For anyone who continues to struggle with their sobriety as we head into Sober October, this is my story. I was planning on posting this in February as that is the month that my journey towards sobriety really started to unfold. It was February of 2023, so not that long ago really. Those of you that have walked this path with me have read this before or at least a version of it as I continue to tweak and edit. For those of you who haven’t, it is rather long for a Substack post but every time I’ve tried to get it down to around 750 words it just loses it’s impact in my opinion. I tried to quit drinking for years before I was finally able to get some distance from this very effective but ultimately life destroying substance. Please know that it is possible, even when you feel like you are at your lowest. Please, never, ever give up.
Crisis Begins
It was a Friday morning in early February 2023 and the big toe on my right foot was obviously in bad shape. It had been bothering me after it developed a blister and now a few weeks later, it was swollen, red and tender to the touch. I had to go to urgent care. I couldn’t ignore this like I had so many other things that were going wrong with my body.
I was 59 and in the worst shape of my life. I weighed almost 270lbs, my blood pressure was always high and that was even being on 4 different meds. I hadn’t seen my endocrinologist in over 12 months and being a type 2 diabetic that was being incredibly foolish. Just how foolish I found out a day later when I was told my A1C was 11.2. You are considered diabetic at 6.2 for reference.
I was eating like crap, not moving my body unless I had to, and I was drinking in a way that scared me. Those thoughts usually happened at 3 or 4 in the morning when I would wake up, my heart racing and my anxiety off the charts, thinking: Why the hell can’t I stop drinking?
I would make the same deal with myself the next morning in the shower. Tonight I will not drink. But every night by 6pm I had some form of alcoholic beverage in my hand. This had been going on for years. I could not string together more than 2 or 3 days in the previous 20 years that I did not drink.
The self-loathing and shame had become so severe that I had ignored every single alarm bell my body had been sounding for the past few months or so.
I made it to urgent care in the morning and the Dr on call sent me for X-rays to make sure that the bone wasn’t infected. He asked how long this had been going on and how it happened. I honestly wasn’t sure. I was in a perpetual state of either being hungover or in some degree of buzzed most days for months on end. Maybe I hit it on something or scraped it walking barefoot and just didn’t feel it.
I could tell by the look on his face that he couldn’t really comprehend how I let it get this bad. He then did what he could, lanced it, cleaned up the area, and gave me antibiotics and said to see my podiatrist as soon as I could.
I was able to see my podiatrist that following Monday evening at about 6pm. I took my shoe and sock off and my toe looked far worse than it did on Friday. I had also run a mild fever off and on for a few days. He gingerly poked around at my now bluish/black toe and then said I needed to go directly to the hospital and be prepared to be there a few days while they dealt with the infection.
I was shocked even though I shouldn’t have been. He said that my toe was badly infected and that if they were able to stop the spread of it they might be able to save my toe. I let that sink in for a few seconds, put my sock and shoe back on and called home. I explained what the Dr said to my wife, asked her to put a few things together for me and came home. She drove us to the emergency room at the hospital. I would spend the next 6 days there.
⸻
The Hospital
When we arrived around 9pm that evening the emergency room was almost completely full. It was an assortment of people in various degrees of distress and seeing as I did not appear to be in a life-threatening situation we sat there until after one am before I was seen.
Because my blood pressure in triage was around 180/90 they put electrodes all over my chest and back and hooked me up to an ekg machine. I think this was mostly a precaution to make sure that if I stroked out suddenly there would be alarms going off.
This was about three weeks before I ended up in the hospital. 270lbs, diabetes out of control but I never missed an opportunity to drink to make myself feel “better”.
I then sat in a hallway for another hour or so before I was given a bed in the ER. While we were waiting, there was a severely intoxicated man that was screaming and threatening the staff. They eventually had to strap him to his bed to prevent him from getting up. Over the course of a couple of hours we listened to him rant, rave, threaten and he eventually relieved himself on the floor.
He finally seemed to pass out after what I assume was his wife said she was leaving him there and would be back later. Many hours later I saw them both walk out of the ER. I have wondered many times what happened to them. Did he get help? Was he still drinking and causing scenes? Was he dead?
I remember at the time thinking that at least I wasn’t that bad, even though I was there for the exact same reason, just different circumstances. To be in such denial like that is not lost on me now, but at the time I still thought I’d be out of the hospital in a day or two and back to business as usual.
At some point the attending ER physician on staff stopped by. This was around three or so in the morning. English was not his first language, but I clearly remember him asking me if I smoked to which I said no. He then asked if I drank and before I had a chance to respond my wife scoffed and said, “He drinks everyday. A lot everyday.”
Hearing her say that out loud broke me. The wave of shame and the memories of past shitty behavior and now sitting here for hours in the ER, it was just all too much. I swallowed the lump in my throat and managed to affirm or nod when she said that, and the Doctor said, “Not good. You need to stop.”
Of course he was right but all I could hear was my wife’s voice: “He drinks everyday. A LOT EVERYDAY!” This was my human, the woman whom I pledged my loyalty to, over 34 years ago. Somehow I had allowed alcohol to push my wife away and the pain of that realization should have been enough to make me reevaluate my choices.
⸻
Denial and Realization
You would think that at that point I would be all in on quitting, but that wasn’t the case. Even then I thought I would moderate and cut down dramatically, but I had no intention of quitting.
I was a success. My daughters were amazing young women making their way in the world and I had been married almost 35 years. I had a great job, we took vacations, we have a 401k (underfunded like most people but we have one!) and I was checking all of the boxes of a normal middle-class life.
I deserved to drink really good wine and expensive whiskies. I also deserved to go out after work and drink martinis and then drive home. I was the one traveling around the world working my ass off and providing for the family. If I wanted to “relax” with a good drink or ten it was my prerogative and no one had the right to tell me otherwise.
In other words, I was a self-centered, egotistical, insensitive asshole. Everything that I despised in other men, I failed to see in myself. I have to be careful not to dwell on this and to have compassion and grace for that man, otherwise it can spin me out into a full on depression.
He was a magnificent manager of all of the things that provided a safe life. He protected me from dealing or thinking about some of the hard truths of my life, especially my formative years. He also had to sit down now if I was going to have any shot of a quality of life going forward. But he wasn’t ready yet to give up control.
We spent the next six hours in the ER but at least I now had a bed and the endless rounds of antibiotics had begun. Every couple of hours a new IV bag was switched out and more antibiotics were being administered, along with a ton of saline. They were also poking and prodding me regularly and taking tons of blood for the million tests they were running.
I believe around 9 or 10am a bed finally became available in the hospital upstairs. In what I can only think was some sort of divine providence I had a private room with its own bathroom. Just a side note: getting to the bathroom with an IV in and a foot that I couldn’t put weight on was quite the adventure!
It was that day that I ordered This Naked Mind, by Annie Grace, thinking I could read it while there for a few days, learn the secret to moderation and poof, all better! Yes, I was still in full denial.
Late that afternoon the wound specialist/surgeon arrived. She examined me and basically said they would need to do surgery the next day to remove my toe. To say that I was stunned would be an understatement. I assumed, even at this point, that I would get some IV antibiotics for a day or two, the toe would begin to heal and I would get back to my life.
She went on to explain that they would do an MRI to make sure that the infection hadn’t reached the bones in my leg, otherwise I could be looking at losing my right foot. Wait… what the hell is she saying? Amputation of my toe and possibly my foot? How was this even possible?
Even then I wasn’t ready to admit I had a problem. That is how fucked up alcohol is. It had taken over all aspects of my life and I truly believed I needed it — to celebrate, to commiserate, to get through tough days, and eventually, to get through virtually every day.
I don’t really believe in rock bottoms per se. I believe instead that we have a series of moments that lead to decisions that will either move us forward, keep us where we are or set us back a few paces.
If I were to point to one moment only, in a series of hundreds, that I knew I had to change, this was it. I remember when my wife and family left after visiting hours I cried for hours. How did I manage to find myself here? Why could I not stop doing this to myself?
Has my wife finally had enough of my crap and will leave me? I also thought that maybe it was just time for me to lay down and let it all go away.
What I did manage to do though was read that book. I devoured it actually over the course of 24 hours. I wasn’t there yet but I started to understand that it was inevitable, based on my behaviors and upbringing, that I would become addicted to this highly addictive substance.
It was the beginning of making some really dramatic changes in my life.
⸻
Family Legacy
I was raised in a family that believes in radical self reliance. Pull yourself up by the boot straps folk that don’t ask for help unless absolutely necessary. It is motivation by guilt and shame. Don’t be those people who all they do is complain. Certainly, do not have a problem like drinking too much or being a drug addict. What kind of loser would find themselves with a problem like that? Clearly someone with a character flaw.
Meanwhile, my grandfather died in his early 60’s, no doubt from alcoholism. Stories of him throwing up in the kitchen sink after drinking too much were the stuff of hearty laughter in my house.
My aunt died in her sleep at 60. She was a heavy smoker and drank heavily. She would routinely get drunk at family gatherings, most notably on Thanksgiving when she burned the food and couldn’t make it out of bed when we arrived.
I have a cousin who died in a hotel room after overdosing and another who became wheelchair bound and died a couple of years ago from alcohol and drug abuse. Neither of them even saw their 60th birthday.
My mother, who really doesn’t drink much now because of age and health, used wine as a nightly salve for decades for all that was wrong in her world. I also recently found out that my bio Dad, who I never met (that is its own story for another day perhaps), who died young, was a heroin addicted alcoholic who they found dead in his truck in the middle of the desert in California.
My point in all of this is that the deck was already stacked for me. I learned early that alcohol was the answer to all of life’s ups and downs. Don’t ask for help if you are feeling overwhelmed or depressed. Instead make that gin and tonic or open that bottle of wine and act like all is right in the world.
Don’t be a loser by not manning up and taking care of your business. Don’t talk about being afraid or anxious. Who has time for that when you should be worried about the next promotion or the better car or the better place to live.
⸻
Recovery and the Work Ahead
I got out of the hospital, the most miserable 6 days of my life without a right toe, with crutches and totally reliant on my wife, family and friends. This was uncomfortable to say the least for someone who hates to ask for help with anything.
I had to wrap both my right arm, where I had a permanent IV line for 24 hour antibiotics for the next 8 weeks, and my right foot whenever I wanted to shower. I needed my wife to help me wash my body and dry off. The dressing on the wound needed to be changed every day.
I did have a home health nurse that came every few days for a while but on the days she wasn’t there the wound needed to be dressed. It was really a disgusting wound and my wife didn’t have the stomach for it and I couldn’t do it myself. Thankfully I have a great neighbor who offered to help.
I slowly started to recover. I didn’t drink but was clearly white knuckling it for months. I remember talking to my wife and telling her that I was going to only drink on occasion. She pressed me to define what that meant and I really couldn’t tell her, just that I knew I had to moderate.
I had a few here and there around May/June but never too much. But then July 4th arrived.
My neighbors asked if we wanted to watch fireworks and drink wine on their driveway for the 4th. Sounded like a plan to me as I had the next few days off.
I started that morning with Bloody Mary’s, yes plural. It was the 4th, time to celebrate! I had been really watching what I ate, limiting carbs and was doing ok with reducing my alcohol intake so I had lost about 20 pounds by then so felt pretty good about myself. Let’s party!
By the time I stumbled home I was hammered. I had been drinking all day and the wine put me over the edge. My wife didn’t say anything that night but I could tell she was not happy.
It was just about a week later on that I had my ah ha moment. I’d like to say that it was a great revelation that I needed to stop but it was another drunken moment. We had people over for a party and by the end of the night I was drunk.
I don’t remember the exact details but I got into it with my wife and she basically said she couldn’t believe that it was all going to go back to the way it had been. How could I not understand that I was slowly killing myself?
I got defensive and we had words. She went to bed and I sat on the couch and realized I needed help. I went into the room and for the first time in my life I actually said the words out loud to her: I have a problem with alcohol and I don’t know what to do but I need help.
It was within a week or so that I found the online community for the book I had read, This Naked Mind, in the hospital and I quickly joined. I also created a new Instagram account and started following a ton of alcohol free accounts.
I started to see a therapist once a week around this time too. I reached out to some online AA resources and then got what seemed like 8 million direct messages about meetings and sponsors and “The Big Book.” I even attended an online AA meeting. It was not for me.
I have the utmost respect and appreciation for AA. It has saved millions of people from a life of misery and death but it never resonated with me. I hate the idea of being powerless and while I am a highly spiritual person the whole God approach also didn’t sit well with me.
When I found out that This Naked Mind had a year long program I was intrigued, if a bit skeptical. Even after I decided to sign up I still remember doing the math in my head about how much money this organization must be making every month based on the amount of people!
Ultimately the money didn’t matter. It has been brutal at times and there are some days that I still want to give up. The work I am doing with my therapist has been the toughest part. It has also given me insight into how I tick and why I do some of the things I do.
I wish that the depression that has come with it wasn’t part of the process but I also know now there are no short cuts. If you want a truly happy life you are responsible for it. No one else except you. Only you can do the work needed to heal yourself.
⸻
Today
I took my last drink on July 11, 2023, a little over two years ago. They have been the most amazing and difficult months of my life and I wouldn’t change a thing.
Yes, there has been depression off and on through it all. But there have been some of the most sublime, deeply connected and joyous moments of my life too. I have met so many amazing people on this journey that have transformed my life.
My community with others who are walking this path of recovery has been a cornerstone of these past couple of years and will be for as long as I live. I feel truly blessed to call them my friends.
I look back at the guy who I was when this journey started and I don’t recognize him. I am vulnerable, emotional, empathetic and open to all that life has to offer me now. All of the good and all of the bad.
I now let those emotions come and I feel all of them. It isn’t always easy, especially when my depression comes for a visit. The difference now is I choose to allow them instead of tamping them down with alcohol or work.
Living life on life’s terms has given me my true self back. Stopping drinking, while the hardest thing I’ve ever done, began the journey back to myself. My guess is that journey will never end and I’m ok with that.