First Relapse

It was so weird when it happened.

The woman is gone. She left when all failed. No big deal. She smoked pot and I didn’t want it in my new place. She was a taker, not a giver.

My attempt to improve my situation was an all-bets-are-off attempt to save my property, my sobriety, and employment all at the same time. It was too much. If God had a plan for me, he never let me in on it.

It hit me all too fast. I can't expect that any of my property will be saved. I'm in a worse situation than I ever was when I was on the street.

It was so weird when it happened. I was so happy and proud of my own sobriety. Then, all of the sodden, I thought, ‘How fine would it be to have a shot of bourbon?’ This thought haunted me for a while. But, it was the combination of not being employed, not making rent, and not making meetings that drove me to, ‘the experiment’. Mother Puss Bucket!

It was last Saturday, when I donated. I intentionally rode to a liquor store and bought bourbon. I spent most of the week with it. She was my lady, my relaxation, my diversion. Then the withdrawals set in, and the terrible memories of how my body reacted. And how I reacted to how others reacted to me when I was in withdrawal. And how I should hide it...then the fear set in.

This is not a fear of anything real. It is a fear that manifested in the mind. It’s really hard to explain, but here I go:
It’s the fear that anyone and maybe everyone knows that you’re high. When you never really know when the high ends, you never know if you’re completely straight, and you never know if you’re speaking the truth about a certain situation in time and space. Even if you want to tell the truth, you never are sure if you are telling the truth in this time and space. You can never know if you are being clad forth honest. And without this certainty, how can you convince someone of your true intentions?

It sucks.

And now I second-guess my own. Well, not most. But, the ones I cherish the most, I will not disclose. A man must fight for what he knows, or die.

Honor is not what no man can give you, or none can give away. Honor, is a man’s gift to himself. Never worry of the giving of it. It lives and grows in you. You know when you’ve done the right thing. It may hurt at first, but if thy will be done, your path may be laid.

Women are the heart of honor. You should never hurt a woman, or malign a man, or stand by and watch them do so. Once a man’s word is given, it is so. Honor is a man’s gift to himself.

People think, in these situations, that you're in a fight-or-flight mode. But, it's different for us: It's fight-or-flight-or-inebriate. No one knows how this solves our problems, but it does, at times. But, If you've never found a solution in alcohol, you'd never fall back on it.

The details are a health hazard. I relapsed last Saturday. I drank a 1.75 liter bottle of bourbon and lost most my memory. I didn’t eat much after that. I tried to bounce back, but didn’t really do much of a good job. I dried out, but not very well. I didn’t eat much.

I went to the plasma bank to get more money in order to buy more bourbon. I was suffering from mal-nutrition. I donated, went to the local liquor store, bought whiskey on sale, and then rode home.

I took a swig on the ride home...big mistake. I pulled over, took some pulls off it, and then continued to ride. On the ride home, I derailed my chain. It took a while, but I got it back on.

When I arrived back home, I almost lost conscience. I took a hit on the road and after the donation; it was too much for me. By the time I had arrived home, I was feeling light headed. I really felt like I would go into alcohol deprivation. It’s happened to me before. I felt it coming on.

I drank water immediately. I ordered food. I still felt light headed. I knew I’d pushed it further than my new body had ever experienced.

I ordered a sandwich from Jimmy Johns. After eating it, I simply fell asleep. It’s a sign. I have pushed my old body past the point of a young man’s recovery.

I still have a body that can work. I can donate. I can work out; but my mind still wants that bitch.

I have failed.


Without Wax,