It’s been a while since I’ve had to explain to people why I
am the way I am, or say that I can’t go out for a drink with the end of the
shift, and I’ve found that it’s kind of hard to give an honest reason. People
at my new job will ask if I get high, which is pretty standard in any kitchen
environment, and instead of saying, “No, man. Drugs fucked my life up, and
every time I ingest a chemical intoxicant, my brain is hardwired to try to get
my hands on the rest of them until I lose my car, my home, my job, and the
ability to take care of myself materially, psychologically, and hygienically.”
I mean, that would be embarrassing. Instead I reply with something that really
should be more disconcerting like, “No man, I’m on parole.”
The latter is most certainly a valid reason to not get high,
but it isn’t the root. And I find it a challenge now to be up front about my
history with new people. Why can’t they just read my blog, and I won’t ever
have to talk to them about all of this crazy shit I’ve done? Saying that I’m on
parole is sort of open ended, like maybe when I’m off I want to start using
again. Telling people I’m in recovery hints at a more serious problem but is
also open to a further line of questioning about the actual problem vs.
questions about prison which are much easier to answer, and are also far more
thrilling and captivate a larger audience. The former is the “easy route.” It’s
easier for people to understand that I can’t
get high vs. I shouldn’t get
high.
For me, though, It’s a matter of life and death, which is
what I really should be broadcasting. I should try to make people terrified of
the concept of me drunk. They should fear even broaching the topic because it
might set my proverbial wheels in motion. This is what they can expect when I
drink:
That’s a picture of me in a blackout. It would appear that I
have forgotten which hand my cigarette was in. This was taken on my vacation to
Florida about five years ago, before I switched gears to meth which, by
contrast, there is a picture of below. In it you can see where my cheeks used
to be. I had lost nearly 50 pounds since the blackout picture, and I can see a
lot of sorrow and an equal, yet more subtle loss: pride.
And then there’s the most recent picture of me, just before
I went to an A.A. meeting. I may look a bit smug, or you may be confusing that
with confidence. This is one of my favorite pictures because I can see in every
detail how healthy I have become. I can see a little farther inside the
picture, because I was there, and I can see happiness even with just a faint
nod to a smile at the corners of my lips. I can see clarity in my eyes. This is
the Vince I saw myself as for many years while my thoughts were distorted by
drug and drink. And although I don’t always
see every part of myself in a positive light, the progress overall is
completely mind blowing.
So, tonight after my shift, when somebody inevitably asks me
if I want to go out for a drink after a long day, maybe instead of using
parole as my crutch, I will be more honest and say, “No it’s not a good idea
because I can’t control the outcome.” And I might steal your car, and your
wallet to go get drugs. I would leave that last part out because it’s maybe a
little too honest. But it’s also probably true.
