Wednesday, September 02, 2009


Let's think happy thoughts, shall we?

I am a complete human being. I have all my fingers and toes and I have two eyes and a mouth and two ears. That alone should make me happy. But I also have this: a beautiful girlfriend and her snappy daughter and I have a mom who loves me unconditionally and I have two sisters and their husbands--I love them, too, them B-I-Ls--and I have a grandmother who, though her health is failing, still registers in my mind at least four times a week.

I am gainfully-employed and I make a pretty good wage. I have dogs.... Did I mention them? No, I didn't. I have two dogs: Ollie and Louie. Louie is the sage one, the handsome one, and Ollie is the bumpkin, but I love them both just for who they are. (Don't ever tell me that animals ain't got no souls.) Who they are is: Companionship, Love, Soft, Furry, Regal, Hilarious.... I could go on.

Happy thoughts.

And but the Happy Train gets derailed.

How long would you allow a visitor to mangle your Happy Life? Would you allow a gargantuan smelly motherfucker to slop through your home and overturn the furniture? Would you let the Jabba the Hut motherfucker access to your most precious dreams and desires? Would you be surprised if the (invited) guest crapped all over them?

I see Alcoholism personified as a greasy yellow-brown-green tub of lard. I see the A as a being who cannot fit through doorways, yet still, somehow, gains entrance. I reckon I see A as a vampire: it sucks, it swallows, it comes back for more. And more and more. And more. And more of my lifeblood till nothing is left and I am discarded as an empty shell. Are those happy thoughts? Naw. Are they realistic thoughts? Oh, completely.

My days, recently, have consisted of me going to work, second-guessing myself the whole day as I try to locate the gas mains and gas services that our contractors could not find, and then coming home and sitting in the comfortable La-Z-Boy armchair that I snatched from my dead uncle's estate and cracking.... Beers. Cracking beers. I did not mean to imply that my mind was cracking, though it most-assuredly is. I am somewhat flibberdashed.

To make matters worse, I got over-buzzed last night and said a mean thing to my lover's daughter. I called her a bitch. And I called her stupid. But I put it together, out of my mouth, so that it came out flawlessly, and ten times more vicious. Is that who I am? I have always seen myself as a peaceful, affable guy. Has Jabba the Hut robbed me of even that?! I would not be surprised.

So...I sit here, at home (nobody-home), on a vacation-excused workday, pondering. Pontificating.


Losing a lot.

Losing, perhaps, my sanity. My girl. Her daughter. My sense of well-being. My self-love. Lost. Losing my finances, as beer is not free. Losing my physical and mental health. Losing my dogs' loyalty and pack-respect. Losing the ability to care about dishes in the sink and Ollie's piss-circle in the dining room, right next to his bowl. I am losing the verve for life. The Verve for Life...what's that, again?

It is out there. I know it is.

It will take work, hard work, to regain that verve. It will take me admitting to myself that this shit cannot continue. It'll take me looking at myself in the mirror and admitting to myself that I...have...lost...It.
"It" is intangible. You don't recognize when you have it, but when it is lacking or, God forbid, gone, you realize what you have lost. The Verve is strong, but I'm not.

Like I wrote above, this'll take some hard work. I have a lot of halving to do. A lot o' scalpel work. I need to slice Jabba outta my mind. I need to send him a heave-ho. (Where his over-packed greasy body will slice-splatter on the curb of Harwood Avenue.)

And, yes, I am alllllll talk. I can't imagine a week without alcohol. I can't even, seriously, imagine this day without the Beast in my life.

As the minutes turn to hours and the hours turn to days (daze) and the days turn to weeks and months and years...well, I see myself, ten years from now, no family, dogs dead, no job, no welcome income, sitting in the ratty chair of a hotel room, bemoaning my fate.

Am I over-emotional? Yes, to a certain degree, I am over-emotional. Does that mitigate, in any way, the danger in which I now find myself embroiled? Naw. It is what it is; it is what I have written.

Happy thoughts.

Happy thoughts.

Fucking Happy thoughts....

I have met my soul-mate and I have two blessed dogs and I am gainfully-employed and I live in a nice area and I have a loving supportive fam dambly and I am in relatively good health and I enjoy playing sports and I am at peace, most of the time, and I have comfortable furniture and a nice television set and a kick-ass laptop computer and.... Need I go on?

No. Didn't think so.


Lori Jean said...

You can't drink. Ever. It isn't dramatic, it isn't romantic, it isn't special in any way; it just is what it is: a simple fact. You can't drink. Unfortunately you have to come to that understanding, and take on that understanding as a reality, applying it to the way in which you live your life, until you can set things straight and be the man you claim you want to be. I wish you nothing but the best of luck and you are in my thoughts and prayers.

Anonymous said...

take the meds ...every day

Frank said...

Dig deep. You know the strength is there...this post is far too honest and genuine for you to be making that up. You've got it in you to fight every minute of every day and if that happy train goes off the tracks, you KNOW that you have people who can help you get it back on.

Adamity_Bomb_Bomb said...

Lori Jean: "The man [I] claim [I] want to be." Hell, yes. I claim it and I sincerely do want to be that guy. The guy who I am right now is not worth a spit in the ocean. At this point in time, I am scared, in debt, alone and wondering about, deep deep down, just who in the hell I really am. Am I a jerk? At this point in time, I have to say yes. I let my alcoholic dark side out of its cage and it has wreaked havoc in my life. Some aspects of my life may be too stained to salvage. I hope to God that is not the case, but maybe it is. I pissed off my Best friend (and her daughter) and I understand fully why they excused themselves from my/our life (lives). It doesn't take a rocket scientist to see that I am swirling down the drain...and by my own hand. Can this slide be altered? Oh, yes. It certainly can be. But, as much as I have pissed off others, I have pissed myself off tenfold more. The self-loathing I have for myself right now is damned-near tangible. My aura is black. I am depressed. And I am left hoping that my Best friend will come back to me, at least answer my texts and phone calls. I understand, though, why she may not. A woman and her daughter need solidity, not the mess of a man I am, right now. To be continued....

Anon: There sure as hell doesn't seem like there is another option, right?

Franklin: Unfortunately, I didn't make a damned thing up. This is my life, at this point in it. I am pissed at myself and second-guessing my (drunken) decisions and it makes me want to poke hot needles through my eyes. Will I? Hell, no. But the thought is there. It's kind of like Syphius. (I'm sure I spelled his name wrong.) He was/is a character in Greek myth who was doomed to forever try to roll a boulder up a hill. Every time, without fail, he *almost* crested the hill, only to see the boulder roll back on down. I see a lot of myself in him. I go for short periods without the snake wrapped around my neck and then I shrink from strength and glorify the drink and I find myself right back in the situation in which I had hoped to never be again.'s the catch: With prolonged alcohol use, the valleys become deeper, the "oh-shits" become more pungent. "Did I do that? Why?!" It is a downward spiral. I can--and will--get my ass out of this. I am far too good at heart to let myself kill myself...slowly, ever-so-slowly. I want the good Adam back. Fuck--fuck!--the Hyde-side. It becomes a question of how much pain an individual can tolerate. I, apparently, can take a lot. But I am SO fucking sick of it. One may only meet their true love once in a lifetime. I am so worried that I met mine--and I love her without end--and that I frittered the love away. THAT is what concerns me. THAT is what keeps me up at night. If I think too hard about the good times we've had, I will cry. I will explode tears from my eyes. She means the world to me. Without her, I am half of a person. I hope she knows that. I hope she knows that.

The Girl said...

I have to agree with Lori Jean. Put the drink down for good - and be grateful for everything you have in life before it's gone for good. XXXOOO

Suldog said...

Adam -

It ain't easy, that's for sure. But you know that much going in, so that makes it just a bit easier. Dig?

Surround yourself with love. Get the people who love you to be with you, as often as it is possible for them to be there - 24/7, if possible. Do the things you love to do (aside from drinking) and revel in the good times you 'll find yourself having without the monster by your side. As you awake each morning, do a survey of yourself and enjoy the good feelings unencumbered by fogginess, foul mouth, headaches, or whatever else will remind you of the downside of the drinking. If you need to, cultivate a totally different addiction, one that's useful for you - softball is something you like, right? Find something like that and bury yourself in it, deeply.

There are enormous joys and possibilities outside of the bottle. Inside of it, for you, there's nothing but despair in the long run. But you know that.

Most important: Get those folks (and animals) who love you to surround you. Do it now, do it forever if need be, but do it, man. They love you. They want to help. They really do.

aleximac said...

thinking of you Adam.. consequences suck. You can love a person but just not be able to live with the impact. Just know that you're a good person, but your car got hijacked. So now you have to get back in the driver's seat.

See? I love you so much that I hurl cliches in your direction hoping it will do some good.

Maithri said...


Every single person on this planet is fighting their own personal demons... most people arent as honest as you though... Here's where you have a footstep in the door to freedom.... You're telling you're self the truth...You're choosing to see reality... the good with the bad...

Be kind to yourself man... you've always done the best job you knew how given the circumstances of your life... Now that you know better... you will do better...And you'll keep walkin that broken road to freedom...

Sending Peace~Love to you bro,


Adamity_Bomb_Bomb said...

Alexis: *muchlove*

Sullivan: All I can say ia that you KNOW me. You *know*. I appreciate your commentary, man. This is obnoxiious. I *know*.

Matty-Doc: Dude. You be Jesus-like. I'll wash your feet, eventually. Or at least polish your statue. =)

Girl: I can't say that I have I have done a damn thing. I have daze.


Nanette said...

Adam, be stronger than your disease. Have the courage to say no to the Beast.

I have never wanted to leave this earth more than when my Mufasa died on Monday, but I know I need to be here. I told death no. Even though every fiber of my being wants to leave this place. You can conquer your beast, and I can conquer mine. :)