alcoholic bones: playing the game of alcoholism

Playing the game. I was so very good at playing the game of an alcoholic. I once was. And it wasn’t until I recently tried a repeat offense-I realized I am a lapsed alcoholic as I am Catholic. There is no way of denying it. You can’t deny you used to be good it. But now one bottle of red puts me so far in the remission of a hangover-it’s depressing.

I used to play the game so well. So after I decided to have a liquid dinner of red wine-a full bottle and grabbing my emergency cigarettes-packed away randomly in the shared bathroom under the sink. I was trashed half way through. I used to drink a bottle of wine for breakfast and then go on to do the sobriety test of work. But not now.

I wake up to my computer that I fell asleep more like passed out to- it is on the ground. No big deal right until I look down and realize it’s on a broken plate. A broken plate that held my midnight snack-scratch that dinner of the poor woman’s quesadillas- find what you can in the fridge and voila white woman’s Mexican skills tested and served. Left over cheese from my roommate, abandoned corn tortillas and salsa that salsa is mine. No sour cream so I pretend by using plain yogurt to be healthy again. I am not. Then I find 4 jalapeños floating in mia jar in the back of the fridge. It filled me up and I forgot about it until. Until of course I woke up and found that I had passed out and pushed my computer to break my quesadilla plate into two. I am laughing. Maybe I am not as lapsed as I had thought.

I used to play the game of alcoholism so well. Finish work and the put it straight into my vein, whatever alcohol would do. Would do. No dinner. That would complicate things. Make me less drunk. And then the bumming of cigarettes from randoms. At that time I was a good drunk with the assistance of doses of anxiety meds I wasn’t supposed to drink on but I didn’t heed any attention to such warnings on labels too tiny to read, too tiny to care. I needed that iv drip to deal with me. To deal with my life. To keep going.

I was good at playing the game of an alcoholic by hooking up with randoms and not remembering exactly how and waking up to-oh shit how do I get out of this. I was good at hooking up with friends. I was good at stumbling and spilling and fighting when I needed to. Never physically just with my biting tongue. I was good at the apologies the next day. There always are. I was good at being a drunk. I never wanted to leave. Just keep drinking. Drinking and drinking so I could keep going. Going nowhere fast but not caring as I blew my high paid salary of miserableness on being miserable.

I was a drunk with the best of them. I used to have a tolerance. I used to slur but now now I try but fail. I used do the textbook things like miss work because of being hungover- actually I think those are the only times I called in. I would roll into work reeking of alcohol and I knew I smelt. I knew I might still be drunk.

What saved me other than my weak stomach? What saved me? Was a fight over chips I had one night. One night the fight over chips made me less of a social binge drinker and face the reality of being a drunk. A drunk. Playing the game of alcoholism- I was good at it- I miss it- I miss the simplicity of washing it all away.