My relationship with alcohol
Notice how I didn’t use the word “problem” when describing my drinking. Its been a relationship. Sometimes it’s fun and in control, other moments its dark and complete chaos. There are and were stages where I don’t even want to get involved – don’t need it, not in the mood. Then it can flip and it’ll be all I can think about that day. Oh boy, the minute I clock out I’m hittin’ the bar and hittin’ the sauce. Heck I have tomorrow off…shots all around!
Funny thing is, I never intended to be a drinker. Heavy, light, special occasions, weekend warrior. None of it.
Because the first time I got drunk I was almost 22.
Growing up, I was never surrounded by drinkers. My dad would have the occasional beer or glass of wine, but he preferred to take a few hits off a joint here and there. It was that old 60s mentality. Couple of puffs, watch some TV, have dinner, put me to bed then it was his turn for sleep.
My mom though went through a phase, especially post-divorce, where she would pour brandy into her morning coffee. I just thought it was some kind of flavored syrup, which I guess it kind of is. But just like my dad, she smoked more weed that consumed booze.
Both my parents though, their consumption never got out of control. There was no abuse, no problems, nothing. It was there though. In moderation.
Maybe it was because my dad was so open about most issues that drinking never really seemed interesting to me. It was like cigarettes. Blecch. That smell was just so gross to me and I never grasped the concept. Thank jeebus. To this day, at age 54, I have never smoked a cigarette. Although I did go through a decades long stoner phase. But that’s different. Yep, never smoked an actual cigarette. Its true.
In my early teen years I discovered punk bands such as 7Seconds, Minor Threat, Attitude Adjustment, which all went by the “straight edge” credo. As a semi active skateboarder and very active D&D player, not getting all fxxked up appealed to me on a very deep level. A lot of my friends at that time started smoking, getting wasted on the weekends, and I would watch them make total asses of themselves. Yeah I don’t need that. After I level up my fighter/magic user I’m going to skate home and leave you drunk idiots behind.
This went on even when I turned 21. No desire to drink. Drunk people looked and acted like complete fools to me. Although I will say the appeal of bars was always a pull.
Growing up in Glendale, CA I often passed by what some would call “Bukowski bars” where there was always music playing, people laughing in a darkly lit room, they always had this dangerously curious alure to me. Plus when my dad and I went out to eat he would always prefer to sit in the bar or cantina area where he could smoke and enjoy his rare pint or two of beer.
In fact, when I turned 21 I bought a bottle of wine for my then 19 year old girlfriend who then went off to college and immediately broke up with me. She drank from that bottle. Not me.
The girl I dated after her was someone I got very smitten with. An aspiring singer, always wore red lipstick, bit of a hipster who managed a place called The Sock Shop, where they sold, exclusively, yep…socks. We lasted a little over a year when she up and decided to move to Austin, TX to try and become an alt-country singer. Go figure. Anyway I was quite heartbroken. It was then that my pal Richard suggested we get some beers and champagne, go back to his apartment and get loaded to help ease the pain. I really didn’t want to but he was buying and I was sad and bored. And a bit curious.
No idea what brand of crap beer it was but that first pull I took of it hit me like the first kiss from my last girlfriend. I’m sorry, I’m just hurting here, I’ll move on.
Anyway, by my second beer I was starting to feel good. Like really good. I’ve always been open about my depression but, man, did all of that disappear. Suddenly his crappy apartment looked good. Organized and comfortable even. Then his roommate showed up with some of his coworkers from this semi fancy Italian restaurant and they brought booze. This then turned into an impromptu party. More beer, shots of whatever, sips of champagne, I was feeling fantastic.
Cut to hours later and the flat had gone silent with some people who have gone home to others just straight passed out. Not me though. As the sun came up I was playing Richard’s collection of hardcore punk and clunk metal, enjoying another beverage of some distilled kind.
Drinking was fun. I had no idea.
At the time it was nothing I really sought after. Most nights were sober. I was doing a lot of theater and usually headed home after a show to clean up and play video games till I fell asleep.
Then I met another girl.
This one was a server in our local coffee shop and was the love target of most, if not all of my guy friends. We became instant besties and hung out as such. When she said she was moving to Santa Barbara to study art she asked if I wanted to come along so we could be roommates. At this time my dad was barely at home as he had met his would be future husband and he was usually over at his house. Taking that as a nod to move on I said sure.
Then our friendship went a bit further. If you know what I mean.
Our house hunting went from 2 bedrooms to 1 very quickly. Yeah. We were young and, yes, usually drunk.
She came from that era of high school parties where the beer flowed like wine. When my dad wasn’t around we were usually in the kitchen blending up Melon Balls, a mix of melon Midori, vodka and orange juice. Ugh. Just typing that made me nauseous.
The three years in Santa Barbara went by very fast. Mainly because I partied the whole time. When my 2 dads moved from Monterey to Palm Springs I would make regular road trips to visit them. Wanna get real loaded real fast for kinda cheap? Go to gay bars. My guys would stock me up with scotch and cocktails that could fuel a panzer. Same went for this gay bar in Santa Barbara. It was called the Gold Coast and every Sunday they would have a beer bust, $5 all you can drink beer. Mind you it was like Bud Lite and Coors but, still. In fact it was at the Gold Coast where I actually passed out in the gutter once.
Some guys had come back from New York for Wigstock and were so excited they kept buying us broke students (and me, a non-student) Cum Shots, which is a combo of creamy rum and whiskey. With those shots and all that beer I went outside to orally purge it all and after I did I passed out on the sidewalk and somehow rolled into the gutter. Yep. That was me around 24. I’m sure my parents would be proud if they were still around.
After Santa Barbara we moved to San Francisco and eventually broke up.
San Francisco for me was a sort of ‘best of times, worst of times’. There was always so much to do but if you didn’t have the money to do so you ended up not doing much. Besides drinking.
My depression really took off here and thanks to my pal alcohol I was able to get through a lot of it. Here’s the thing; I am a very smart guy, I knew what I was doing to myself, but when you come home to a roommate filled pad and pennies to your name I tended to stay inebriated and watch reruns in my room. Yeah I had good times, a lot of them, but the booze was always there and oftentimes it was a total impediment. How many times would I have to leave a show or party or whatever because I got too drunk? Too many. My anxiety would get completely thwarted by the drink to the point where I just passed out. Sucks.
Luckily in 2005 I met my future wife and in 2006 I moved blindly to Tucson AZ, my home still today. It was here that I found more meaning and solace so oftentimes I could go through mass periods of time not drinking.
Then there were times when I couldn’t stop.
My almost 7 years with the public library really pushed my limits of how I could handle the general public. Most days were filled with crushing boredom or dealing with mentally ill patrons that would sometimes scream at me or call me names for no reason. Showing up hungover at times meant I had something other to do; just get through it.
My mental health, especially in my middle age, trips and falls a bit more these days and when it does, so do I. Sure alcohol is labeled a ‘depressant’ but for those that suffer from depression its more of an excitant. Or at least an obscurer.
Now in my 50s I hold the ability to keep the drinking at a sane level, mainly because I’m kind of bored with it. Looking back I don’t regret ever taking that first drink at my friend’s house but I do regret the way I let it get on top of me way too many times for way too long.
Just thinking about the old “straight edge” Mark gives me pause to fragments of shame. What happened to that kid? That goofy little boy and teenager that had nothing to do with booze for over 2 decades but who let it in and let it stay and play for more than a comfortable while.
In this time of semi-retirement and not really bringing in any real money the urge to drown now and then tickles in me like a tiny rock rolling in your shoe. What keeps it at bay is that being 54 means the next day after a few means getting up veeeery slow and not doing much. Quite the difference from being in my 20s or 30s where I would sprint awake, go to a job and then repeat the process with youthful zeal.
These days I have a wife and cat to take care of, a house to maintain, a blog to write, a garden to tend to, projects to finish, things to bake – all of which would get pushed aside if I embraced the Bukowski bar days of my past. Not proud of that habit but there is also nothing I can do about it now.
Outside of knowing when to say when. Which I do.
For the most part.
Yeah occasionally you can find me at our local bar and if you do pull up a stool and let’s clink glasses. Just know that I’m going home after this one. Unless you’re buying. Then maybe one more.
Maybe. Cheers!
The Lonesome Diaries is a collection of stories in my time of semi retirement and house husbandry in a small dimly lit desert cottage with a cat as my only day companion.
Yeah Write Mark 