Pensacola . . . the Untold Story

This summer has been tough, to say the least. And when I say things never turn out the way they're expected to, the passed few months have been no exception. Despite the difficult times in my life which have definitely made me stronger, this summer will be one to remember; one that tested my strength, and one that will never let me forget that I'm only human.

As I wrote in an earlier post, Memorial Day was a hoot. However, probably the most significant event throughout the entire weekend was my relapse, which, of course, I intentionally left out. I was scared, ashamed, but defiant. It happened the night before Memorial Day. I had been in Pensacola for four days at this point, and the next day, we were going to drive home. I was in my car driving through a rainstorm alone, trying to find a place to eat. I was staying with a bunch of friends, some in the program, and some not.

I had been sober for three and a half years.

I drove around for over an hour, not because I couldn't find a place to eat, but because I was trying to talk myself into having a drink. I had earned it, I thought. Not only had I turned my life around, but I had also matured to the 34 year old who had just landed a new job in only seven days. I had been working out for two years, and I had become the person I always wanted to be. I was loved and admired by so many, and I had succeeded in seeing a monumental project through from start to finish: the Atlanta Cotillion. I had money of my own, I was travelling, and I had friends and family I loved.

I realized as I drove that it was midnight, and the partying would only last for a few more hours. I grabbed fast food, and headed to Emerald City alone. All weekend, I was surrounded by beautiful, scantily clad boys. Although I knew many of those from Atlanta, and I was making new friends, I felt totally alone. I arrived at the club, quickly said "Hi" to some people I knew, but I was acting as though I was looking for someone. I was looking for a bar that had no Atlantans around it, so that I could order a drink. The decision was made long before, and my mind was made up. As I ordered my drink, I could barely believe I heard those words leave my mouth. It was done; I took my first sip as if I were drinking some sort of poison. I was scared because I had no idea how it would affect me. Would I be drunk off the first drink? I was slightly panicked. The first one was weak, but my alcoholism kicked in. I needed to find a male bartender in another secluded bar to make me a good drink. I got what I wanted, and then went and danced with my friends. The club was packed, so I spent the rest of the night socializing. After hanging out for a while, I went back to the hotel and went to bed.

I need to get this off my chest, partly because the drinking didn't end here, and I now realize the entire summer may take several posts. Also, a few months after drinking openly and honestly, the rumors began that I was also doing drugs, a myth that hurt my feelings, and I developed a resentment toward the gay recovery community. I consider myself an open book; someone who lives a somewhat private life, but also someone who is honest. As I continued to drink, so did the gossip. And ultimately, I realized, I was headed right back to where I started on 12/04/06, my (former) sobriety date.

"Never regret. If it's good, it's wonderful. If it's bad, it's experience." - Victoria Holt

A Tough Choice: Family or Friends?

Today, I'm making my Memorial Day plans, and I have a fairly difficult decision to make. The unofficial beginning of summer used to involve a simple thought process: I'd grab my bike on Friday afternoon, board the Provincetown high-speed catamaran in Boston Harbor, and spend a party weekend in P-Town of drunken debauchery with thousands of other gay men. From what I remember, Memorial Day is a special weekend for the gay community because we can come together in large numbers, enjoy the beautiful weather, forget about work and the recent winter, and have a total blast!

This year, I have two options, both of which I'd like to partake in. The first option is similar to those crazy weekends in Provincetown, without the one social lubricant I used to love way too much. Several of my friends in recovery from substance abuse have invited me to join them for a sun-filled, sober weekend in Pensacola. To an Earth Person (the term alcoholics affectionately call our non-alcoholic friends), this may not sound very inviting. Why would anyone want to spend the weekend with lots of hot, gay men partying on the beach without alcohol? But I have so much more fun now, and this year, I'll actually remember the names of all the hotties I hook up with! Also, my friends in recovery have replaced the many drinking buddies I used to think were good friends. And spending time with them is actually a productive and important ingredient of my recovery. A large home on the beach has already been rented, and a wild, sober weekend is now pre-ordained!

If you've known me for a while, you may know that I'm a New Yorker, and I'm the only member of my family currently living in the South. You also may know that my family should have it's own soap opera. The drama that comprises my family is sometimes overwhelming, and it makes me grateful to be somewhat removed, geographically. I'm not going to get into it, but just thinking about my parents and two brothers raises my level of anxiety to Orange, so I'm going to pour myself a cup of coffee. Hold on a sec. :-)

Option Two involves travelling home for a very special baby shower. Last year in May, my older brother, Bill, eloped with his girlfriend, Margot (who still receives negative resistance from my parents), and since then, the rest of the family found out they got married, and now they're expecting their first child. This is big, because this is the first baby in the family since my little brother was born thirty years ago, and, aside from my 2 & 1/2 year marriage, I will be an uncle for the first time! And, my parents will have a grandchild! I'm so excited! However, the baby is not due until July 17th. So, the question is: How important is it that I am at the baby shower since I may be coming home for the baby's birth? Not to mention, I'm visiting New York for the wedding of a childhood friend Labor Day weekend. All this airfare is getting expensive, so what do I do?

In the past, my decision would be based on what I would enjoy more, but now that I live One Day at a Time, I strive to be a less selfish person. It's now less about me and more about us. At which event would I make more of a contribution? Which group needs me more? My friends or my family? Especially since the term friends is now more about the people I call on a regular basis, people I listen to when life seems a bit bleak, people I see at meetings. Sometimes, this includes the people I see while I'm out and about, but not usually.

Life for me now is about regulating my thoughts, paying attention to the good ones, and not entertaining the bad ones. This means staying out of my own crazy head with my own "problems" by helping other people. I can do this by simply spending time with friends and listening to them, and as a result, my mountains become molehills. But I'm also close to my family, and maybe I need to drop everything and spend time with them during a joyous time. Either way, I need to make this decision by the end of the weekend because planning ahead, I've heard, is part of growing-up, and at some point I need to tell Joe's on Juniper that I won't be in Atlanta for Memorial Day!