The Last Drunk

Wednesday, 20 October 2010

After two nights of combative arguments over sending me to troubleshooting jobs at the end of the day with the dispatcher at work I arrived at the office Wednesday morning. Feeling Confident in my stance and having a normal head, meaning not still drunk from the night before I explained to the owner of the company as to what had happened there, what I had done and why I was unable to fix the elevator camera in a posh Downtown NYC eleven story building.  Having struggled with the elevator and camera until around 6:00 the past two evenings I left the building with the elevator inoperable and in a huff. I being pissed off at the dispatcher that I was to arrive home later than normal cutting into my drinking time. A general state of resentment whooshed up the stairs as I stormed into the subway at Broadway Nassau to catch the uptown C.

Sensing the tension between me and the dispatcher the owner walked me outside and asked the familiar question.

“What’s going on with your drinking? You were drinking last night?”

I answered in the positive with a sense of entitlement that that had nothing to do with the elevator job and that I was ready for work today. He spoke to me in a concerned way.

“Go home and eat something, don’t drink, just eat something.”

I had only been back in NYC from a refreshing vacation in Southern California for three weeks but I was broken. I was lonely and miserable. Fighting the tears I did my best to explain to my boss that I was unable to stop. I could see my friends and coworkers arriving for their daily assignments through to corners of my dripping eyes. Each respectfully passing us as we stood on the stoop of our office on Canal streetat the entrance to the Holland Tunnel. My boss affirming me of my good qualities reiterated:

“Don’t drink, just go home and eat something, and Call me this afternoon!”

Battling my emotions and my alcoholism I said “Okay” and began to walk towards the train. With my head a wash with thoughts I fought my feelings, traveling on auto pilot and unaware of my surroundings I planned the rest of my day:

“Alright! let’s go home and drink!”

“But you have to do at least one load of laundry.”

“What are you going to eat today?”

In its lonely ride north the uptown local seemed quicker than its bustling counter part I had rode not an hour before. With head and heart down I forced myself to pass by my beer deli so that I would have to come back out after grabbing a pile of dirty clothes. Regardless of the head battles I had on my hour or so trek home I had resigned with excitement to drowning the minuet I heard:

“I want you to go home.”

With no sense of rush I opened the door to my 10×10 room dropped my tool pack on the bed, sifted through some dirty laundry, and then used the door of my mini fridge to push aside the wall of empty aluminum cans and cardboard pizza boxes. I was already overwhelmed with everything, no need to worry about laundry as well.

I counted eight beers plus the one in my hand a relief knowing that it was enough to get me started before having to go get more. A few texts to my little sister asking her if I could stay with her for a couple of days, confirming a breakfast date for Thursday and an email to my boss asking for the phone number witch I had no intention of using of his cousin whom he had introduced me to and who had taken me to an A.A. meeting several months before.  I also informed him that I would not be into work tomorrow but should be back at work on Friday.

With my responsibilities taken care of, I was free to drink and drown in my sorrow and that is exactly what I did. Having already exhausted all friends and family members to drunkenly call, I called the NYC quit line. I had become beyond lonely and just wanted to talk with someone, anyone. Whomever I did speak with was very helpful by listening and they did all they could to help a wasted  alcoholic guy calling a quit smoking help line…

Thursday, 21 October 2010

 The familiar emptiness deepened on the 6th floor of 545 Edgecombe with the sight of the  now risen sun greeting all of New York through my Westside facing window in Washington Heights. Already pondering how to get out of meeting up with my Sister the text messages began to come in… Her, most certainly zapped of energy getting off from working the twelve hour night shift ten or so streets to the North of me at NYP.

“Hey, so do you want me to come over or should we meet at the train?”

“Think I need to get some more sleep… can we meet up later?”

“No Tom, C-mon!”

Tears welling as I looked opposite the three foot pile of empty cans that had become the only visible floor, my cloudy eyes gazed at the water stained plaster ceiling. My phone began to play a soft Irish tune, A smiling picture of my lovely sister poped up with her nickname below… I tried my very best to get out of meeting up with her assuring her that I was fine and that I would see her later that night. She wasn’t having any of it, she had heard it all before, I had hurt too many times, she wouldn’t let me cancel on this breakfast date. So after assuring her that it didn’t make logistical sense for her to come over or for us to meet up at the train station I convinced her to just catch the C and I would do the same.

“Hell, we’ll probably end up on the same train anyways…”

“Okay, but bring clothes for a couple of days and your work stuff.”

“Okay Beak, see you soon.”

“Okay Tom, see you soon…”

I could hear the hesitation in her voice clearly, she didn’t believe me, my little sister had lost faith in her big brother. I can’t even imagine what her 30 minuet train ride to Midtown at the peak of rush hour must have been like, being so close to me, looking on as all but her brother boarded at 163rd street. My heart rips thinking of it now.

“I love you Tom…”

I being just as convinced as the week before when I asked her if I could stay for a couple of days that I just needed to “Dry Out” for a bit, picked at some clothes and decided that I would appease her my way and just have one of our enjoyable breakfasts together to let her know that I was okay before returning for home for another drink. A quick count of the remaining cold beers in order to roughly determine how much I had drank the day before and being somewhat proud at the low stockpile I grabbed a frozen pack of Parliament Lights out of the mini fridge. Lighter, wallet, phone and keys I begrudgingly left the apartment with a change of dirty clothes and work tools sitting on the twin mattress just where I had thrown them the day before.

I called my sister from ground level on 48th street thinking that we would just be off to Giorgio’s for some grub.

“Why don’t you come up Tom, you can drop your stuff off…”

I climbed the six flights of pink walled switch backing stairs to the buzz of failing florescent lights and knocked on the door.

“Come in”

My sister was wearing her sweats looking pretty as always in her glasses, I could tell that she was probably more tired than I.

“Hey, how are you?”

(big hug)

“Where’s your stuff?”

“I’m okay… I left it at home… I should have brought it… I’ll get it later…”

It was apparent that we weren’t going to go out for breakfast but she made us some eggs and had picked up a couple of fruit bowls. There wasn’t a lot of skirting around the elephant in the room for it was apparent that I wasn’t okay and having asked her for help the previous weekend then blowing her off so that I could have my two full days of drinking we started talking more seriously. We had had these conversations before but they had gotten to the point where I just sloughed them off being in an odd confident even proud state of my “functioning” alcoholism completely oblivious to the hurt I must have been causing. This conversation was different, my sister was serious, she was hurt, she was teary, she was firm.

“You are loosing me Tom.”

I knew I needed help, I knew I wanted it, I had been asking for it but I also just wanted to go home and drown. I knew this was serious and gave my little sister the respect she deserved and spoke with her honestly.

“I, I know I have to stop drinking… I, I think the only thing that would work for me is going away… I don’t think I can do it any other way…”

“Is that something you would be open to Tom? Is that something you would do?”

“I don’t know what else to do, I can’t trust myself not to drink…”

My sister is such a perfect caregiver, just listening, being supportive, loving.

“Do you want some toast?”

It was just what I had needed, real food; eggs, fruit white toast smothered in butter and the unconditional love of the only one that would still ask me to breakfast.

She told me that she had been really worried about me since I had called her the previous weekend and that she had been talking to her boyfriend about it for her own well being.

She informed me that his cousin whom she had meet a few weeks before runs a treatment facility in Denver CO and that she had spoke with him about me.

“So that is a good resource, we have if you want Tom…”

Again with the love behind my back, she wasn’t forcing anything on me, we were just talking and hanging out. I reluctantly agreed to accept her offer at my prior request to stay with her for a couple of days so that I could get some good dinners in me and stay away from drinking for a little bit. I knew it would be the best thing for me to do especially if I wanted to keep my job not to mention the only friend in a city of 8 million that I had left.

“Okay, so I’ll go home and just get my tools and some clothes”

“Do you want me to come with?”

Her having already worked two nights in a row, I could see the z’s poring through the slits of her eyes. I told her that I would be fine and that she should get some rest and that I would just take the train up, get some things and then right back down again. She wearily let me leave.

“Just come back Tom! Please come back!”

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