When The Party Stops

My rock bottom was not the quintessential ‘living under the bridge, drinking from morning to night’ alcoholic war story that Hollywood often paints it out to be.  As I mentioned in my last post, it was a gradual, rollercoaster-type of progression with some high-highs and dangerously low-lows.  In recovery, we need to take an inventory of our drunk-capades (which is just as cringeworthy as one can imagine.) Once I stopped drinking for a while, my mood began to stabilize and my mind became more clear. Unfortunately, this caused many painful memories to start filtering back in that I needed to deal with head on.

Looking back, I have had the disease of alcoholism from the first time I got drunk at age sixteen.  I went back to a friend’s house after a birthday party and started drinking alcohol stolen from their parent’s liquor cabinet.  I vividly remember taking shot after shot of cherry-flavored Smirnoff and feeling on top of the world.  I never got that same high from alcohol since but my booze-fueled confidence that night was unmatched.  All my social anxiety vanished and I finally fit in. Or so I thought...  

The next morning, I was told that I kept drunkenly repeating how amazing I felt and how annoying it was.  So annoying in fact, that one of my ‘friends’ punched me in the face to shut me up.  While I barely remember the punch, I most certainly recall the pain in my jaw the following days.  As much as I laughed it off in the moment (and the countless other times she told the story afterward), it viscerally hurts my adult soul that I kept being friends with this person throughout high school and felt deserving of the assault for being ‘annoying’ and ruining everyone’s night.

I will not go through my entire drinking-log because the war stories all start sounding the same after a certain point.  This specific post will detail my rock bottom and how I, thankfully, didn’t have to lose everything to know it was the end of the line.

The day was August 26th, 2022.  I bought a last minute, very expensive concert ticket for Harry Styles.  I thought it was going to be a night I would never forget.  I never imagined it was going to be the pivotal, life-changing event it turned out to be.  It was my first solo concert and was conveniently located at Madison Square Garden so was easily accessible via the train.  I met a friend for drinks earlier in the day and stuck to White Claws because of the low alcohol content.

This was not my first rodeo and I wanted to pace myself. I went into the night with the best intentions of staying in control (which I so often did), but my alcoholic mind had other ideas. I eventually made it into the city and met another friend for dinner.  I had three martinis between the time I met her and the time I got to the concert.  I was feeling good, definitely drunk, and was probably over-served at this point.  Let’s be real, 3 martinis for anyone would be too much, but I considered it my pregame this particular night.

The last thing I remember was getting to my seat.  The next 12 hours were a blacked-out blur and not in a fun way.  I don’t remember any of the concert with the exception of a few blurry videos I found on my phone.  I have a vague memory of walking to Grand Central after the concert and being on the train getting a strange look from a fellow passenger.   I wonder why.  The next thing I remember was waking up in my bed the next morning.

This is incredibly difficult and embarrassing to share, but it paints a picture of my increasingly occurring night’s out.  Dark, lonely, and dangerous as fuck. 

After frantically locating my phone and wallet, I did the next logical step after a night of binge drinking- reluctantly check my bank statement. I saw 4 different $30 transactions for the concession stand a.k.a. the bar.  I spent one hundred and twenty fucking dollars on alcohol and don’t even remember it.  Absolute insanity. I was actively functioning in a blackout and have hours missing from my memory, alone, in a major metropolitan city.  I can't even think about this night without a chill running down my spine, absolutely terrified of what could have happened.

As annoyed as I was with myself for blacking out, everything seemingly turned out fine.  I was safe, had all my belongings and didn’t do anything terrible.  (I’m still scared there’s a drunken TikTok of me out there in the metaverse, but ignorance is bliss at this point.)  For all intents and purposes, I was good.  Nobody had to know that I drank myself into oblivion.  I breathed a fleeting sigh of relief and pushed down the shame and sadness that I had been collecting like infinity stones over the years.  However, this time was different.  I couldn’t bounce back like I had in the past and the shame quickly became overpowering.  

Later that day, some friends and family asked me about the show (that I couldn’t remember) and I truly didn’t know how to respond.  How do I say that I don't even remember the opening song without admitting I had a serious problem.  I experienced every stage of grief in the span of 48 hours and tried to stifle the pain with more alcohol.  Luckily, something bigger than myself was not going to let it go.  

The fact that THIS specific event was my rock bottom still shocks me to this day.  It wasn’t the time I jumped a fence in college and landed on my forehead nearly avoiding a traumatic brain injury or the times (yes, plural) I narrowly avoided arrest for public intoxication.   It was a freaking Harry Styles concert where I escaped practically unscathed.  I can’t explain why this time was so different from the rest. All I knew was that I had long-overstayed my welcome at the party and it was time to go home.

Alcohol, we had a good run, but it’s over.  I am hesitant to say that I will never drink again since I can only take my sobriety one day at a time.  Seeing as I could potentially live another 60+ years, the thought of never having another mind-altering substance is quite daunting.  With that said, my sobriety is the number one priority in my life and I don’t see myself ever picking up the bottle again, no matter what life throws at me.  

While these past two posts were important for me to share, they were very difficult to write and triggered anger and shame that I hadn’t felt in months.  I will continue to dive more into my sobriety in the future, but starting next week, we will jump back into health and wellness.  It feels much more authentic this time around when I am not mentally, physically and spiritually poisoning myself. I guess what they say is right… hindsight really is 20/20.