You Must Do It for Yourself
It is the key to lasting recovery. I did it…and you can too.
As I've shown, others can certainly help you along the way. Trust that you will be as fortunate as I was when it comes to the right people crossing paths with yours at just the right time. And, when they happen into your life, accept their help and caring with gratitude and humbleness.
But, don't kid yourself, the will to quit drinking must come from within yourself. The ultimate decision-maker on whether you live your life without drinking is you. No amount of cajoling, encouraging, or threatening by others will get you to take control of your life again.
The threat of losing your marriage, losing your job, even getting locked up - you name the threat – it won't be enough to do it.
You have to quit...for you.
Where to start?
Yes, it's true that I haven't touched it since my (at the time) ex-wife held my hands, looked deep into my eyes, and said "except for what you can't." That was the spark that finally kicked the engine. I made the decision at that moment to finally live my life without alcohol.
But, I made it for her; not me.
To be successful for the rest of my life, I had to quit drinking for me. Not for my ex-wife, my kids, my boss, parents, therapist or anyone else.
It had to be for me.
With that in mind, let's go back to the early afternoon when I found myself alone and forlorn in a dump of a motel, wondering about life, dreaming about lost love, and wishing I could disappear. ...
When I was taking stock of my life in the dumpy "motel" room on the Saturday before Labor Day, it was hard not to compare it to where I'd been for the past several years. The beat-up and worn-out motel that I'd been referred to by a nicer place in town (no vacancy anywhere) offered to rent me a long out-of-commission-room, but only after I checked it out first. The front desk clerk warned me it was "old and un-rentable" but she assured me it was clean. It was my only option within two hundred miles, and no doubt would be better than sleeping in my car.
The airless and dark room, smelling of years of cigarettes and spilled beer, was crushingly dismal - a worn vinyl floor, ragged drapes that had faded with time, a shower curtain for the bathroom door, and the bathtub was so narrow I wouldn't fit in unless I raised my arms over my head. Placed next to the bed were a couple of cheap white plastic chairs and over in the corner was an ancient television. But, as promised, the room was clean as a whistle. Grateful to have found a room at all, I took it for two nights.
As I sat in one of the wobbly chairs staring at the liquor store across the street through the open door of my motel room, four things went through my mind. I remember them vividly:
One...
Both this room and myself have seen far better days. No amount of redecorating the room is going to ever help it. Someday, when this old motel is bulldozed to make room for a shiny new hotel, not a tear will be shed. As for me... I have a chance to remake myself. I've taken those first steps and proven to my family, my doctor and my therapist that I can do it. Now...I have to step out and prove it to myself. I know I have the desire - but do I have the fortitude? Damn it - I've wasted how many years? But, I'm only forty four years old - God willing I have a second half of my life to live... I'm not going to do it by living in a damn bottle. Yes - I can (and must) do this...
Two...
That rolled into (uh oh): I've just gone four months without a drop of bourbon - I deserve a celebratory drink. Just one. That's not going to hurt anything. I mean, come-on...I've gone four months without a drop. I can have one drink, right? Just one while I sit here and contemplate what I'm going to do next with my life, now that I'm effectively unemployed (my contract was over).
Three...
That rolled into (oh god, no - please… god, no…. no, no no…): I'm forty four bleeping years old; my checking account is empty, I'm unemployed, divorced, my kids don't want to spend time with me, and I'm renting a room in my parent's basement. What the hell- walk over to the package store right now, buy a BIG bottle of bourbon, a six pack of Coke, and just get plastered. Hole up in this shit-hole of a motel and stay drunk for a few days- then sober up, drive down to Albuquerque and fly on home. My life - what there is of it, absolutely sucks. Walk over to the package store, right now...nobody but me will ever know. Go on- get the good stuff, a big bottle of Jack Daniel's and get hammered...
Four...
And....that rolled into (whew... anger; gradually evolving into determination and self-affirmation)...WTF am I thinking? I'm coming around from years of self-inflicted hard times and I'm beginning to make something of myself again. Did I spend the last four months staying sober for nothing? I did a great job over the summer and I have a real shot at picking up a new contract when I get home, all my bills are paid with enough left over for a helluva vacation, and - most importantly - I feel really good about myself. I mean - really good.
So, did I do it all for nothing? Oh, HELL NO.
Was it hard? At times, almost impossible.
Was it worth it? Absolutely.
Are there going to be more times when it's hard as hell? Not any harder than it already has been.
And, by God- I stayed sober these last four months by myself.
So...
A New Llife...
Would I throw away how far I'd come and return to where I'd been? I had a week to myself - nobody but me would ever know.
No. No, I would not. I purposely walked past the package store with the flashing neon beer signs across the street and kept walking until I came to a green space along the Animas River - the water glistening like diamonds in the mid-afternoon sun. I did this for me...
It was at that moment that I made the decision to live a sober life for me, not for my ex-wife, my children, my parents, my boss, or anyone else.
Good things may or may not follow. But, I knew if I walked over to the package store and returned to my dark and desolate room, nothing good would have come of it.
Watching the train roll by with dozens of little kids waving at me while I waved back with tears streaming down my face...life just couldn't have been better than it was at that moment.
As it turned out, my time in Durango, the run-down motel, and the Durango and Silverton Narrow Gauge Railroad became my salvation. I spent the rest of that afternoon and evening wandering the streets of Durango, simply enjoying my own company. I felt grateful for deciding to remain sober that afternoon and just grateful to be.
The next day, I rode the train to Silverton and back. Ironically, my open-air car was filled with Harley Davidson bikers who were drinking throughout the journey. They generously offered me their flasks at the beginning of the trip, and I explained the path I was on. I wasn't sure how they would react, but they completely respected my efforts to get my life in order, and no further mention was made of my sobriety (though they continued to drink). When we arrived in Silverton, they invited me to hang out with them, which I did. As we left the train station later that afternoon, one of the bikers removed the Durango baseball cap he'd bought that morning and placed it on my head, saying, "I'm glad our paths crossed - stay true to yours, and I hope the second half of your life is a blessed one." Then he and his wife, both Harley Davidson riders with tears in their eyes, gave me a hug.
That evening, I spent my second night in the same shabby motel room (wearing the baseball cap) before continuing my journey the following morning.
I began the weekend in Durango feeling alone, dejected, and doing my best not to cry.
However, that weekend, including the rundown motel, wandering aimlessly around an unfamiliar town for hours by myself, and the picturesque train ride from Durango to Silverton and back with the half-drunken bikers - those two days unexpectedly became the greatest weekend of my life.
It marked the beginning of the second half of my life. An extraordinary opportunity that is filled with faith, family, love, hope and purpose. One that I am eternally grateful for.