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From A Dark Place

From A Dark Place
June 21
13:13 2019

By: Mike Rudon Jr.

I write this from a dark place, because every day I am forced to walk through the wreckage left behind by a life of drinking. Each day it is pushed in my face. Each day I stumble and trip over some reminder, some snide comment, some insult or scorn pushed into my path. I am forced to accept that this may never change. I can change. And I have. But perhaps – no, not perhaps, for sure – I have caused so much damage that there are those who would want to see me crawl, to see me grovel, to see me ruined. I’ll be sure to include a ‘sharing’ section in my eulogy so they can get in one last jab. Maybe I’ll even arrange a casket kicking segment in the program. It is what it is.

But that paragraph above was written Monday. Today is Tuesday. I shouldn’t allow people to rent space in my head. I can’t begin to understand why they’d want to. I don’t want to be inside my head most times. I want to tell those who are alcoholics like I am, and who are struggling like I do, that I understand. Maybe you are a total slave to alcohol, unable to control yourself once you drink. I get it. Maybe you are barely holding on to sanity, wracked by guilt and regrets and self-loathing because you think you are weak, and worthless. I get that too. Maybe, drink in hand, you smile and joke and laugh and believe you are on top of the world, only to fall to pieces when the liquor is gone and only the darkness remains. Trust me, I get it. Maybe you are at the point of giving up. Maybe you feel there’s nothing left. Maybe you feel you can’t dig yourself out of the hole. Maybe you feel nobody cares. Maybe the only thing that brings you any peace, any solace, even for a moment, is that little plastic bottle of white rum. I get it. I get it. I get it. You are not alone.

I know you see me looking all cute and stuff. Skin glowing. Hair blowing in the breeze. I know sometimes it looks like I’ve got it all together. I have a good job. I’m fairly decent at what I do. I’m a pretty cool guy. But I’ve been where you are. I know how it feels to wake up in the morning and not know where you are. I know how it feels to be chasing that next drink, that next bottle, long after everybody else has stopped drinking. I know how it feels to be wide awake at 4:00am, alone, waiting for the nearest shop to open so that I can get another drink to wash away the horrors. I know how it feels to be utterly humiliated, scorned, condemned. I know what it feels like to be pitied – for somebody like me that is worse than condemnation. I know what it’s like to destroy a family, and I know what it’s like to want to die. It’s as simple as that.

You know what it would take me to get back to that? To that place of darkness, and bitterness and depression and a disgust of myself so overwhelming and black that I want to die? One drink. One rum and coke. Not even a whole bad man. Not two drinks. Just one drink. That’s it.

I want to tell you, with all my heart, and from all my experiences – get help. If you are somebody who cannot walk into a barroom, take two or three drinks and leave – get help. If you take just one drink on Friday, and come back to your senses on Sunday – get help. If you lose yourself, like I have, when you drink – get help. If your drinking is harming your kids, your family, your friends – get help. If your drinking is affecting your job – get help. You can’t do this alone. We can’t do this alone. Trust me on that.

For so many years, I accepted my drinking problem. I begged forgiveness when necessary, far too many times to count. I promised to change. I cried, when it was warranted. I turned to God in my own way, every time it got bad. I talked it out, to others and in my own head. I convinced myself that I could do it. Hell, I stopped drinking so many times I should be in the Guinness Book of World Records. Serious.

For me, it’s a work in progress. Maybe this is my time. Honestly, I live in fear, for now. There was a time I used to fear women, because I know I am so unusually attractive that the fairer sex can’t seem to keep their hands off me. I also used to fear ghosts, just because I am a certified wuss. Now, I fear rum. I am afraid that I will fall. I am afraid that if I fall this time I will never get up. Hey, don’t judge me. It is what it is.

You are loved, and you are not alone. Get that in your head, and hold on to it. I know you can do it, if you really want to. And I’m here if you need to reach out. #671-0731.

The End.

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