I disappear for the second time into Vancouver. I used to write her poetry notes of love undying. She bought a typewriter and is writing poetry. But the kids are happier and the wife seems to be doing better. Now I’m drinking at least two bottles a day. I do all the work-for at least a year as she begins to get better. It’s still 2013, and my wife is diagnosed with depression. I disappear for the first time into the seedy underbelly of the city, flush with wine, blackout drunk, doing who knows what with a laptop strapped to my back, wearing a suit (I am an insurance broker by trade). What would he be? I have no idea what to do. Grief pours over me that my only son will not be what I hoped he would be. In 2013, our son is diagnosed with autism.
I continue to pour the wine because life is good. Forward to 2012, and we have our rainbow baby-our third child. Picture this: It’s 2011 and my wife suffers from two miscarriages. But the more control I tried to exert upon my disease, the less control I actually had. If I could only control my drinking, then maybe I wouldn’t be so insane, right? If I could control the urges to keep pouring, then I’d be OK. A lack of control, no control-what the heck even is control?Ĭontrol was the other paradox I argued with. Not weak will or a product of how I was raised, or a sin or something metaphysical. Why couldn’t I just drink normally? Why couldn’t I stop after one glass, one beer-or even two? Heck, why couldn’t I go a whole Monday without pouring myself, four to six glasses before my lunch even arrived at the restaurant? That insanity, simply put, is my disease. I have got this!” Well, if I really did have “this” I wouldn’t be here writing to you, would I?Īs I approach my third year of sobriety on July 29, 2018, I’m reflecting on this insanity. I’m not going to have any more than one or two. Time and time again, I would pick up that bottle following a period of being sober (maybe three months?), thinking, “Yes, this time will be different. Someone once said that the true definition of insanity was not doing something over and over again, hoping the result would be different than the previous time-but that it was doing something over and over again, knowing that the result would be the same as the last.
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