As mentioned in the post, The Pack Rat , I dug out my old journals from the beginning of my sobriety. They were tucked away in my filing cabinet which I haven’t opened since I moved here in July. I have a notepad dated, “12/1 – 12/28”. During my rereading and transcribing, I had to take breaks of crying and deep breathing. I just learned that parts of my story I have told for years are a little off – oh well. It is my hope this helps people of all kinds dealing with addiction or someone they know with addiction. This is the raw, unedited truth of what goes on in a person’s head of an active addict.
Now I have to admit something. The first four days, which I spent in detox, I don’t remember much at all because I was doped on Valium. Now, I have to bring up a point. Alcohol is the only substance in which you can die as a result of withdrawal symptoms. This argument, which I have had with countless others, is something I will perhaps share later. The point is my tremors were so bad and the concern of more harm to my body so great I was given “drugs” during the withdrawal process. Therefore, this whole entry was actually written on the first day of my stay in rehabilitation.
Friday, November 31st to Saturday, December 1, 2007
The Hardest Day of my Life
One of the hardest days of my life. Woke up at 3a.m. cracking open a beer or maybe it was six. My mind started to wander. Thousand thoughts going through my head. Can’t recall everything it was so fast.
** blank for three hours **
At 1pm I had my last beer. Something snapped, I’m not going to Gary’s. I’ll just make coffee. As soon as that first gulp goes down and smoking a pack of cigarettes in the process I was going to ask Gary for a beer. But my first intuition strongly told me, “No!”. I kept my word.
Than later in the afternoon I thought about what I called, bad thoughts. I had no intention of killing myself physically but images of, “What is going to happen now? Will I lose everything: my home, possessions and family [written almost unreadable].” Unconsciously I thought, “It doesn’t matter ‘cus no one cares.”
So I made the decision to start smoking cigarettes and drinking coffee. The tremors started to get extreme. I couldn’t think straight. Moox swings from one extreme to another. Absolute balling to extreme anger. Tasha wasn’t much help as she was in heat. I was going to wait until 8 or 9 am to Gary for a rid. But at this point I was afraid that if I did anything I would snap into some unconscious alter ego. If done, with thoughts of “wanting everything to end.”
** Sleep – Valium kicking in . . . ***
But wasn’t again it was something consciously I was thinking it was my fear that subconsciously something was going to happen. Because if I snapped, did something to harm myself, no one really cared and days later when my body was rotting in my trailer.
At this point I had drank another five cups of coffee, smoked another pack of cigs and the nerves were on edge. At times I would walk around the house in my underwear trembling until I could repress the emotions. Another breaking point coming…
The thing holding me from calling 911 was Tasha. She’s in heat and she annoyed the hell out of me. Licking my feet, smuggling next to besides my body and the keyboard. The instant yapping put me in a rage. I would shoo her off the bd, she would return up above my head. I wanted to punch the wall or throw a book at her. Two hours later went by she got the hint and slept somewhere. Meanwhile, I crawled into a fetal passion [position] for two hours try[ing] to fixate myself on something to clear my head. Bad thoughts again.
[Middle of the night, December 1 . . .]
I talked to Jeanne. After a long conversation with her she got quite concerned. She demanded I call 911 or ask the neighbor to drive me. She was very worried to let me go but had to go to sleep herself.
Two hours went by…
I wasn’t going to call 911 for EMS or cops. Confidentiality my ass. Before I was an EMS member, confidentiality has non-existent. Nor has I wanting to get Gary. He’s an alcoholic too and I know he would gossip. Bad thoughts, shaking, mood swings from right to left. I didn’t know who [how] much I could take.
Jeanne was going to call CCP at Binghamton General. But she had other priorities too. So at least by [???]
I still couldn’t concentrate. I ended up watching TV on the internet to pass time. Coffee got cold, I was change [chain] smoking.
Laster that morning Jeanette called back. After just a few moments, she said she felt that I was much worse and was very concerned for my safety. She was going to call CCP Bing because I had other criminal concerns. Mood swing. If I incriminated myself what would happen. She said not to say a word but she wasn’t sure. She asked for my address. She would call CCP and get back to me. I expected a case worker or EMS and cops to show up. I started cleaning my pigsty.
Behold a cop I meant before showed up at 1100. We talked for an hour or so. He contested that he didn’t feel leaving me alone was going to be a good idea, so he was going to drive me to Binghamton General. On the way there all I could think about was my arrest for DUI. Also, “What am I doing? I have literally no life. Tasha, WTF?” He didn’t say a word the whole way. He directed me to ER. I was met by an ER male nurse.
He took prelim info. I was a crazy caze [? – hot mess?]. I couldn’t clearly explain but after some talking I was called down. Than the admin clerk that was quick. Maybe fifteen minutes later I was in the ER. No question I was going to Detox unit. I was lead to a room. Nice – three patients and just me present. It’s cold as hell in the ER.
I was at the ER at 1:15pm. As usual I was left to my own thoughts, not good ones. Mood experiences. I would ball about crying. I could return, what about Tasha. The trl (trailer) I could care less about. I thought of moving to some state to start over. At pts [points] I would stare at the walls to keep sane. I had mixed reactions – bell would go off and I wanted to punch the wall. Other balling moments. At one point luckily when the detox guy came in I was a mess again. Flight or fight mood. My hands were clinched. I had a thought $4 in my pocket, I don’t know where I am, I didn’t know where I was but I could get a beer, find a store and get run over and I wouldn’t care. He confirmed I was getting a bed and admitted.
By this time it was six. Still in street clothes. I was given a prelim physical and the history assessment. Dinner at seven. I was in bed by at [8 pm ?] but woken up 2-3 hours for stats and meds.
Good night.
The Wandering Enigma 