Part Three
Tiny Lies and The Myths We Live By
It was the look on her face when I came home. I don’t think I’d ever really seen it before. Perhaps I had witnessed semblances of various expressions when I avoided her eye contact previously. But this time it just felt very different.
There it was, all over her body language - a mix of anger, sadness, defeat, and disbelief. There at the foot of the bed lying next to her were about 8 or 9 empty liquor bottles that I had been hiding and accumulating over the past week.
I had intended to conceal them in the trash, bury them deep inside a bag of garbage and hurriedly whisk them out to the sidewalk when the time was right – like I had done every week.
But this time it was too late.
I looked across the room behind her. I couldn’t help it. I knew my hiding place had been found. My drawers were spilled open with clothes across the floor. Best if you spread those bottles out over 2-3 drawers under clothing, I thought, and then under a piece of cardboard that I had cut out to resemble the base.
I didn’t ask how or why she had begun such a thorough search.
My heart sank because I knew this was just the beginning. There was more to come.
“What the fuck David?” My wife just stared at me. Mouth and eyes wide open. I had told her that I had given up drinking weeks ago. I don’t know how many times I had promised that. I had also told her that I been seeing the therapist every week that she had been paying for. But I had been skipping that…
Right, that’s how I was found out – I think.
What she didn’t know is that I had just bought drugs again before arriving home. My hands gripped around the bag in my pocket. And I had also been drinking since 8 am in the morning. My first drink before I stepped out the door to work.
“Oh my god,” I said pointing at the bottles. “Those are so old. I forgot to throw them out weeks ago.” I lied. I lied so hard I almost flinched from the futility of the words. But this time it wasn’t going to work.
She threw the cigarette packet at me. The one I had filled with pills and other bags of chemicals. The one I had hidden behind the top drawer.
“You know what…” She stopped and breathed a heaving breath. “You give zero fucks about me David!” Her eyes welling up with tears. “You give fucking zero fucks!”
“And so, there it was. And it still hurts today to remember these moments. Because at my lowest points I always found myself lying to my loved ones.
”
As far as regrets go, when I look back, I hardly ever cringe at the dangers I caused myself – the near-death experiences from consuming far too much, the blackouts, and the mysterious injuries. The moments that haunt me the most are the lies. The deceptions I manufactured for the people around me. People who took the time to care about me. I would draw them in, use them and they would eventually leave.
But that’s what I had come to believe was normal. In my 20 years of drinking I was always known as that “guy” – you know the party guy who could really push out the boat when it came to chemicals. And because of all that attention, and exuberance from onlookers, I always loved taking it too far.
It was when it came time to be around the people I loved, in any meaningful way, that things began to unravel. Without alcohol or drugs, I just couldn’t make the connection. I just couldn’t tell the truth to the people in my life that mattered.
I had a feeling that things were getting bad. Deep down. For years.
But when my wife left me (not just my first one, but my second wife also), and when I spent most of my time apologizing to the people around me that walked away, I still had to justify my behavior somehow – especially to the man in the mirror. And the narrative I spoke changed to suit the hour: “People just don’t understand me.” “I was born this way.” “They’re just too uptight.” “They don’t understand what it means to really live a fun life like I do.”
Yes, the myth I told myself every day was: drinking and drugs was about living. In order to live a life of grit and meaning, I had to be gloriously damaged and inebriated. Cause ya see, everything else was beige and prosaic.
And I was still the life of the party.
Twenty years of this! Twenty years of lies becoming increasingly deeper and more complex.
“Small periods of sobriety in between, was always counterbalanced by the furious leaps back into chemicals. And those leaps always began with the smaller lies.”
Here’s some for the drinker:
“I’ve been sober for a couple of weeks, surely I can manage my drinking now.”
“I need alcohol to be fun and have fun.”
“My peers are drinking, and they seem to have their lives in order.”
“Drinking is my freedom.”
“That’s what adults do.”
“If I buy expensive wine, or whiskey then I am not an alcoholic.”
“I need relief at the end of a hard-working day. I deserve this.”
“I have always drunk. That’s just who I am.”
“Drinking helps my anxiety.”
“I can network better for my career when I drink with my colleagues.”
“I can talk to women when I drink.”
“All creatives are damaged alcoholic and drug addicts.”
Eventually, I brought the drugs on board to help me keep drinking when I started to get tired after the long drinking sessions. And eventually, I always made sure I had enough speed or cocaine lying around in the morning for breakfast. Which usually involved: two lines and a half a coffee mug of bourbon before a shower.
So yeah. It’s the lies that I got sick and tired of more than anything else. I just couldn’t keep up with them. And as I watched my wife, and dog leave one morning on the pretense that she was visiting family, I even lied to myself then: “she still loves me.”
Looking back now, and that was the last time I saw her, what I really saw in her eyes through the window of a taxicab, was the look of grief… not love.
It’s usually about now that I write something positive or inspirational to urge you on. But I know, that if you have been reading this and are in the midst of chemical dependency, then you’ve already been nodding along. You may know similar stories or at least those feelings that you’re going to crumble under the guilt and shame of it all, only to find a way back out through the bottle or bag. You tell yourself tiny lies, just enough to make it all okay again. I know!
So, I say to you now: the two hardest things about recovery are probably: 1) Honesty. Take a good hard look at yourself sober. It ain’t easy. It’s actually painful. But I can guarantee you will grow as a human – maybe even become something like an adult – because of it.
The second hardest thing is (2) Forgiveness. Not someone else, but yourself. You gotta find a way to deal with your past and move on. Because if you keep lying just to be able to live with yourself, those lies will always lead back to the bottle. I kid you not.
The best way to find your way through is by talking to other alcoholics and addicts. And the best way to do that is to find a community. Go to a local AA (Alcoholics Anonymous) or NA (Narcotics Anonymous) meeting, or if you’re too scared of that, then please visit your local AOD (Alcohol or Other Drugs) centre. Most medical centres or hospitals provide these services – even in small tiny towns. But you will need to see a doctor for a referral.
When you talk to other chemical dependents you get to hear their stories and their struggles. You will hear about heartbreak, loss, illness, and eventual redemption. And yes, you will get to hear about how they tried and failed to manage an unmanageable life through deception.
So, I have got nothing inspiring to offer you this time. Just to say that recovery is hard work. Ewwww. But today – almost 5 years sober - I am living the life beyond my own expectations and every day there are new challenges. But my worst day sober is still far better than my best day drunk. Because today, I didn’t hurt anybody. And for that, I am truly grateful.
Written By - David James.