On Sunday, we we went to an Independence Day celebration at Marine Corps Base Hawaii in Kaneohe. There were rides and live music and fireworks. I noticed there was a big tent where beer and wine was served. Shea and I rode rides on the carnival midway and ate concession stand pizza and hot dogs. I felt fine with a heavy dose of DXM running through my system.
As it began to get dark, we staked out a good place to watch both the band and the fireworks. With people partying all around us, I began to feel cheated. Why shouldn’t I get to enjoy a couple of drinks on the Fourth of July? Besides, the DXM was beginning to wear off and I’d left the cough syrup at home.
Eventually, my obsession got the best of me. I told Shea to wait while I went to the bathroom. I walked away in the direction of the porta-pottys, and checking that Shea wasn’t watching, I made my way to the concession stand. The limit was two drinks per customer, so, on the theory that wine packs more punch than beer, I ordered two plastic cups full of the cheap white wine. I went straight to the back of the next line where I downed the wine quickly and waited my turn to buy two more.
I was feeling good when I got back to Shea. The warm fuzziness saturating my body and soul protected me from the sting of any guilt I might have felt for letting my daughter down. I had a good time watching the band and the fireworks. Under different pretenses, I left Shea two more times to sneak drinks. I didn't get real drunk that night, but I’m sure Shea had an idea that something was going on.
Those several drinks on the Fourth set me back into an alcoholic spiral. I stopped using cough syrup, but began drinking steadily every day. I was committed to try drinking in a very controlled way; the DXM affected my tolerance to alcohol in a way that made it even more difficult than usual to predict what might happen, or at what point I might lose all control. I did, after all, have a child to care for. So I limited myself to wine during the day, and planned to only drink hard liquor after Shea was in bed at night. In my mind, this seemed like a very rational plan.
My first full week at Mark's office I came in sober, if a bit hung-over. After some initial instructions the first few mornings, Mark left me to work on my own. I worked hard the first week despite my drinking, but by lunch time my mind would be consumed with thoughts of alcohol. I had trouble concentrating on my work and time seemed to move unbearably slowly. At lunch I bought a couple of single bottles of wine to get me through the rest of the day; it helped me to almost feel normal again.
On my way home each night, I'd stop off and buy a bottle each of wine and vodka. I resumed my habit of rotating through different liquor stores, so no one would know how much I drank. I also resumed a futile habit of many alcoholics: chewing sugarless gum and sucking on Altoids to hide the alcohol on my breath, especially from Shea.
At home with Shea, I’d stopped being that dad I’d been. Instead of taking her to the beach or doing other things together, I would order dinner and we’d just watch TV. I'd run up to my bathroom often, where I’d sneak slugs of wine throughout the evening. Once Shea was in bed, I could go to my own room and hit the hard stuff.
This pattern continued and progressed through the month of July. After the first week I took to drinking throughout the day. I’d battle my hangovers with doses of wine I took at set intervals. I’d just left my secure state job and could not risk losing this one, yet, I was compelled to drink.
And so it was, that by the end of the second full week I had missed an important pre-hearing meeting that Mark had asked me to attend. I was coming in late daily because I couldn't pull myself together in the morning. I was often both too drunk and too hung-over to get anything done. This had been my pattern when I was with the school system, but then I had been tenured and had plenty of sick leave and vacation days.
Having had enough of my behavior, Mark paid me for the month and said that he couldn't afford to keep me on. He hoped that I would get some help for myself.
I decided to let Shea think I was still going to work. I would leave the house in my aloha shirt and khakis and head straight to the liquor store. I'd spend the day in the park or at the beach. Most days I’d drink till I passed out for an hour or two, but always I was trying to find just the right level. When I went home I didn't want to be too drunk, but I needed to feel well. I was too the point where I only had the two states, drunk or sick...sometimes both.
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