Larry Siskin knows there are two kinds of alcoholics…and that’s not the start of a bad joke.
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To my knowledge there are two kinds of diagnosed alcoholics, those that never mention it and those that can’t shut up about it. I’m probably the latter, I’ve talked to a lot of people like me, addicts of all kinds. What I’ll try to discuss here is the story of another fall of the wagon. But before that I shall probably explain how history landed me to a rehab to begin with.
I started drinking as a teenager on the roof of our winter house on a mountain while gazing the planets and deep sky through my telescopes–very poetic. Or at least it was the first week. By the second, I was going through all the liqueur from my dead grandfather’s cabinet. When I was at home I would drink every time I was alone. I would even pour a few drops of whiskey (or more) on my tea. But when I moved to England to study I was simply disgusted, by the uncivilized ways the students drink. I went dry for about a year. Of course, the time came that I found myself in the company of people like me and I had my first sip of that marvellous Guinness. It took a single night out with them to be reminded of the warm comforting feeling of alcohol and by the end of the month, my kitchen table was covered with hundreds of beer cans. I should also mention that the dry year made my manic depression obvious to all except me, but alcohol quickly covered it up again.
The following years were full of the usual great moments of an insane life but even more so since alcohol and later other substances combined with my manic depression gave their best. But I was not only functioning, on paper I was doing great, lots of money to spread around, a lovely wife to be, and good academic achievements. I was pretty much on everything but my heart was with alcohol and painkillers.
Every time one of us overdoses, people wait for the second day to call them cowards and stupid for not taking drugs the right way, as they once did.
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One day, as a gambler, I bet that I could go cold turkey on everything. Unable to sleep at all, with thoughts going all over the place I spent the dawn of the second day in front of the co-op waiting for it to open so I could grab the first three bottles of wine I could see. Moments later I was downing these bottles behind the bushes. This was my first realization of the possibility that I had a problem. But I reasoned that I also had such a thirst for life, so many things to explore and staying on alcohol would keep me going. The following months are nothing but a set of scattered memories on my diary, with evidence of hyperactivity on every level, from comments on YouTube and Facebook at the most odd hours, to plane tickets and photos from places I didn’t know. Then rehab and shortly after psychiatric treatment for bipolar disorder before I was 22.
With a new diagnosis and clean for over a month I was at the most vulnerable and exposed position I had ever been. I broke my engagement, moved to a place with lovely weather to just walk by the beach and think.
Four months later, my meds wouldn’t keep me down. Unfinished business lead me back to a town I had spent close to a year, and unable to sleep I started walking and unconsciously found myself in my pub, downing one after the other with great passion. Leaving the pub, I went up the stairs to the nearby club, where I was welcomed as a war hero. Although at that point of the night I had access to everything, it was the booze that I craved the most. After that night I kept clean for months, but I wasn’t really doing anything.
I started studying my illnesses (manic depression and alcoholism) and their relationship. The only thing I can come up with is that one would not be as severe without the other.
Last year, I started fresh, sober and relatively stable for over a year, moved to a big city for another Masters degree with the prospect of continuing to a PhD. I was anything but happy, drifting slowing into depression, with the mood stabilizers and the antidepressants not helping, I turned to my old ways but only medicinally (this is the lie I have to tell myself). Also, I introduced a five pints a week rule, thinking it would keep me sociable and active, but predictably when I left depression and moved to hypomania, I escalated to five a day. Another huge bout of mania during the summer meant a failure to start the PhD and I found myself again walking by the beach and thinking. This time, I really wanted to stay sober. I may have dropped my PhD plans but I had a good life. I started writing fiction, and enrolled another master at the local university. For three months I was properly stable and happy for the first time in years.
We can theorize on the psychological and brain chemistry reasons that I will always find companion in alcohol but it doesn’t matter. There are abnormalities from which one doesn’t want to be saved.
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And then I started being too happy. Spending money ruthlessly, and sleeping less at night. It was a matter of time and I knew it. One night, I walked into a bar alone and by the end of the night they had ran out of gin. The moment I ordered that first glass I knew what I was getting myself into. There was no delusion this time that this was going to end well, but I frankly I wouldn’t mind if it was the last time. Not because I was suicidally depressed, on the contrary the last few days had been fantastic. I was both sober and high thanks to my hypomania. We can theorize on the psychological and brain chemistry reasons that I will always find companion in alcohol, but in the end it doesn’t matter. There are abnormalities from which one doesn’t want to be saved. The only real problem is the lived once and after one point I don’t know what is worse, to be dead or unhappy.
Every time one of us overdoses, people wait for the second day to call them cowards and stupid for not taking drugs the right way, as they once did. I want to believe that at least some of us died because we don’t want to live in a world judged by those people. This article marks the end of the binge.
GMP Editor’s note: The author of this piece chose to identify as manic depressive in some places but the diagnosis is bipolar disorder. Additionally, if you or someone you know is struggling with alcoholism, there is help. Look here to find a service near you.
Thanks for sharing your story, now I understand why my niece is acting like that. in fact its not similar to our attitudes when we are at that age.
Thank you for sharing your story Mr. Siskin. It helps me to understand my son better.