I’m five days early on this, but fuck it:
My name is Delicious Tacos, and I’m an alcoholic. My sobriety date is February 12th, 2014. I have a sponsor who has a sponsor. Welcome to the newcomers and congratulations to the chip takers.
Our stories disclose in a general way what we used to be like, what happened, and what we are like now.
What I Used to Be Like
But- the bad shit wasn’t so bad. The boring shit killed me. Come home from work every day miserable. Stop at the liquor store. Buy a pint of brandy. Take it down in three pulls. Wait for a buzz that lasted 20 minutes then sit alone and look at stupid shit on reddit. If I had more than a pint I’d drink that too. If I didn’t sometimes I’d go to a bar and drink beer and smoke cigarettes and try to fuck women. Most women didn’t want to fuck me. When they did the liquor made my dick soft.
If I didn’t drink I’d have this fear in the middle of my chest that I was gonna be alone forever. I’d sit there imagining people I loved falling out of moving cars.
One day I couldn’t take it. I called my ex who’s in AA. Asked where I could find a meeting. She found a guy who was going to one that night and I went too. Then another and another and another, every day. Listened to people talk. Most of them said stupid shit but one or two said something that was like they had a microphone inside my mind. Every day. I got a sponsor. They say get one who has what you want. Well this guy is a broke lonely weirdo, which I don’t exactly have to struggle for. But he fights hard to be a better human being. That’s what I want.
What I Am Like Now
I was an atheist. Now I pray. Every day. Some days every hour. Is God real? I don’t know. He’s real in the jungle. He’s real in the birds. You ask God what to do and he tells you: don’t be an asshole. Maybe you don’t need to hear this ten times a day. I do.
I work the 12 steps. I have a big notebook where I spend a little bit of most days writing. Bad shit I did or bad shit someone did to me and what was my part in it. I call other alcoholics and let them know I’m OK and they’re not alone. When I do all this shit I feel good. When I don’t I feel bad, and want to drink.
What else am I like now. Well– unemployed. Running out of money. Spent two weeks in the Philippines and ten days of that was fucking whores upon whores upon whores. Two of them I hit raw and I can’t bring myself to get tested. I just hung up on a collections call from Time Warner Cable. There’s a collections notice from Quest Diagnostics for fifteen dollars sitting on my kitchen table, like ten of them actually. If I’d paid the fifteen dollars any time in the last six months it wouldn’t have harmed my credit but now it will. I couldn’t bring myself to think about another bill. A piece fell off my car and I just left it on the ground. The head gasket is leaking and I drove without oil until the temp gauge started flailing around wildly; at that point I stopped and put oil in. I will just keep doing this until the engine seizes up. I will not get the leaks repaired. What are you gonna do about a blown head gasket anyway. Last night I had sex with a 20 year old camwhore on a first date. I hit it raw and came in her. Even though I might have STD’s from Filipino whores. Her age is not relevant but I just told you to brag, is what I’m like now.
My cat has a patch of hair missing from his back leg and I don’t take him to the vet. Every single conversation I have I am thinking: when will this be over. My eyes hurt. It is cancer. Because I refuse to wear eye protection in the tanning bed. I don’t want the weird white eyelids that newscasters have. I will tan again this week and continue to not put the little plastic thing over my eyes. I have not written a short story in seven months. I have not worked on my book in seven months.
But I didn’t take a drink. This weekend I went to the bird sanctuary with my parents. We saw an osprey. I am a better brother, son, worker and friend. I search diligently for jobs and focus on the action, not the results. Meaning I send my resume places and then don’t spend ten hours agonizing about how they won’t hire me. Or if they do it’ll suck. Or did I accidentally write NIGGER JEW VAGINA AIDS instead of a cover letter. I owe Time Warner and Quest but I made payment plans with Bank of America, the hospital, the gas, the electric, the library… spent 16 hours getting the billing error from my health insurance fixed. I paid my taxes including reporting 1099 work that I know my employer didn’t tell the IRS about– what am I like now: square as fuck.
I will make amends to the Philippine hookers I exploited. I know how much time I have left not to work because I keep a strict budget. I lift weights six times a week and prepare healthy foods such as Brussels sprouts. Gave the cat flea medicine which will fix his leg. Didn’t flip out on my friend for leaving snotty tissues all over my house. Didn’t lie to the camgirl to get in her panties. Broke it off cleanly with the girl I asked out in the park when it turned out she was a church mouse who hadn’t fucked in 6 years. Lot of black chicks are like that. I ran into a woman I know. She was with her 12 year old daughter. I did not stare into her little yoga pants cameltoe and have an extended daydream about picking the panty lint from her half bald cunt.
There’s a guy I drive home from meetings a couple times a week. Part of the reason he doesn’t huff Dust Off and crack his skull on the sidewalk anymore is me. There’s a guy who goes to my Monday meeting– I knew him ten years ago. Used to trade him coke for methadone and he’d do shit like crash his truck on speed. Call me telling me Ronald Reagan was controlling his mind. Instead of that shit he’s now a father to his kid and part of the reason for that is me. The reason I don’t smoke black tar and drink cheap brandy and hit women and fall over in the oil mud where my neighbor parks his 1994 Dodge Ram is them.
I used to say I’d never own a gun. Because some drunk night I’d use it to kill myself. Now I don’t want to die.
When my buddy wouldn’t leave the whores in Angeles I took off and went south alone. I was afraid. I swam with sea turtles. I was afraid diving off the boat. I was afraid to drive a motorbike. Almost ate shit going of cliff in the jungle. Took the bike to a waterfall the locals told me to avoid because the hike up the river in the rain might kill me. I work out for vanity but on the boulders in the fast water I understood what my body was for. I talked to God in a coconut patch. His voice was the cicadas. His breathing was the ocean. Got out of my head and talked to people. Call center workers, sex workers, beggars, cops, child prostitutes, sex tourists, expats, people who live in half finished cinder block huts with a tarp for a roof and they’re happier than you; globetrotting young college kids with every privilege in the world. I wouldn’t have done that if I still drank. I’d have woke up hung over and thought about doing it and got drunk.
If I feel like a worthless piece of shit, the way to make it stop is to help someone else. Pick up the phone and call another alcoholic and make him feel not alone. It is easy to do this. There’s a structure to it. It becomes a habit to help someone. When I’m about to be an asshole, I pause and reflect. Suddenly I’m not a worthless piece of shit anymore. I am an instrument of God here to be of service to my fellows.
Anyway. If you want to quit drinking, go to Alcoholics Anonymous. If you want to talk to somebody about it, email me. I’ll tell you what to expect. Help you find a meeting. There’s some hot pussy but the ratio sucks.