THAT'S NOT ME...

I don't know. As I sit here (on an air mattress, in my friend regi's living room) with my belongings exploding out of a dufflel bag on the floor and the rest of what i own, crammed into the Ford Contour parked outside or in a Public Storage locker out by Burbank Airport, for all intents and purposes homeless and broke, and apparently a soon to be divorced alcaholic, part of me still thinks I just described someone else's sad story. That's not me.

But apparently it is.

Fuck. They say in AA that the first step is admitting we were powerless over alcahol, that our lives had become unmanageable. Well, one out of two...ok, kidding. I don't actually believe that. There is an arrogance not uncommon to newcomers that makes us believe that we can handle all of this ourselves. "Hell what do you mean I'm powerless over this shit. i got three weeks" While I'm still leatning a lot about the why and how of my drinking, my life has become unmanageable.

But it was time to end my drinking career. The blackouts had begun.Strange unnerving things had begun happening involving it. Physically, it had begun to do great damage. All of which began two years ago when my wife decided she could no longer be in the marriage. But, understand, dear reader (you fucker) that my reactions to that are entirely my responsibility.

The blackouts were interesting. After Karen and the girls left and I put my stuff in storage, i found myself staying at the Piersons, housesitting. One night after an evening of drinkling, I drove home and found myself struggling with the keys at the front door in that way one does, getting used to a new location. I got in and went to sleep. I woke in the morning and started to get dressed. I realized I couldn't find my pants. I looked under everything, went through thr house recreating half remembered half imagined scenarios from the night before. No pants, wallet, phone, car keys. I start to get angry. For some reason, I decide to go to the front door and open it. On the stoop, yes, my pants. For some reason, as I stuggled to open the door last night, something told me that I'd do it better pantless.

Horrifed, I dressed quickly trying to stifle the scenarios of the discovery of my episode if my hosts were around rattling around myhead. This was new. And it scared me. As it turned out, not enough.

A few weeks later, I found myself wandering around Universal Studios Jurrasic Parking structure, looking for my car. At one point I shook my head as if waking myself and I realized that I had no idea how i got there and what I had done while I was there. I kept walking every level of that garage which by this time was nearly empty. And again. security drove me around. No car. Which required me to file a stolen car report with the police there, after which I took a cab home, "Home" being another friend's couch. I drove their car to the Oyster House, where I found mine, which raised more questions than it answered. How did I get to universal? Was I alone? What did I do there and before? The best I could verify was that the OH called a cab for me again, which instead of taking me home, for some reason took me to Universal.

Again, deep embarassment. But still my secret.

About a week after that, while driving on the freeway, very suddenly a sharp, headache erupted like a grenade in the center of my head. I grabbed my forehead and said aloud "what the fuck is this??" I had the worst headache of my life for a week and was vomitting contantly. About five days after that on the way out of the OH, I collapsed and once again getting out of the car. I ended up in the emergency room and then admitted to the hospital with a cerebral hemmorrrage and a minor heart attack. I stayed there for a week which I'm told included extensive detox.

While ignoring high blood pressure was the outward culprit it was impossible to ignore the role my drinking played. It was obvious it was time to stop. I broke the news to the OH that they weren't going to need to keep as much Patron in stock anymore (I was never a cheap drunk)

I go to AA. I have a sponsor, but i look in the mirror and no longer reocgnize the person on it. I don't like him. He is a self centered liar. I want to change that.

That's not me.