5 Years, 60 Months, 1,827 Days, 43,828 Hours, but who's counting?

It was not pretty, five years ago.

I had been treating my undiagnosed Bipolar Disorder with significant amounts of Scotch.  The last year I averaged 10 fluid ounces a day.  "Just a couple of drinks, mind you!"  A fifth of Scotch was not particular challenge to consume on those days that I didn't have to work, and when my wife wasn't around.  And, if I must say so myself, I was quite functional.

I used to joke that it took 2 Scotch doubles for me to feel sober.  I've since learned it was not a joke.  When one is advanced in alcoholism, one's system requires a sufficient level of alcohol to be present to feel normal.  Alcohol initially intoxicates people, and many enjoy the buzz.  As time goes on, it merely staves off the unpleasant experiences of alcohol withdrawal.  And numbs you.

For the most part I didn't drink Saturday nights, lest I smell of whiskey on Sunday mornings.  I developed the shakes Sunday mornings.  I couldn't pour the wine from the chalice for communion.  I didn't know what was happening.  Now I do.  My restraint on Saturday evenings was causing detox symptoms Sunday mornings.  Vanity is a strange thing.  I was so concerned about smelling of liquor that I didn't drink, and then detoxed in front of my congregation.  Uffda!

To a certain extent, alcohol gave me control of my moods.  I knew how I would feel after one, two, three drinks, four.  A calming of anxiety, a lightening of mood, a drift into melancholy, sometimes depression, at other times mania, but most often just sleep.  That was one of the main motivators.  Sleep.  "Passing out" is what my doctor insists on calling it.  I insisted that passing out was only when your face planted in the mashed potatoes.  I went to bed.  She would insist however, that there is a difference between sleep and an alcohol induced unconsciousness.  What does she know.  She's only a psychiatrist with a specialty in chemical dependence. .  .

There were warning signs.  A colleague, Gail, watched me down two hefty Scotch doubles during happy hour, order a third for dinner, and then as we walked from the bar to the dining room she commented, "Dave, if I didn't just watch you down those drinks, I'd have no clue you've been drinking.  What's that all about?"

I was a 'professional drinker'.  Amateurs are actually the ones who couldn't handle their drinking.  Given the choice, I'd rather ride in a car with an alcoholic with a .20 alcohol level, than with a amateur drinker with a .08.  Habituation has its advantages.

The problem is that the toxicity of alcohol remains even though the symptoms of  intoxication diminish with habituation.  I could drink a fifth of Scotch and never feel 'the buzz' that I craved.  The problem for an alcoholic is that the alcohol remains toxic, even when it is no longer intoxicating.  It'll kill you.  An often does.  It almost did me.  Though I'm quick to point out that five years ago, last night, it was not just the alcohol.  I violated one of my rules and took Ativan in addition to a fifth of Scotch.  Against Medical Advice.  To say the least. By the grace of God I survived the night.

I no longer crave the drink.  When I smell Scotch, what I experience is what I call a 'cravulsion'.  At one and the same time triggers the appetite AND produces the most repulsive reaction possible.  A simple solution is to simply avoid the smell.

One would think that sobriety would immediately impact the externals of one's life.  That sober one would prosper in ways not possible drunk.  Well, not yet, is my reply to that.  My recovery has been complicated by being Bipolar.  The first thing that happened is that a major manic episode was triggered.  That resulted in my resignation from my call in ministry, and investing $60,000 or so in woodworking equipment for my new business.  Bottom line, I'll not be able to retire as soon.

Every step of the way, just when we think that our financial situation has stabilized, another shoe drops.  I lost my disability, but found a job in woodworking.  Karla received a raise.  Then, a part time call in addition to Karla's job, and my woodworking job, was going to solve our problems.  Then Karla lost her job.  More recently, Dad moved in with us and the income we received from caring for him was going to stabilize our situation.  He died a few weeks later.  The loss of him is the only real significant issue.  But the reality is that it leaves us once again scrambling.

Sobriety is sometimes 'marketed' as a way to move from life in the gutter to life in the stars.  I am of the belief that such promises don't always materialize.  Sobriety, though is its own reward.  Oh, and yes, I'm still alive.

Five years later I mostly wonder what the next five hold for  me.  I'm deeply grateful for many things.  Like life, a family that I didn't lose, and that one way or another all bills are paid and current.

One of the struggles is that my measure of a return to normalcy is actually affected by my being Bipolar.  I was capable of things during my manic phases that still surprise even me.  That hyper functioning set the bar high.  Now, with my moods controlled by medications, I doubt (I hope?) I'll ever again experience those manic highs.  To an extent, that's depressing.  But due to the medication, not too depressing.  Its just that one must adjust to a new normal, that is neither lived at the summit or the deepest darkest valley.

Some friends will join our family to celebrate my fifth birthday of no 'fifths'.  It'll be a good time.  I'll be sober, as will they.  I do not have a drink in my plans for today.  One more day.  Number 1,828.  But who's counting.