on Mental Health: My Vices

Sometimes I’ll drink, sometimes I’ll use drugs. I’ve done more or less everything, and always to very different degrees. It started out as innocent fun and, if I’m being perfectly honest, it’s still fun. Not so much innocent anymore though. I used to correlate drugs and booze with a good time. Like, if I could ingest just enough of each to become really confident, stay awake, stay out, keep the buzz going, meet or keep up with a girl, then it would be a perfect night. I got really good at it, too. Then, somewhere in my later twenties, I started to over-do it. Either I would stay out too late several nights a week, or drink way too much, or smoke too much, other stuff, eventually doing all of them, all at once, all the time.

My life got to a point where I would indulge every craving, no matter how it affected my health or sleep patterns or job or bank account. I was unwavering and reckless in my diligent pursuit of altered forms of consciousness. I’ve battled with how to remember these times. A part of me delights in a dark humor about it all. I was a kid doing stupid shit that kids do. But the problem was, my closest friends weren’t doing any of this stupid shit. I was always out with random people that I didn’t know outside of partying. My best friends were mostly there to see the hangovers.

I never really wanted a way out. What I wanted was to keep having fun. Then, thankfully, in 2016, I got a job that required me to leave Chicago for 6-8 months a year. It completely threw me out of my comfort zone. My previous jobs required travel, but never like this. Fuck it, I accepted the job and not even a week later left Chicago and my life changed forever. My exile forced me to operate and think without the luxury of returning to my vices.

Most people still don’t really know what I do. I’ve always worked in event marketing: festivals, concerts, pop-up shops, private dinners. If a company/brand wanted to put on an event, I was the fucking guy. That may sound egotistical, but I say that solely because of the shit I was willing to put up with throughout my career in order to pull the event off. That’s what got me this job 3 years ago, the same job I have to this day: I work in event marketing for the construction industry now. I travel, for the most part, 8-10 months a year for this job. Usually Marcb through November nonstop, on the road, living out of a truck the entire time.

It didn’t take long to adjust. My very first day on the road, I joined a gym, began eating clean, and eliminated all the excess I used to indulge in. This isolation forced me to wrestle with my thoughts and confront the life I had led. I realized that I enjoyed living a simple life. I liked not being hungover, not feeling like a piece of shit. I never missed partying while on the road. If there was anything I did miss, it was my family, my friends.

Then, as soon as I’d return home, it was all out the window. I started going out, catching up with everyone over too many drinks and rich, heavy meals. I smoked with friends. I stayed out until 4am. I had a part-time job working as a bar-back. On those nights, we’d close the bar and drink until the sun came up. I fell back into the patterns of the character I was when home. Then I’d hit the road again and return to sobriety. For years I’ve been living two completely different lives. Now I’m trying to take all the good that I’ve learned while alone, and apply it to my home life.

The following isn’t so much a piece telling anyone how to live; this is not advocating wisdom or foolishness or different paths. This is just a story about how my life veered off course, how I corrected it, and what I believe I have learned in the process.

Before Sobriety

I grew up in both Back of the Yards and Garfield Ridge neighborhoods of Chicago. While I had a lot of friends in school, I spent most weekends and summers working. I didn’t really start drinking until I turned 21. Once I got my own place, I was always out. There were a lot of bars that I frequented, and I got in good with some bouncers at various Gold Coast bars. I liked being able to walk up, shake their hand, and skip the line. I liked that the bartenders knew me. I liked that they poured my drink as soon as I walked in. I liked whiskey and vodka. Whiskey was my higher power.

I smoked weed a few times in high school, but rarely in college. I started smoking regularly when I was 25. Weed enhanced every good feeling I had. Then I resorted to it so I could not feel the bad things. I’d smoke a few times a week, then daily, then several times a day. Then I started smoking before work, which was terrifying at first. But I got pretty good at it. Just a kid trying to feel better. I’ve chased that initial solution for the last 5 years.

Drugs of Choice

I’ve enjoyed several stronger drugs over the years. I was introduced to most of them while out with random people, the same people I’d meet out continuously over the years. Mostly acquaintances. A couple drinks in, I was feeling good. And then somebody would say, “Do you want to try this?” and I’d say, “Sure, bring it on.” I remember thinking afterwards, “All of my problems just went away.” It was never a high. It was more of a “Eureka!” moment. I felt great. It made me funny and carefree. It made me forget the negatives and focus on how great life was in that exact moment.

Of course, drugs make it so you can drink more, and once you’re drunk enough, smoking a joint sounds really fucking great. And I’d walk around the neighborhood with someone, split a joint or rip their pen, and go back to drinking. Other times, I’d indulge in the harder stuff. That seemed to work better, so I went down that route for a year or three. Round and round I’d go, for hours, then years, every time until I was just tired enough to stumble home and into bed.

The Lowest Point

Most of the time, I woke up feeling like shit. The hangovers would last for days until I realized I could go out and start the process over. The hangover disappeared after a few beers and eventually I felt nice and loose again. I remember once being so violently hungover, texting someone that I could not go out in my condition, and them telling me, “Have a drink, you’ll feel better.” They were right! It felt like magic.

Eventually, I started living for the weekend; couldn’t wait to go out. I started avoided family. I couldn’t let them see me like this. Not only looking like shit and hungover, but very clearly chasing that initial high. I wanted to go out and have fun, not confront the problems. Getting fucked up and wandering the streets until drowsy was my escape. For a while, it consumed my life. I mean, why be hungover and miserable and have my family see me like this, when I could just go out and party?

This thought process lasted years.

Making the Change

My first day on the road, I made the decision that I was going to live out of my work truck. My company was paying me a daily stipend to cover my hotel and food. If I was able to book a hotel and stay under the stipend, I would pocket the difference. So I decided to sleep in my truck and pocket all of the money. This forced me to stop drinking, since I didn’t want to get a DUI and ruin this income stream.

The first night on the road, I drove around Knoxville in search of a secluded spot to park and sleep. Eventually, I found a pretty quiet side street in a residential neighborhood that had poor lighting. I parked, then dove to the floor in the cabin to get some rest. After a few minutes, I heard a knock at the window. I immediately shot up, began apologizing, and told the person that I was leaving. Her name was Rachel, and she was a student at the University of Knoxville.

“Dude, are you sleeping in your truck?”

“Yeah, sorry. I’m leaving. I’ll find a new place.”

“You can crash at our place if you’d like.”

I looked over to see if I heard her correctly. She was smiling, and pointed to her house.

“My roommates and I were smoking and saw you. You can totally crash on our couch if you want.”

I didn’t really know how to respond. I told her that it probably wasn’t a good idea to offer this to a complete stranger, but she laughed it off and repeated her offer.

“It’s totally cool. My roommates are here and so is one of their boyfriends. Besides, your truck is branded. We know who you work for.”

I took her up on the offer. I grabbed my backpack and walked over to introduce myself. The girls were really cool, and offered me a drink and a hit of their bong. I politely refused and told them I was trying to cut back. Rachel told me about her brother, who was newly sober, and how great he had been feeling. She was thrilled to have her brother back. And that’s when it clicked. I thought of my family and how it wasn’t a stretch that they probably felt something similar about me.

My dad died of alcoholism. Drank himself to oblivion, and it always hung over my head. I was a really quiet kid after he died. I remember thinking as a teenager that I would never touch any of this shit. But when you have a group of people having a good time, inviting you to join in, it makes you want to have a good time, too. You don’t say no to the fun being offered. You welcome it with a smile, especially if you’re tired of being the quiet kid in the corner.

The confidence I’ve felt while drunk or high, I’ve honestly been able to feel while completely sober. Some people run back to their vices to recapture that invulnerability. I ran the other way and, thankfully, found happiness in a way I never thought I could.

It was easy for me to stop. I think, in part, because I was so tired of the life I was living. Sure, at first I was that scared little kid again. But not only did my life stop getting worse, it got so much better. After the first week, I was functioning, clear-headed, and started seeing results. My pants fit better! Then every decision I made became about me. I started doing things for myself in a productive way.

There was an initial fear that when booze and substances are gone and I’m alone, I’ll have to confront something scarier, which is myself and my own consciousness. It was like, “Fuck, now I have to sit here with my thoughts. This is terrifying.” But it is an extremely necessary skill—the ability to be alone and confront yourself. Eventually the confusion goes away.

I’m on the road again. Today is actually my first day. I’m looking forward to getting back on track, becoming healthier, and wrestling with these demons. Bring it on.

This piece is the second in an ongoing series about mental health, my experiences seeking professional help, and the process of getting better.