just another drunk

\"It's strange. You
never start
out life with the
intention of
becoming a
bankrupt
or an alcoholic
or a
cheat and a
thief.
Or a liar.\"

Dad was a milkman
who flew the coop

I attend elementary school in Southern California in the 1950’s and 1960’s
when California public schoolsareamong the best in the nation

and join the speech team

I edit the
high school
newspaper

I have a major
undiagnosed and
untreated panic
disorder

my boyfriend and I sit by the radio listening to the draft lottery numbers
being called as we graduate from high school into a troubled world

everything is upside down but shines like a glittering lure

I manage to graduate from this lovely University
after dropping out of San Diego State

1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York City
I type in a law firm typing pool

When the Pink Dot
delivery guy tellsmeto
eat something withmy
nightly order of wine
and cigarettesI get a
little defensive

but I have a
fix for that,
as well as for
everything
else that
happens
during the
day

It’s not that I can’t findmy
car in the lot; it’s thatI
don’t know which town
the car lot is in

There’s nothing
inmyrefrigerator but
alcohol and things to
eat with alcohol

but I’m
working hard
as a lawyer
and doing
pretty darn
well and I
never
everdrink
during the day

unless it’s the
weekend, of
course, in
which case
everyone
drinks during
the
day, somethin
g festive with
fruit in it, and
an umbrella

When the ‘94 earthquake
tosses me from my bed at
4:30 in the morning, I am
still drunk and stoned.
Because my fellow condo
owners aren’t speaking to
me ( a
long, unnecessary, but quite
predictable story) I pull my
comforter out onto the
living room floor by the
balcony, crack open the
French doors and fall asleep
to the sound of my
neighbors talking below me.

two weeks
later leaving
my condo for
the liquor
store, I catch
myself off-
guard in the
bathroom
mirror

I look like %$#&. I am
utterly exhausted from
keeping up the pretense
that everythingis great. I
am worn out by my
evening routine, the
drink and the pot, and
the nausea. I am sick
with isolation and shame
soI come to a full

Eventually I make my way to one of
those meetings, gritting my teeth, eyes
on my shoes, sitting in a folding metal
chair in a darkened church basement
listening to people say they are grateful
recovering alcoholics
They talk in bumper stickers: one day at a
time, you’re in the right place, find a
sponsor, you can’t save your face and your ass at
the same time, keep your own side of the street
clean, don’t take the other guy’s inventory, let
go, be of service, call your sponsor, make your
bed

But then I
have30, 60, 90
days, the world
looks
3-dimensional
again. I feel shaky
and vulnerable but
whole and grateful,
6 months 9
months,
ONE FULL YEAR

the rest ofmylife rolls out from there and I am
amazed before I am half-way through