth I really am scared, but I know that this time I don’t have to face the world alone

                I have traversed the wilderness and come back to my village a changed man.

-James Apra, Alcoholic.