Relapsed.

Just a short while after I picked up my 2-month chip, I slowed down with the meetings. My sponsor told me she wasn't going to check up on me anymore--that I had to start calling her now. My ability to reach out still sucked balls, so I rarely did text or call. 

That weekend, I sat alone in my apartment. Boredom and loneliness crept up, along with the I DON'T GIVE A FUCK attitude. Then the question:

Am I really an alcoholic?

They say that a self-test that one could do to answer that question is to simply go to a bar and order just one drink (or maybe two?) and stop after that and leave the bar. I decided I didn't want to go to some fucking bar, so I decided to go buy a bottle of wine from the corner store.

I went outside to my car, shivering my ass off. It had been nice the previous day, but now it was butt-fucking-cold. I stuck my key in and tried to twist it. It budged only about 1/3 of the way. The cold, for some mysterious reason, always fucked with my driver side car door lock (but never the passenger side). I twisted the key side to side as the silver lock itself bulged out each time. I cursed at the lock and ran my cold self back inside my apartment. I figured it was best I couldn't open my car door. 

An hour later, I jumped back up and went outside with determination. If I had to crawl over to the driver side from the passenger side, so be it.

Only this time, the door lock obeyed. I hopped in, drove to the corner store, and bought myself a bottle of chardonnay. When I got back, I vowed I'd only have maybe two glasses. Then the glass seemed small to me. Real small. I said, I'll just drink half the bottle, and that is what I did.

The next day, I milled around my apartment. Watched movies. Sat online. Then pulled out the rest of the wine and drank what was left. Then I went to the corner store to get a big can of Tilt. Drank that. Went back for a second can. 

By the time I got to about halfway through the second can, I finally put it down and asked myself WHAT the fuck was I DOING? I put the can down and poured out the rest. Drunk, I intelligently drove to the 8 o'clock newcomers' meeting.

My intention was not to tell anyone there I was drunk. I was just going to sit there and listen, and listen I did. After the meeting, one of the older ones came up to me and asked how I was doing. In a short time, I realized he could tell what state I was in.

Eventually I told others and my plan to hide my relapse failed. I went home (after sobering up) and called my sponsor and told her everything.

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My resolve was not renewed 100% yet. I wanted to stay in the program, wanted to hop back on and give it another go. I went back to the meetings on a regular basis again. The bit of peace that was developing before I relapsed, however, completely disappeared. I wanted to get that shit back but it slipped away.

The following weekend, I went to visit my parents. Found vicodin and took many. I drove back home at the end of the weekend and got another drink. Went to another newcomers' meeting drunk, again.

The weekend after, I again drove back out to Temple to visit my folks. I told myself I'd be strong this time, but halfway through the drive there...I began to wonder if my father had hidden the vic's again. By the time I reached city limits, I made the split-second decision to drop by my favorite liquor store. To my shock, the place was going out of business due to a new highway coming in--therefore their stock was on discount. I bought numerous sample bottles of whiskey and vodka to stuff in my backpack.

After the next newcomers' meeting--for which I had begun the habit of collecting a desire chip from--I told myself the shit's gotta stop. I decided to switch sponsors due to the one I had, I had a hard time relating to and our backgrounds were so different. I tried out another sponsor for a week, but she was very busy and was rarely able to talk/text much and was not from my home group.

Then I picked N. She was an addict (pills, mostly) along with being an alcoholic. She is older than I (rather than younger, as my first sponsor was) and had a lot more experience. Our backgrounds were more similar, including sexual abuse in the past. Our habits, our triggers, and our thoughts were damn near the same. She was also very open and very aware of my spiritual beliefs.

I had one sponsee, she said, who used a potted plant as a higher power.

And that worked for her, apparently.

She jumped right in. Texted and called me all day long to check my mental state. It annoyed me at first but I was grateful. The annoyance was the remnant of my old, problematic self--thus, needed to be faced, dealt with, and gone. After a short while, I welcomed all the phone calls and text messages. She had other sponsees and we were formed into one, happy little group. Others would text and call me to bring me out of my shell, and sometimes, I tried to do the same. 

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Soon after, I met PF in the chat room. At first there was no face, just a generic microphone on the screen. His voice was likable from the start. I didn't say much, but would sit and listen to the things he said. He eventually mentioned that he, too, was a recovering alcoholic in AA, along with being a Satanist wanting to infuse Buddhism into the 12 Step Program. The intrigue pulled me in.

Eventually, with the help of a new webcam, his face emerged--which I found to be as likable as his voice. Phone calls started up and each time, they would last from 2 to 4 hours long. Shortly after--as he was a student also--a foot was put down on phone calls and chatting during the week, as our sleep schedule and classes were suffering. 

Then it was time to go visit my parents again, for the occasion of my cousin from Virginia flying in. I dreaded going. I did not want to relapse again and by now it was obvious that going to Temple was a trigger. I spoke to N about this and she devised a plan of action--calling twice each day I was away, and to text her every hour except for when I was driving. And more often than that, if needed. 

A few days before the trip, as I was driving to class, my mind floated away and I thought about--just as I did the previous times--where might my dad have his vicodin again, or would he--as he did last time--forget to put them away until after I arrived? I then wondered if that liquor store had closed down yet...

I stopped myself. What the fuck was I thinking? My will and desire to stay sober seems to fly out the window whenever I approach out of the county limits, or was planning to be very soon. Do I want to continue on with the mental states I've been the past decade? NO. Then the thought occurred to me that--

I still think I can still drink and take drugs eventually

--and denied to myself that I have a problem, and this problem had kept me from advancing in my life in all ways possible. Indeed, I had not done Step 1 completely, though I thought I had. I had asked PF on the phone if he thought he'd ever do drugs again--namely psychedelics--and had hoped he would say yes. I also felt puzzled that he mentioned his parents had vicodin in the house but he did not want to look for it. Why did I still intend to look for the painkillers when I go back to my folks' place? I had not fully and consciously accepted the fact that I must not use mind-altering substances ever again, IF I want to advance myself and have the life that I want. Do I want that life? Fuck yes, I do. And now is the time that I need to cheerfully choose a better life and a better me over any drugs or alcohol. 

Friday came around, and after class--with packed bags already put in the trunk of my car--I began my 3-hour drive. I expected to feel disappointment knowing I would not try to get any painkillers or alcohol this time around, but there was no disappointment. The thought of drugs and drinking were automatically pushed aside every time they entered my mind. Instead, I spent the drive thinking about what I wanted to do instead: I want to work harder on making better grades. I want to get back into making kanzashi--which used to give me so much joy and pride. I want to get myself back into shape through weight lifting, belly dancing, and yoga. And walking. I hadn't gone on a beloved walk with my Ipod in a long while. I want to experiment with cooking again and infuse my under par diet with wholesome foods. I want to indulge in bubble baths and lavender oil. I want to face and be rid of my fear of socializing and public speaking. I want to put on my pink boxing gloves more often and punch the shit out of my heavy bag (partly so the 70-pound thing is not hanging in the way of my kitchen for no damn reason). I want to go back to the library more often and read up on random, weird stuff again.

Excitement grew and before I knew it, I had arrived at my destination. As promised, I text N each hour after that and called her twice a day over the weekend. I went to the AA meeting at the local VA hospital where alcoholic veterans shared their stories with enthusiasm. Those guys were aggressive with their sharing: before a person could even finish closing out their story, another person would always pipe up with their name and proclaim their alcoholism, then share their part. 

In the evenings after the meetings, it was fun time for me when I would exchange text messages with PF before getting online for chat. I looked forward to his humor and insight into things. 

At one point, after a butt-hurt situation, he pointed out to me that I was trying to fill the void with something else (him) to take place of alcohol and drugs. I should have seen it, but I did not. Of course, he was correct and his advice to talk to my sponsor about the issue was sound. 

My insecurities reminded me that I've much to work on during the second attempt to work the steps with my current sponsor. With a joyful and enthusiastic jump forward, I began with Step 1.