Alcoholism @ MindSay

Egads... I've come to discover that my stomach can't handle a day without rum anymore. I go a whole day (especially a rough, hard working sort of day) without rum and it begins to rumble accompanied by a few waves of nausea until I finally give in and pour myself a nice, tall glass.
Is this a sign of alcoholism? Mayhap, and as bad as it sounds... I'm to lazy to go digging around the information superhighway at the moment for the answers.
Maybe after a drink... HA!  Heheh, ehhh, maybe not that funny.

Today is my brother Hector's birthday, he's 48 years old and, at least for today, he is sober.  My brother is an alcoholic.  Generally, he is usually drunk rather than sober, but he has been trying harder to attend his AA meetings and there are briefs periods of time where he is the lovable, goofy brother that I remember from my childhood and not the lonely, depressed alcoholic man that I often see.  I like to imagine an alternate reality where my brother got the help he needed early on to deal with his depression (which I believe is the underlying cause for his alcoholism) and that instead of being a 48 year old man still living with our mother and unable to find a job, instead he is happily married to a wonderful woman who appreciates his sensitive artistic side and they have 2 kids and live in a cute little cottage where my brother makes a living as an artist. 

My brother had the cards stacked against him from the beginning.  I believe he had an undiagnosed reading disorder, and at the time he attended school, children just weren't given the help they needed.  They were called slow learners by the teachers, and stupid by the other kids.  The one thing that seemed to save my brother then was his out-going personality (he could make anyone laugh) and his artistic ability, so he had a lot of friends and he was generally well liked.  His teachers continued to promote him to the next grade up, so by the time he made it to high school he was functionally illiterate. 

I'm 9 years younger than my brother, I recall one day when he was around 16 and I was 7, and he just started grabbing books from a bookshelf and he handed them to me and just asked me to start reading.  I read through all of them, and I looked up at him when I was done, and though he never actually cried his eyes looked watery.  He smiled at me, and said he was very proud of me, and that he was so happy to know I was so smart and that I would never have to hear anyone tell me I was stupid.  I was too young to fully comprehend what was going on, but I just knew that I felt sad for him and that I loved him. 

One thing that made me proud of him though was his artwork.  Everyone that saw his work was in awe of his talent.  He could draw anything.  He loved drawing cars and I remember the designs he came up with seemed so futuristic and out of this world, but he was a visionary, because I see a lot of what he drew on the cars that are out today.  He also loved creating bizarre monsters and creatures.  The kind of stuff that you see on heavy metal albums and fantasy books, but his stuff was so much better.  But because of his reading problem he had little to no confidence in any of his abilities and he would always say, "I can't draw for a living, I can't even read, who would want my artwork."  He just didn't have enough faith in himself, regardless of what anyone told him. 

The real turning point in my brother's life happened on his 21st birthday.  He was going out for the night with his best friend Ray.  Ray was a great guy; handsome, sweet, a little shy and he was a good friend to my brother.  I think how the story goes, is that they were suppose to meet up with their other friends later that night, and in the meantime they decided they wanted to score some weed for the evening.  They walked around the corner to the local gang hangout (we lived in a real crappy neighborhood, but my brother and none of his friends were in any gangs) to buy some stuff.  They knew the guys in the gang well enough to stick around for a bit to bullshit and stuff, which is what they were doing when it happened.  A rival gang pulled up and did a driveby shooting.  Hector was fine.  Ray died in my brothers arms.  My brother has never recovered from that night, and I think in so many ways a big part of my brother's spirit died that day too. 

I mean he went on with life, as best he could.  He held a good job for many years, went out with his friends, enjoyed his art hobby, but he didn't date much and he often came home from work and planted himself in front of the tv and drank beer until it was time to go to sleep.  If anyone questioned him about his drinking he's always say the same thing, "As long as I can hold a job down, and can still draw, then what does it matter how much I drink."  Then one day he lost his job, it was the 80's and factory layoffs were commonplace.  His drinking increased, his depression became evident and his life just never turned around after that. 

I wish I could end this by saying things are great for him now, that he's in recovery and making progress, but I really can't give you that happy ending.  I'd love for my brother to make it to full recovery and stay sober for an extended period of time, but the odds are very much against him.  The day of his birthday is usually the hardest day for him to make it through without a drink, I can't recall a birthday were he wasn't drunk.  I'm not a praying type of person, but today I am praying, hoping, thinking, wanting that my brother will make it through the day without that drink.  Happy Birthday Hector, I love you.

After our dessert tonight, my Granny and I talked on the topic of addiction over coffee. Smoking was what started us off. I heard the story of her ubrupt and unforseen quitting of smoking. The history of alcoholism in our family was dug deeper into and as I listened I though of the alcoholism on my father's side of the family, too. ...This is all more than I thought.

She told me of one time when my Aunt drank. My Aunt told my Granny that she knew she should never drink again and she told her simply why this was. Both my Aunt and I share the exact same words: "I liked it too much." When I said this myself I though that maybe I was being silly. I thought it wouldn't be understood. In fact, though, it is a feeling, a knowing, shared by at least one other.

I starred down into my half empty cup of coffee, eyes burning with tears, as my Granny spoke of how she felt when she drank and what she thought, in retrospect, it all meant. I remembered myself setting in the back of that old car with empty bottles at my feet, and larger, unoppened bottles beside them. I remembered my serious contemplations of asking if we might open them, too. I remembered the change in my personality when I was intoxicated. I remembered my confidence. I remembered my laugh and my running mouth. I remembered my lust and my comfort. I remembered intensely wanting more, because I loved it. I remembered this all being all there was. I remembered much of this which is so contrary to my true person because my Granny unknowingly reminded me as she spoke of herself, and of my great grandmother. I remembered, mostly, all the times I sat alone in my room thinking, and thinking to myself that I am addicted to this alcohol. An alcoholic? I could feel it. How could that be possible, though? What a disgustingly weak thing to think... unless it was only that I knew. At least, if I am not, I would be.

I have said before that just because something makes sense does not mean it is right or true. I say now too that what is right and true may not make sense. We may not understand how or why... it only is, as we may have to settle to understand it.

Still I question myself in this, but then... so often we say, "do not resign yourself to such dark conclusions! Weak, pitiful, false... ignorant! It is no good. Know better! Know this!: You are mistaken." I only know what is true for me. I have contemplated the possibilites of which I am aware and I fanally do know something. No one can argue me on it: I liked it too much. I do not know if it is in my genes. I do not know if it is purely in my mind. Anyway, it is no matter to me where it is in those respects. What would it benefit me if it was only in my head and I could overcome it? The drink? And then, what that? I am resigning myself to no conclusions as to why I am "addicted" to this this way. I am settling definately only on the one fact I have for myself: alcohol is not for me. I recently began using mouthwash since I have been here visiting my grandparents and even in that I find delight...

Although this may all sound silly and ignorant to some, I know that I am only the fool if I indulge despite knowing this of myself. Other's experiences are what they are, and I have mine, too.

I will leave off with my defense here because I suddenly feel it uncessary and stupid, maybe even contradictory. Let it rest here.

... Why indulge in what you know to be a bad thing?

P.S.

I read this card from the PostSecret blog today and was startled by how easily I could imagine someone I know writing this of me some day...

We did drink alot, & use any drug offered us, as we headed for Oregon. He had some relatives in Bend, so I suppose he thought they would help him. They did not. So, we went north, to Madras OR, & went east to a small town named Metolius, where we got jobs running the small gas station there. Actually, I did most of it, while he was drinking. He always came home mad, & I nearly always got beaten when he got drunk. I never knew over what, he was just a wife beater. Once he came with 2 friends, & I was sitting behind the desk in the gas station, when he lunged for me. Thankfully the 2 guys were there, they stopped him in midair, asking him what I did wrong, what was wrong with him, etc. They took him away. When he came home, I pretended to be asleep, but that didn't matter. He woke me up & raped me, with a fist here & there during the process. Such an angry man, he was. During this time I got a crippled dog, couldn't name him right away. He was half beagle, half poodle, breach born, & crippled, but such a happy little guy, so I got him. One night I took him out for a brisk walk (it was near winter, & snow was soon to fall, & this little guy would take maybe 3 steps, fall, get back up for the next 3 steps, fall, & so on. I made it a short walk, then carried him home. I was so happy with his courage, I got home & said I'm gonna name him Wonder Dog!! I then told him about the walk, like he'd understand courage, he said what's the big deal, he falls all the time, & I said yes, he does, but he GETS UP!! That's what makes him a wonder. He was a cute dog, he liked to chase chickens, who learned in no time, his feet didn't take him where he was looking, so eventually they ignored him, as he flew by them snapping but unable to get them. In the house, you could call him, & he would hit every wall, trying to get to you. I was gonna make him a crash helmet, but as always in this particular marriage, things changed alot, almost constantly. Someone knew someone, & we ended up living in an old hands house (outhouse & all), closer to the street than the main house, who Mike worked with. Well, these idiots installed the hot stove pipe one night, both drunk as a skunk. They mad a small mistake, & there was a gap in the place where the pipes should have come together, so day after day hot embers were going into the walls. Nothing came of that for a few days. Meanwhile, we only had water, no shower, had to go to the main house for baths, & the outhouse had no door, so when I had to go, I just did. There was rarely any traffic until one day, I heard a car. I covered myself, best I could, smiled & waved, hello!!! What else was I supposed to do! Ok, about 3 days had passed, when I took my male cat up to the main house to get neutered, leaving in the cabin, my little Wonder Dog, my siamese cat, my  big dog, & rats left over from having a snake. I was in the cabin, when the woman screamed, "Oh my God, the cabins on fire". I was dressed in snow gear, so it was hard, but I ran & fell all the way to the cabin, looked around, saw Tuffy (the cat) & Sam (the dog), but no Wonder Dog, so I started to run to the door for him, when a huge arm wrapped around me to stop me, & the front window blew out. It was fully engulfed. They asked if I was sure he wasn't just hiding, & I knew he wasn't, he was a good little watch dog. Turns out, the fireman passed his body out the back window & buried him, so I wouldn't see. I'm here to tell you, to watch what little you own go up in smoke like that is a helluva devesating feeling. We had to go stay in the main house, but that didn't last long. A couple days after the fire, a car pulled up, & an old fella was carrying a box he could hardly hold up, so I went out to meet & help him. It was clothes & food, I guess one of the small churches had gotten together for us. I thought that was so sweet, & no one I had ever known ever did anything nice for me, so bless his soul, & those behind him. Well, this woman wouldn't feed her animals if it was snowing, so I would, even in a blizzard, I'd go to the horses that I could barely see, who were trying to reach the hay, & gave them plenty, poor things,no shelter, nothing, then I'd feed the chickens & rabbits in the barn. People shouldn't have animals if they can't take proper care of them. So, off we went to Utah, where his creepy cousin lived. I'll start from there tomorrow. Blessings to all who enter my blog, & to any who benefit from my writings. Love, QuellyQ

Everyday while i listen to music in my room, i think of what it would to be like in differnet situations. Usually situations of my friends inspire me to think up this stories i my head. They are usally about drugs, sex, pregancy, deseases, alcoholism..all that stuff, and what it would be like to be in those situations. If my firends tell me what it was like, it usually gets the stories in my head more involved and in depth. Howver, sometimesw I make up my own randomness in the story. Lately alot of these "stories" have been about alcoholism. Alot of my firends drink on a regular basis, and they tell me what its like. However, im not like them, i don't drink like that. occasionally like ill have some shampain or whatever on special occasions, nothing serious; I don't wnat to develop those kind of habits. Today I put myself in the shoes of a girl that is developing alcoholism. The facts are from firends that have told me about how they felt when they were drunk. I just finsihed writing this story: funny thoiugh, i hardly ever write this stories out. I just think them. So here it is, the stroy I wrote:

It calls to me, beckons me to drink from it. It seems to speak to me, though it has no voice.

“Drink. Gulp it down fast. Get rid of all the pain. There’s no one around to see you.”

Is it talking to me or is it a voice in my mind craving for this amber-coloured liquid? No, it’s definitely my mind. I’ve got to stop being so foolish. But even so, I can’t seem to stop my craving for it. The more I look at it the more I want it. I need to escape this horrible pain and depression.

“Exactly. One night of stupidity won’t do much harm. You’re alone. Know one will know. You always cheer up when you do this.”

Why does this voice keep on talking to me? Where is my brain today? But regardless it makes sense. So here I go. I’m going to drink it.

The amber coloured liquid is much more discussing than suspected. I see the can of pop above me, so I gulp down with it to get rid of the taste. 

Why am I shaking? I can’t calm myself? Aren’t I supposed to be happy?

“You need more to feel happy. One drink doesn’t do anything. Drink some more and it will hit you momentarily.”

Again I listen to that voice. I don’t know what it has down with my morals and sensibility, but I still continue to listen. So I again take a drink both from the glass bottle and the can. I stand up, close the cupboard, and walk from the living room to the kitchen.

Then came the sudden rush.

I sit down. I can’t seem to keep my balance. I’m no longer shaking, but my legs seem to have felt to become much weaker. Somehow those sensations are very amusing to me. I’m no longer overwhelmed with sadness. I’m laughing at everything and nothing and somehow am extremely joyful.

“See I told you.”

Maybe the voice was right. For the first time in the longest time I feel happy. But even though my body has seemed to be affected by this liquid my mind still thinks the same. However, what comes out of my mouth is a different story. And even though I find nothing funny in particular I can’t stop smiling and laughing. But I have to wonder, how long will this happiness last?

“The more you drink, the longer it will last.”

Somehow this voice knows all the answers. This voice seems so wise, and is like a mentor to me. So I go back to the cupboard and take another drink from the bottle, and of course, immediately afterwards washing it down with pop. I close the cupboard, and stand up. This liquid is really starting to have affect on me now. The tipsiness, the laughing, the smiling, all are enhanced. But somehow it’s now starting to have an effect on my mind. No matter what I think of I can’t seem to regain sadness. The things that have been bringing me down for the last while can’t seem to bother me when I’m in this state. This is a miracle drink. No wonder so many people are addicted to it. It all makes sense now. 

“See. If you listen to me all your problems will be resolved.”

“Oh, how right you are voice. But now I must go upstairs; Dad is pulling up in the driveway and before I say something really odd to him I better get away from him.”

“Okay, good plan.”

Now I’m talking to the voice? That’s odd, but that’s ok. Everything in this state does and doesn’t make sense at the same time. But oh well, I’m in my room now so no one will bother me. Its just me and the voice. Dad won’t come up here because it’s so late and he thinks I’m asleep. But now that I mention it, I’m feeling suddenly tired. I felt that sensation right after the tipsiness and happiness come over me. So I’m off to bed now, although it will be hard with the giggling but might be easy because of the sudden tiredness.

And somehow the tiredness overruled everything, and I fell asleep immediately.

Well what do you guys think:)? Like i said, i put myself in alot of situations that im not in, so yea, don't worry about me. This isnt about me. Plz tell me your opinions though, i would love to hear them:) Well I'm out for now, ttyl byes.

-:)Kristal:)