Drunk and Effect.

'Sober or Die."

Does that statement seem like overkill to some of you? Then perhaps you are what we addicts / alcholics affectionately call "Norms, Normies, etc."  Normal people who can drink or use substances socially and with impunity. The statement "Sober or die" would seem dramatic I guess, if you hadn't hit bottom after bottom always saying never, ever again would you go so low, ( never ever say never ever) wake up in that puddle of vomit in strange dark places after urinating on yourself...

One such place for me was in a Chevy express van on a hot summer morning in Phoenix AZ. I awoke from my stupor to a stench of what I would soon find out was a unpleasant mixture of whiskey, sweat, vomit (my own), and urine (also my own) With the outside temp a steady 110 degrees, making it god knows what inside the cab of the van, but I was certain I had indeed died and gone to my rightful place in one of the lowest levels of Hell. Vision still blurry, my head.... oh fuck. My head throbbing to the point where Hell seemed like the better choice at this junction. I opened a door, fell out of the van, the Arizona sun rays searing my retinas, the hot pavement searing my feet, of course I wasn't wearing shoes. I quickly hopped across the pavement realizing I was outside of my friend / business partner / pseudo roommates apartment where I usually slept on his couch.

Upon stumbling inside, he was making breakfast and coffee. Another set of smells that made my nauseous body want to puke. Apparently I had no known bodily fluids left to do so with. I dry heaved for awhile instead, threw my whithering, dying soul in the shower and tried to keep the room from spinning and not watch the water whirl pool down the drain as I laid my head against the wall. Why, oh why do I end up this way every time I try to socially drink? I came out of the bathroom, exclaiming to my co-hort, "Why the Hell would you leave me all night inside the van in the middle of summer!? I could have died in there...."


I was then de-briefed on the chaos of the previous night from those who witnessed it first hand, my two long time friends, including my then roommate and my then tattoo artist whom had never had the pleasure of going out for drinks with me explained my path of destruction.  I was more worried about being left in the hot sauna of a van, not how I came to be passed out there... for me, that seemed pretty standard. But. "I could have died in there." was my first response, not at all worried about the back story and the rest of the times I almost died that night. It could have been any the following reasons...

A) I could have died when I grabbed a girls ass at the bar in front of her huge, roided out, Affliction shirt wearing boyfriend. When he got in my face to ask if I had in fact grabbed his womans ass, I of course lied and said "Dude, I would never grab a girls ass with a boyfriend as big and strong as you apparently are, that would be suicidal." He bought it, until I grabbed it again, and that's when the near fight ensued... Luckily my friends and some not so friendly bouncers grabbed me and put me outside where I would be safe.

B) Once outside we waited for a cab to go to a concert or some event I don't remember. I really had to urinate at this point. Badly. I asked the nice bouncers if I could go back inside of their fine establishment to use the restroom, to which they replied "Come one foot inside this door and we will tear your arms off and beat you with them." Guess I will go with plan B... Which was, "I will show them (along with 20-30 people standing to get into the bar) by pissing my pants, right on this street corner." So, I did that. A dark stream of urine soaked my jeans from my crotchal region down my left pant leg and into my shoe. I felt so much better, girls were pointing and laughing, but I was relieved.

C) About this time our cab arrived to pick us up. My two friends were arguing over who would sit in the front seat, something about not wanting to sit by piss pants guy... I logically wanted to sit on the left rear seat so I could hopefully put my shoe and leg out the window.  I asked the cabbie to roll down my window, after which he obliged, I attempted to dry my piss pants out in the hot, desert air.. When the cabbie asked why I had my leg out the window, and I exclaimed that I was merely trying to dry out my urine soaked jeans, he immediately hit the brakes, pulling over to throw us out, yelling something about how I needed to "dry out."

D) I really don't recall the next couple of bars, but most ended up the same way, getting thrown out for my shenanigans, but the last thing I do remember is running outside into the gravel / cactus garden beside a Rockabilly bar that my tattoo artist claimed it would be near impossible for me to get 86'ed from... before I could test that theory out, the multitudes of whiskey I had been consuming decided to exit the building and exit my body.. out the way it came.  I was on my hands and knees, in the rocks, violently spewing and then spinning. I somehow found the van and crawled inside the back, where I would stay until the following blistering morning. And this was all before midnight.

I was never too concerned with the effect I caused on others while consumed with alcohol. My only concern was that I liked, I mean really liked the effect that alcohol & drugs had over me. The escape granted from my perceived reality, the windows open to not being my normal self for awhile. I figured that out as a teenager. I  have been running away from reality and / or chasing the chance to be somebody else ever since.  To the point you don't know who you even are without a buzz. Being fucked up was my identity. Getting loaded was the norm, hanging out with other people that got loaded the same way was S.O.P. 

I am not writing to tell of an awesomely bad drinking story as much as I am here to say that I am starting to get it... to understand this disease and that yes.. I am a alcholic. You see, this night I just referenced was circa 2009 ish. I was out there doing this for years before and years after and anyone of those nights could have been my last. So if I want to live, my motto has to be "Sober or Die"