Keeping On Without You

There are good days.

And there are bad days.

I’ve seen a lot more bad days than I have good ones in this place. While I’m doing everything I can to help myself here, living without two of the things that got me by for the past year or so of my life was eating away at me. Slowly I was tarnishing, losing the hope I had mentally built.

Fourteen days had gone by, and slowly I was losing the fight inside of me to beat this.

Did any alcoholic ever willingly quit though? Did they give it all up because they really wanted to better themselves? Or had it always been someone else to drop them off at rehab and explain that they couldn’t come home until they had control of it?

I wasn’t sure. I came willingly, and yet as every day went by I wanted nothing more than something, anything, to get me through this. Unfortunately, the two things I needed most, I wasn’t allowed to have anymore. I wasn’t allowed to drink, and I wasn’t allowed to have Addie.

The alcohol I had poured down my sink the night before I arrived here suddenly sounded appetizing, my mouth watering upon the thought of just one more night to forget who I was now, and who I was living without.

It was the night before the Sufjan concert was due to happen all the way back in Illinois. And I was stuck here. While my ticket was stuck up on the wall of my bedroom in the flat, and Addie’s ticket was hopefully still stuck in her duffel bag at her mother’s house.

This day had been a bad one. It seemed as though the first week here had been easy. I wanted this, I wanted to get clean. Those first few days had been attacked with a zealous attitude and a mindset of “There is no way I will fail.” As another week passed, that mindset and that attitude started to diminish as I realized I still had another month to go before I could be considered detoxified and ready to go home on my own, so long as I attended AA meetings. Every day was now proving to be a battle.

I had to remind myself I was here for a reason. Every hour of every day I had to remind myself. But you’d think I would have remembered by now. I was here to get better, to rid myself of the demons that had been plaguing me for a year and ruining everything I could get my hands on. And, once I completed this successfully, I knew where I was going.

I might not have been able to attend that concert, even by myself, but after I completed rehab, I was going back. I promised myself that when I left here, with control of my sobriety and the will not to touch another bottle of anything alcoholic again, I would be in Springfield. Addie was there somewhere, and I was going to find her.

The one thing I hadn’t told her about was getting solved right now, and if I hadn’t had the guts to tell her about it a month ago when she died, I was going to tell her now. I would tell her that I got clean, that I got control over myself for once, and that it was for her.

Then profuse apologies would ensue about how I didn’t do any of this while she was with me, and that I ought to have gone with her if I wasn’t man enough to fix myself for her when she was still breathing.

A lot of self-hatred had ensued after I checked in. Being here made me realize how worthless I had become, especially being surrounded by other alcoholics who, quite frankly, scared me. There were more than a handful who looked like they had already died, yet were still walking. Every night I thanked Addie, thanked Tom, thanked my family, for helping me get here. I thanked myself for getting my ass in here before I got to the point of half the other addicts in here. Even if I was going downhill fast, I didn’t have to look far to see someone worse off than myself.

The entire day of the concert I had decided to hermit myself in my room. Sure, there was absolutely nothing significant about March twenty-first, but it was a day that I had expected to share with Addie. I had expected to share many more days with Addie, perhaps every day of my life. The only thing I was reminded of for twenty-four hours was that I was alone in here, and Addie was gone. And I couldn’t drink to make myself feel better anymore.

My bed was warm and the covers were pulled around me, my head barely sticking out from under them. Somehow being alone in here gave me some sort of comfort, rather than being outside in the rooms with everyone else. Out there, there was no comfort or familiarity. While I was with myself, things were as good as they could get. Even if I was trapped with my thoughts in this bed, I was happiest being alone. It gave me time to think about what I would be doing once I got out of here.

For that, I hadn’t come up with an answer yet, but I still had four more weeks to figure it out.

The immediate plan was to fly to Springfield. Then, I would come home shortly after finding Addie’s resting place. After that, it was unknown. I would come back home. And I would just… be home.

I wasn’t considered much of a member of the band anymore. So there goes that option.

I’d managed to lose a vast majority of my friends because of my lack of motivation to speak to anyone but Addie. There goes another option.

I was nearly positive I wouldn’t be finding a well-paying job, one that I would actually enjoy. My mum had decided to completely take over Drop Dead with Tom, making sure I wouldn’t have to worry about any of that for a long while.

I was running out of options. My life had consisted of two things. The band, and Addie. Somewhere in there though, a third thing wedged its way into my life and destroyed the other two things. Virtually, I was left with nothing. I didn’t even have alcohol anymore because I had decided that I needed to give it up, as well.

There was nothing left. I had nothing. I had an empty flat waiting for me when I completed rehab. And that was it.

The only comfort I found in having four more weeks to fight it out in this place was that it meant four more weeks until I had to decide what I was going to do. Every day until I completed rehabilitation was scheduled, set out for me and planned. The only thing I had to do was stick to that plan, and I would succeed. Everything after that was a mess though. There was no set plan for life, especially not for mine.

Suddenly everything was scary again and I felt like a child who didn’t know what to do. Because, in all honesty, I didn’t know what to do. I had wandered into the land of the lost when Addie died, and every day after that I had strayed further into oblivion.

***

Four weeks had passed sooner than they should have, even if every day was comparable to agony. The only good part was that the agony lessened as I got healthier, stronger against this addiction I had been learning to control. For now, I honestly believed that I was going to be in control from now on. I believed that I would know drinking didn’t help, because I had hard facts to back that one up. The day of my departure to my home again was approaching, and I grew nervous as I still hadn’t figured out what I was going to do.

The doctors and counselors I had worked with gave me reassurance that I could do it, that I could leave here and hopefully remain sober. They said I would be able to, that my progress was great and that I had been doing a good job while I was here. Sure, six miserable weeks was what it took to get me in control and sober, but it was worth it.

On the day that I left, I knew it was worth it. Sitting in the passenger seat of Tom’s VW with no sources of a hangover - like the last time I had been in this car - I knew it was worth it. It was worth the agony and the pain and the endless tears that appeared every night. Knowing that I would do my damned best to stay sober was worth every night I laid awake and realized that every single regret had led me to the most control over myself I had had in a year.

Somehow, it felt great.

It felt great to be in control and to know there was nothing I could do about Addie’s death except move on from it while still keeping her close to my heart, where she was always meant to be. For now, I had to be happy with myself, with or without the band, or Addie, or alcohol.

And I was just about as happy as I could manage when I walked through the door of my flat to find every friend, every family member, waiting for me. Every friend I hadn’t spoken to in ages, every friend who may have slipped my mind. The family I should have depended on for strength when instead I used alcohol for “strength.” They were all here, and they were here for me.

Congratulations and hugs and kisses were spread about, one solid room of joy and happiness. All because I had decided to make myself a better person, to better the person I had become. And I hoped everyone could see it. I hoped they could tell that I was changed, that I cared now - that I wouldn’t give them all up for whatever was sitting in the liquor cabinet. Believe me, I would have done that, had this been just weeks ago.

I felt welcomed back into the life I had been absent from. They all made it seem like I was just instantly going to be put back into their lives, placed there with intentions to stay and no intentions of tension. And at the moment, I believed it. As much as I could, anyways. I would pretend like everything would be okay so that the night wouldn’t fall apart on me.

There were guests to entertain, after all. I had stories to tell and questions to answer. Admitted, it was emotional. I didn’t want to tell anyone anything. I didn’t want to recount what torture it had been without Addie, how she died, why I decided to go to rehab, and how the hell I got to the point of needing rehab. Somehow they were satisfied in knowing though, so I told them. I would tell them anything if it meant they would all be there for me.

Even if I was in a crowded room with people I had known the greater part of my life, I had never felt so alone. The past two months had felt more like solitary confinement than any other solitude I had ever known.

Inches apart, miles adrift.