How (And Why) I Got Sober
I got sober at 26. Here’s how it happened…
I had my first drink at age 16. I vaguely recall having a few sips here and there leading up to that, but I remember that first “real” experience vividly. My parent’s went out of town, and I decided to throw a party because I wanted to invite a girl I liked. My drink of choice was Natty Light, and as soon as that piss-water hit my lips, I was off to the races. I didn’t drink a few beers that night — I drank twelve. I blacked out, but I managed to make out with the girl. I woke up early for a baseball game the next day completely un-phased, and I felt like a king. I had finally arrived. I had more fun than I ever had up to that point, and it became clear to me that alcohol made life better. It made life worth living. Within a few months, drinking would become my favorite pastime.
I started drinking every weekend. Looking for ways to acquire it and hunting for places to consume it became each week’s primary purpose. It allowed me to talk to girls and finally see myself as “cool,” and I learned that if I got as drunk as I possibly could and made a fool of myself, people would like me (or at least pretend to). I was so desperate for acceptance and so desperate to fit in that I was willing to go to any length for approval. I had just come off a few years of horrible acne, extreme social anxiety and a string of unsuccessful attempts at courting women. This was finally my shot to hit the big-time.
In these beginning years, alcohol worked for me. Well, sort of. I made a host of fair-weather friends, ran with the popular crowd and felt good about myself for a change. The fact that my interest in school and athletics (I excelled up to that point) drastically waned meant nothing to me at the time. Life was surely about partying and having a good time, or so I recklessly believed. I had no idea that I was a budding alcoholic. I had no idea the places that was going to take me.
I got out of high school without so much as a scratch, and somehow made it into one of the country’s premier institutions. It was there that my steep descent truly began. Along with alcohol I found my two other loves — weed and Adderall — and with that concoction I boarded the train of unconscious bliss. Days were spent as high as a kite, night were spent drunk off my rocker, and all school-related activities were completed with the help of amphetamine salt (a.k.a. Adderall). I was addicted to alcohol, marijuana and speed, but in my mind I made all the justifications it could. School was a drag, I was going to be a famous musician, and getting obliterated on a daily basis was a part of “the vibe”.
Needless to say, that mentality didn’t work too well. I was kicked off campus (after a night of destruction and debauchery) within my very first semester. Somehow I wasn’t expelled, but I was on probation the rest of my time at school. I went to every class high, and my grades suffered because of it. I didn’t join any clubs, sports didn’t interest me, and I found a clique that consisted of some of the best drinkers at the school. Sure, I had fun, but I wasn’t capable of thinking any further into the future than the next drink. I spent my college years dazed and confused, to say the least.
It was during this time that I got into my first relationship. She was a sweet girl, but she also had a family of history with alcohol. Thus began a six year on-and-off affair that could only be defined as pure chaos. I thought that’s what relationships were supposed to be like — passionate and painful. I didn’t know there was anything beyond the alcoholic prison I had created for myself. Each day was another game of Russian Roulette — drink as much as possible and hope for the best. I made it out of college with my diploma, but I was deep into the rabbit hole of addiction.
I graduated college at 21, and it would take me another 5 years to admit to myself that I had a problem (and a serious one at that). These years were filled with turmoil: low-paying jobs, more alcoholic relationships and a few run-ins with the law, to name a few. It was also during this time that I got into the habit of drunk driving on an almost daily basis. If I was driving anywhere, I made sure I had a fresh pack of tall boys to go with me, and I would drink them in the car. Throughout my drinking career, I had a reputation among my friends as DDD (Designated Drunk Driver). It’s difficult for me to look back at this time — it’s a miracle that I’m not dead, and it’s more of a miracle that I didn’t kill anyone.
Some other highlights during these years included a string of anxiety-related health issues, countless visits to the hospital and dark, depressive periods. On one particular trip down South, I “fell in love” with what turned out to be a sex worker working for an extortion ring that preyed on innocent travelers. A mindless alcoholic was the perfect target. A few days later, I woke up wondering if I had been raped by a particularly sketchy man stalking me at the bar the night before. It’s hard to know what really happened if you can’t remember. Luckily, I got out of those scrapes (barely), but I was starting to realize that something was very, very wrong.
About a year before this, my father had gotten sober with the help of a spiritual program and a re-kindling of faith in a Higher Power. I thought he was a cult-loving psychopath at first, but I started to notice a drastic change in his behavior. He had his own struggles (classic Irish-Catholic family) which I most certainly judged him for, but there was something different about him. He wasn’t the same man I knew in the years before. While this intrigued me, he was the one with the problem, not me. I was a daily drinker, but who wasn’t? I would go along my merry way and somehow figure it out. The concept of never taking a drink again was far too baffling for me to even think about.
The first time that I was able to take an honest look at myself and my own problem was on a train into New York City. It didn’t even have to do with drinking. I came across the book Mere Christianity by C.S. Lewis, and for some reason I started reading it. I wasn’t religious (I had long before given up the Catholicism of my youth), but I was certainly miserable. See, my alcoholism went hand-in-hand with a completely nihilistic and materialistic worldview. We were all just helpless, self-aware creatures spinning aimlessly around a space-rock with complete knowledge of our impending demise, or so I believed. There was no heaven, no hell, just oblivion. I considered myself an intellectual, and my deductions from modern science brought me to pessimism’s door. That day on the train into New York City changed all of that in an instant. I don’t remember the page or the chapter, but I remember a specific “white-light” moment. For the first time in my life, I thought to myself, “What if I’m wrong?” It was at that moment that my notions of being the center of the universe were unequivocally shattered. It would be some time before I stopped drinking, but the thought that maybe I didn’t know everything continued to bloom and blossom in my mind.
That brings us to that fateful day. I was 26 years old, attending my 5-year college graduation celebration. As soon as my feet hit the campus, I was right back to where I was 5 years before. A weekend of endless drinking, mountains of cocaine and encountering my ex-lover brought me swiftly to my knees. I woke up that Sunday morning in the laundry room of the Sophomore dormitory, completely unaware of how I got there. I’ll never forget the ride back home to New York afterwards. It had dawned on me that I hadn’t progressed at all in 5 full years. I was riddled with guilt, shame and remorse, and I knew that if I didn’t change, I was going to die. Whether that would be by external forces or my own hand, it didn’t matter. I didn’t have a chance if I kept doing what I was doing.
Aided by the newfound awareness that maybe I wasn’t right about everything, I took a leap of faith and called my father. I told him I couldn’t live the way I was living anymore. I asked him for help. The next day I was introduced to that same spiritual program that had saved his life, and I have not had a drink since. It took me two months to get off the speed and the grass, but in August of 2018 I gave it all up for good. I have not taken a single substance since then. I was shot into the Fourth Dimension and haven’t looked back since.
Before we ride off into the sunset, I must admit that sobriety hasn’t been a walk in the park. The craving was lifted (a miracle in and of itself), but life is still life. I’ve encountered more pain in sobriety than in all of my years drinking combined. Then again, I’ve actually been able to feel my emotions these past few years. I’ve lost love, come face-to-face with childhood trauma, lost jobs and battled severe (at times) anxiety and depression. Even with all of this, it has been by far the best 4 1/2 years of my life. I’ve actually lived. I’ve become a writer and a weightlifter (me 5 years ago would have laughed at that proposition). I get the opportunity to, quite literally, save people’s lives on a daily basis. I have a relationship with a Higher Power of my choosing, and I actually believe in Him. I have accomplished some incredible things in a relatively short amount of time, and it is all due to my sobriety.
At the time of this writing, my life is undergoing drastic change. I’m quitting my corporate job and starting my own businesses (yes, plural). I’ve given up a luxury apartment in Brooklyn because it wasn’t in line with my spirit and what I wanted to be. Right now I’m floating, but I have faith that if I follow my soul’s calling, everything will work out the way it’s supposed to. Through sobriety I’ve learned to trust myself, to listen to my gut and to care less about what other people think of me. Some might call me crazy for doing what I’m doing right now, giving up so much luxury, comfort and future proposition.
The thing is, I’m not crazy. I’m sober.
