Book of Jamez

55 y/o malcontent, something of a writer

Tag: alcoholism

  • Joe

    I received news this evening that Joe Appel is “not doing well” and then received confirmation from my brother that he’s dying. Joe Appel was my biological mothers second husband, he’s the father of my little brother Ryan and little sister Amy. For most of my life my last name was Appel, I was adopted by Joe after he married my mother. For all of my childhood Joe was “Dad” at some point I knew he was my adoptive dad. I have some memories of the day that happened, I remember being dressed up in case the judge wanted to talk to me. He was all I knew I had as a Dad.

    Through my memories I see his fists flying into my mother, onto her face, into her body. I see her battered and bruised, I see blood on his fists that is likely hers and not his. I recall night after night of drunkenness where we lie frightened in our bedrooms wondering if tonight would be another night that we’d hear her scream.

    I recall the nights we spent in battered women shelters after one of those incidents – it never occurred to me when I was young, but as I type this and remember that place was full of families just like mine. The strange smells, the odd noises the crying in the cot not three feet from where you were curled up. That was better than the violence in our own home.

    We’d never know when it would be safe to go home, many a time we’d run away Mom and us, to a friends or to a shelter or to Grandmas. One time in particular he threatened to kill the cats if we didn’t come back right then.

    I recall only a few times when his fist hit me, I know he’s beat my brother senseless on many occasions. I don’t know if he hit Amy and Dawn, I have no memory of it happening, but my memories fade more each day.

    I remember distinctly a visit to his parents house where he started to beat on my mom and his family joined in. That was the day they didn’t matter to me anymore.

    He was, is, a monster. He would beat on Mom and then we’d get away or he’d get arrested… but he always came back, like a bad penny. I don’t think he has any remorse or regret for the pain he inflicted – hell I doubt he thinks he did anything wrong at all.

    I can’t say that I’m sorry to hear he’s dying, not when I’ve know good men that have died too young. Why would this bastard son-of-a-bitch get to live this long, drinking every day of his life and beating on people that depended on him as he wanted. Sure he’s spent some time in jail, but not enough. Sure he’s probably had some pain, but not nearly enough. He’s a veteran, doesn’t matter, doesn’t give a license to treat human being that way. He’s sick, doesn’t matter that’s not a get out of jail card either.

    Part of me can’t help but think back on all the times Mom would call from the hospital or the nut house saying “I’m dying” and we’d all rush home to be there and she’d disappoint us again – that sounds harsh no? but that’s what it was at the end for me one more time she couldn’t just go, just quit being sick and tired and go.

    So now I think about Joe, yes, it’s time to die – but there’s no way you’ve suffered enough. No damn way.

  • Christmas Disease of Perception

    I asked my boss what he wanted for Christmas to which he replied: a bottle of Jack Daniel’s. That’s easy enough.

    Not being a frequenter of liquor stores anymore, I kindly asked my roommate to go into a liquor store and purchase a big bottle of Jack Daniel’s in a gift box. He kindly agreed knowing that I would rather avoid such places unless absolutely necessary (the roommates a normy).

    He came out of the liquor store the other night with a 750 ml bottle… that’s it…

    I told him thank you, of course, but inside my head I was wondering if he really thought this was a big bottle of Jack. Back when I was drinking I wouldn’t have even glanced at a bottle that size for myself let alone someone else. There had to be a gallon size bottle in there somewhere didn’t there. The roommate is oblivious to my dilemma, why would anyone need more than that is what he’s thinking.

    I gave the gift to the boss today and he was appreciative and said it was a very nice bottle, so I looked at him sideways too.  It reminds me of an old friend that used to get very drunk off of just two glasses of alcohol, I suggested he see a doctor… he’s missing out. These are the people who I don’t understand – something is wrong with them.

    However, as the boss and I left the office for his vehicle and I kindly offered to help him with his things, I was fortunate enough to be able to carry the lovely bottle of Jack, and I had a moment where I could recall the taste, the feeling of it burning on its way to my stomach and the long past memories of BOOM… just like that I can remember the wonderful feeling and taste and sensations.

    It takes a few more moments before I can vividly recall the bad things that went along with that bottle and how much I’d lose if I chose that path again. For today, it’s not worth it, for today I’m happy with what I have and where life is going, for today I’m going to keep trudging and not worry about how little whiskey someone else will get to drink. And I can be grateful too that the people around me aren’t like I was and don’t need the gallon bottles of anything to satisfy their undying thirst.

  • What does untreated alcoholism look like?

    What does untreated alcoholism look like?

    Maybe it’s not what you think it is. It’s not just the bum lying on the sidewalk with a brown paper bag reeking of alcohol, nor the guy or gal that comes to the bar every night and passes out or gets in trouble.

    My mothers stepfather was an alcoholic (not supposed to diagnose others as alcoholics – but if it walks like a duck and talks like a duck…). At 60 some years of age a doctor told him that he had to quit drinking or he would die. So he did – all by his lonesome. Grandpa was one of the orneriest people I’d ever met when I was a kid and we had a code word for when he was in a particularly dangerous drunk and it was time to high tail it out of there. When he was not drinking his disposition didn’t change much, if anything he got angrier and angrier. Until eventually one day my sister found him in his apartment where he had shot himself in the head. Untreated alcoholism.

    We can see it in A.A. meetings to. The drunk that keeps going back out to experiment – doing more research. They keep coming back and we keep hoping this time they will get it, this time they will start to change. Sometimes they “get it” after the first relapse, sometimes after the 50th and sadly sometimes never at all. But other people who help those folks try, they stay sober and the act of them helping the person who is struggling shores up their own sobriety ten fold. Our book says:

    “Of alcoholics who came to A.A. and really tried, 50% got sober at once and remained that way; 25% sobered up after some relapses, and among the remainder, those who stayed on with A.A. showed improvement. Other thousands came to a few A.A. meetings and at first decided they didn’t want the program. But great numbers of these—about two out of three—began to return as time passed.” Alcoholics Anonymous, page xx

    Those are some encouraging numbers and keep up my hopes.

    We see a different kind of untreated alcoholism in A.A. in addition to the chronic relapser. That’s the alcoholic who’s been coming to meetings for 19 odd years but not growing spiritually. They may be angry, indignant, self-pitying most of the time and sometimes they catch a sliver of serenity that brings a brief respite to the turmoil of their mind. But more often than not its only lip service. Their hoping to stay sober by osmosis, leeching off the wellness of others incognito.

    Sadly, they’ve only put the plug in the jug and not taken the action steps to recover. There’s an old saying in A.A. “What do you get if you sober up a horse thief? A sober horse thief.” Our liquor was but a symptom, and working the steps we get down to causes and conditions which lead to finding a power greater than ourselves to recover. It’s not easy, but usually it’s less painful than a dry drunk.

    I believe there is a solution to alcoholism in the 12 steps. I believe, based on my own experience, that it is a limitless load of serenity and happiness – if I work for it.