No one wanted to talk to him anymore. He’d drink too much, talk too much, yell too much. It was a quick change. People claimed they could tell if he had just one drink by the first word he’d say over the phone. They were right most of the time, but he’d never admit it.
“No, I just got home,” he’d lie. “I haven’t even had time to take off my jacket.”
He said the same thing to a highway patrolman on the side of the road once.
He didn’t like himself sober, so he’d drink. He’d sober up and be embarrassed about what he did when he was drunk. End up drinking again to forget about it. Eventually it became harder to separate his two lives. The real problem was that he was a functional alcoholic. He could still work. He could still fake it. He could still make it to family holidays. But they’d end up wishing they never invited him.
Then he had a kid. No one cared if he could fake it anymore. Some people hoped the kid would set him straight. Start doing everything right. Things never work out that way. People are the way they are and most of it’s genetic. Not even his fault. Not his father’s fault. On and on for generations back probably. But he wasn’t a bad person. He was smart. He read everything. Knew everything. He was smart enough to do anything. But not smart enough to quit drinking.
One day he thought he could fake it picking his kid up from daycare. The lady called the cops. Probably saved the kid’s life. Ruined the father’s.
He just got home. He didn’t even have time to take off his jacket.
February 26th, 2013 at 9:25 am
That’s a very sad and powerful story. I’m actually tearing up.
February 26th, 2013 at 11:51 am
This one hits close to home. Faking it. Acting is what I called it. Two separate lives–that’s what you think you’re living–one sober, the other not. But they aren’t two separate lives at all. The sober one is always wrapped up in the drunken one–if not thinking about the next buzz, then dealing with the consequences of the last episode of drinking.
And the notion of a “functioning alcoholic” is a myth we tell ourselves. We’re not really functioning at all, except we’re making it from one drink to the next without too much collateral damage. But even that ends sooner or later, as your story so poignantly illustrates.
I’m glad those days are over for me–29 years behind me. I think I can say NOW I’m a functioning alcoholic!
February 26th, 2013 at 1:13 pm
Thanks for reading again, Lorna. This one is definitely one of those ones that treads the line between creative non-fiction and fiction. Safer to go with fiction though. I’ve been so busy I never got around to emailing you back. I just purchased your memoir from Amazon and look forward to reading it…as soon as this busy quarter of school is over.
February 26th, 2013 at 1:24 pm
Wonderful. Then you’ll read the decidedly non-fiction story of my 10 year bout with alcoholism. It is often easier to deal with these things as fiction. I supposed even my memory of my drinking years has to be partly fiction because I sure can’t remember lots of stuff due to black-outs!
February 26th, 2013 at 7:46 pm
Well done David. I enjoyed that quite a bit. It’s sad, but I think we’ve all known someone like that at some point in our lives.
February 27th, 2013 at 2:57 am
Uh-huh. I know all about ‘faking it’ Thank God I stopped drinking before I had kids.
March 1st, 2013 at 11:26 am
Powerful. Very true. You nailed it.
March 3rd, 2013 at 10:49 am
Good stuff. The fourth paragraph especially is a nice look at the mind of a functioning alcoholic,
March 13th, 2013 at 9:57 pm
Reminds me of my ex-husband. When my son was little I used to tell him: “Pray for your father cause he needs all the help he can get just like the rest of us.”
March 14th, 2013 at 12:35 pm
its rather sad but, you have written it well..
April 18th, 2013 at 11:05 am
What a powerful story… you have write more like this, the truth shines off the page. Thanks for the follow at ‘Sandra Danby’, I will reciprocate. Sandra