Holiday Hangover

Exactly 7 years ago today, this evening to be exact, I was behaving badly.

I was in a drunken blackout. My wife and son had vacated the premises, taking refuge at her Mother's house. Incidentally, this was the evening we were celebrating Christmas at my In-Laws' house, so we were all supposed to be there, yet I wasn't.

Instead, I was running around my front yard, threatening to kill my daughter's Step Dad. My ex-wife is the one that informed me of my exploits on that dreadful evening, since I have absolutely no recollection of the incident.

And, as was tradition at the time, Arlington's finest was dispatched to my abode to handle the situation. At one point they had me on the ground with their Nine's drawn, a deadly bead on my noggin. My 10 year old daughter revealed this little nugget of info to me. She was watching her Daddy. To this day I am still bothered by this particular part of the evening.

I remember coming to, on the couch, with Christmas Vacation playing on the DVD player. I was alone, wondering where everyone was. My only thought was to call Sarah, my Mother-In-Law, and tell her I was coming over. She said, "okay". It was at this point that I figured something might be wrong. In a fog of waxing anxiety, I drove on over. 

When I got there, I was greeted by my Brother-In-Law and James, my Father-In-Law...oh, and the Police.

James declared that he wanted me off of his property. Well, I wasn't leaving without my daughter, so one of the officers went into the house to ask her if she wanted to leave with me.

She told him that she did NOT want to leave with me. I don't blame her.

So, as I stumbled to my car, one of the officers offered to drive me home, which was incredibly kind and unbelievable, since they could have easily arrested me for driving while intoxicated. The sad story of my pathetic life.

The entire family was terrified of me. I'm sure it's a Christmas they'll never forget. Nor will I.

So, the 'Hangover' the title refer's to is the memory of my ultimate, drunken romp. It finally ended on Jan. 11th, 2007. I will always remember my last 'drunk'. It will forever hang over my head as a healthy reminder of how things used to be. I will not dwell on the past, nor will I shut the door on it.

Somewhere this holiday season, there's a homeless mother, with kids, wondering how she is going to shelter her family for the evening; wondering how they're going to eat. While we sit around making merry about a jolly old man in a red suit, delivering toys, those kids are probably simply grateful just for receiving a meal on Christmas. 

I'll wager that that homeless family is very aware of 'the Reason for the Season'. Today, I sure am.

With that hanging heavy upon my heart, I know that today I am truly blessed. I am the wealthiest man in the world. I am also extremely grateful. One thing in particular I'm grateful for is that I no longer have to drown myself in alcohol to suffer the Holidays.

Today, I focus on being with my family this time of year, and reflect upon what could have been if I never got sober. 'Grateful' just scratches the surface.

Today, that same Father-In-Law welcomes me into his home whenever I want to visit. Our relationship is on an entirely different level. We truly love each other immensely. What a blessing. Yes, I'm still married to the same woman. And yes, she is quite possibly insane!

Merry Christmas, Everyone

-coop

"A Descent Into the Maelstrom"

Please forgive me if this comes off as pretentious, but I cannot understand how a reference to one of my favorite authors hasn't occurred to me until now.

The author is good 'ol Edgar Allan Poe. The short story is A Descent Into the Maelstrom.

Of course, I'm using this as a reference to the disease of Alcoholism. Now, the story bears no resemblance or insight to the typical journey of an alcoholic. But, what I wish to confer in this epistle is a series of uncanny, seemingly harmless occurrences that I consider the incipiency of my alcoholism.

In my elementary school days, I vaguely remember hearing of a mysterious author by the name of Edgar Allan Poe. I believe it was The Raven that first peaked my interest. But, it wasn't until Junior High that I came across the story A Descent Into the Maelstrom. And, I can clearly remember what vexed me so about this particular title: what in the hell is a maelstrom??

The rest of this story unfolds in a predictably typical, mundane fashion: I discover that a maelstrom is a gigantic whirlpool, I read the story, love it, Poe becomes my favorite author, alongside Conan Doyle. It's also around this time that I discover the wonderful, pleasing, warm, cozy embrace of King Alcohol.

Thus, this marks the beginning of my own descent into the Maelstrom. Yeah, this does seem to be a tad bit cheesy, but it really does present an accurate metaphor.

My drinking career, early on, is a classic study in adolescent experimentation. It was fun. I was breaking the rules, yet I was being hailed a rebel. A ground-breaking visionary, representing my fellow Jr. High Schoolers as a force to be reckoned with!

I will admit, my early drinking career was quite fun up until I I graduated High School. That's when things really started to go south. My behavior slowly went from decent to despicable, and it was then that I started drinking to forget. That, in turn, began the deterioration of my self esteem. All of that combined with spiritual bankruptcy makes for one miserable alcoholic. Only, I really didn't know I was miserable. 

Now, from that point up to the time I embraced sobriety, there were moments of happiness, but they never lasted very long. It also seemed to me that I was drinking to extinguish those rare moments of happiness. I'm pretty sure my ex-wives will corroborate this detail. 

So, there's my metaphorical presentation for the week. In the spirit of Thanksgiving, I am grateful I survived my encounter with the maelstrom. In the story, three brothers were in the maelstrom and only one lived to tell about it. That's a 33.333...% survival rate. Compared to alcoholism, that's pretty good.

-later, coop

Status: Quo

I have to admit, these past couple of weeks have been very nice and quite uneventful.

I find that when I am being hit from every direction, I tend to forget about myself and focus on everything BUT me. My sobriety is everything to me. Without it, I am no good to anyone else.

Funny how that works.

For so many years I didn't care what use I was to others. All I cared about was me and when I could guzzle the next bottle.

Even though I'm sober, and have been going on 7 years, I still have to stay involved with the recovery process. Many people think, "hey man, it seems like you are doing good with not drinking. Why do you still go to meetings? You're cured, right?"

Wrong

One can never be cured of this disease. Like they say: In order to keep it, you gotta keep giving it away.

This is how cunning this disease is. Think about this for a second: A person gets Cancer, but the doctor says that he can treat it, and pretty much guarantee you a complete recovery. Without a doubt, that person's first words are, "When can we START?!?"

Now, take an alcoholic, and tell him or her that you have a program that will guarantee full recovery if they work it diligently, and you know what their first words are? "Ummm, let me get back with you on that."!!!

It's true. I've heard it a hundred times, at least. And don't be disillusioned about the mortality rate concerning alcohol. It is a Killer. Look it up for yourself. Plus, I don't think I've ever heard of someone having cancer and getting behind the wheel of a car and killing someone.

We all know what drinking and driving results in. Prisons are full of those individuals. I know. I used to carry the message to those prisoners.

Bottom line is, I have to maintain a steady connection with my recovery fellowship for the rest of my life, if I want to stay sober. But, sometimes life can get extremely complicated and become saturated with time consuming events. (and the events I'm referring to are of the long term variety).

When this happens, it is difficult to keep up with the little things that we need to keep us on track. And that's the kicker, is it not? It's during these times that we need our program the most, but the lack of time to be engaged keeps us away. Thus is the anomaly of our plight.

So, what do we do? We just keep doing the best we can. For me, my family is first. My mind cannot see it any other way. But, when I share this information with my sponsor or another close recovery member, they always say, "Well, Cooper, you still gotta take care of yourself." Well, no shit, Sherlock! Like I don't already know that?

But, if my wife is having a tough time, or my daughter, son, father-in-law, etc., needs me for whatever reason, I'm not about to say "well, honey, I'm sorry you're having a bad time right now, but I gotta go to a meeting. See ya later. Good luck." Unfortunately, that's exactly how life happens sometimes. Then before I know it, it's been 2 weeks since I've made a meeting!

As bad as that is for my recovery, I am able to evaluate and pinpoint the importance of what I am doing for my family, and realize that what I am doing is actually a part of my recovery. 

It's called a 'living amends'"

I'm making right that which I made so wrong for so many years.

And when that elusive extra hour finally does present itself? You're damn skippy that I go to a meeting! I'm too afraid not to.

I openly welcome the 'fear' that keeps me going.

Anyway, things are going fairly well right now. But, I will share with you that there is a slight squall on the horizon: this will be the first holiday season without my wonderful, beautiful, brilliant mother-in-law, Sarah Ethridge. That is beginning to put a damper on the general mood of my peeps, including myself. I've actually thought to myself that I'd just rather skip the upcoming holidays and move on.

But, that ain't gonna happen! We shall prevail, though.

God will see to it.

take care
-coop

A Minor Detachment?

This is a beautiful rendition of the Horsehead Nebula, located in Orion, taken by the Hubble Space Telescope; where Stars are truly born. You like?

My daughter is in rehab, in Corpus Christie, again. She has been there a little over a week. She has expressed to me that she actually wants to get sober.

The last time she was at this particular facility she did not want to be there. She made this quite clear from the get-go at the time. And, upon her discharge she made it abundantly clear that she despised sobriety. She openly discussed her defiant behavior she exhibited while in rehab.

She didn't want it, so she didn't get it.

I finally talked to her this past Wednesday, and I have to tell you, I almost didn't recognize her. Yeah, I knew it was her voice, but it was her mature delivery that threw me off. She sounded like a different person. And, she wasn't spewing empty promises. It was as if a switch had been thrown within. It was very strange, hearing this new and improved version of my baby.

The change in her couldn't be an immediate result of rehab, I'm certain (she's only been there about a week and a half). I believe it is something of a spiritual nature that has finally broken through her mental fog. I could actually hear the process of enlightenment in her words and in the timbre of her voice.

Of course, she is a drug addict, which qualifies her as an expert liar. As are all addicts and alcoholics. Time will tell.

Now to my purpose for writing: why am I seemingly apathetic towards this new and improved teenager? I feel as though I'm a detached, numb-headed nomad, confused as to how I want to feel about all of this. I mean, the last time she was there, all I could think about was making sure I sent at least 2 letters a week to her. Today? The thought of writing her just doesn't appeal to me. The feelings are similar to those pertaining to one of the many mundane chores we humans have in common that accompany our everyday existence. Like loading the dishwasher or filling up the gas tank.

That sounds horrible, doesn't it?

But, of course I have a good idea why I feel this way. I don't trust her. And, since I don't trust her, my mind is doing what it is designed to do; it is protecting me from all of the dreadful feelings I've felt for so many years.

After all of the disappointments, lies, and treacherous behaviors she has presented to us over the years, I think my mind is now officially on alert. Instead of my instinctual response of immediately going to DEFCON 1, (which is the most severe fear and worry mode), I'm hanging steady at DEFCON 5, refusing to allow myself to self destruct (which will be the end result if I continue to make myself sick with fear and dread).

I just cannot do that anymore. At least, not at this point. Hopefully, this time, I won't have to.

Hmmm, maybe I'm finally beginning to herd some acceptance into my program. God knows I've battled it for years. (Thing is, I've been able to settle into a comfy bed of acceptance with most other areas of my alcoholic life. But when it comes to my daughter, it has been a difficult, hostile crusade).

So, to all of you new to sobriety, just know that acceptance is a huge part of recovery. Don't be too hard on yourself if you don't get it at first.

Thanks for reading

coop

A Mental, Spiritual Locale

I thought it appropriate to let the few of you, who bless me with the honor of your time spent reading this humble blog, in on a new place of mine, ergo, state of mind. (ummm, get it?)

It's a little strange, so bear with me, but I consider it to be a personal,  pseudo-corporeal hamlet, encompassing my coveted, yet oh-so elusive ethereal safe place.

This desired safe haven I call Copacettica.

Yes, I gather that most of you have noticed the moniker in my last few posts.

It's a derivation of one of my favorite words in the English language, along with Shit (yes, I be so juvenile), Copacetic (also copasetic; copesetic). 

Copacetic [koh-puh-set-ik]- very satisfactory; OK. When things are going well, they're copacetic. This includes a range of meanings from "just fine" to "excellent". For a brief, albeit ambiguous, history of the word, click here. 

I've been hip to this word for years, having first heard it in the early '90s while working for the Southern Pacific Railroad. Thing is, I choose to employ the term very rarely lest I grow tired of it.

A few weeks ago, while obsessing over one of several distressing complications in my life, I found myself fantasizing the remote possibility of an actual place, or town, where everything is always "good to go". In no more than the blink of an eye, the word Copacettica rolled off of my tongue. The suffix -ica was subconsciously obvious because of America, Africa, Utica, Jamaica, etc.... 

You get the idea.

Once the realization of how cool the word sounded to me I started to toy with the tangibility of such a place. Then it hit me: Copacettica can be, in fact can really ONLY be, where one happens to be at the moment things are perceived as being excellent and/or doggone good to go!

Copacettica is literally EVERYWHERE...YET! (and this is a BIG YET)..., it's NOWHERE AT ALL.

That's where the individual, and his or her spiritual contact with God comes in. If you can triumphantly "let go and let God", then you, my friend, are There.

Now, I don't know about you, but I find that just the very thought of me sauntering the shores of my D. C. (District of Cooper), merely by turning my chaos over to God, very comforting.

Take a moment to let it sink in.

I know
That I'll be good to go, 
By quashing my desire 
To run the show.

I have to be willing to relinquish control. Wait...that doesn't really make any sense being that my perception of control, or the very idea that I'm in charge, is really just an illusion. The more I attempt to impose my will upon the world to do my bidding, the more fear, disappointment and resentment I'm going to bear.

And any drunk that has been around awhile can surely attest to the destructive nature of just a single resentment. When we harbor resentment, we drink again....

But with the alcoholic, whose hope is the maintenance and growth of a spiritual experience, this business of resentment is infinitely grave. We found that it is fatal. For when harboring such feeling we shut ourselves off from the sunlight of the Spirit. The insanity of alcohol returns and we drink again. And with us, to drink is to die. pg. 66

I hope this writing doesn't come off as an indicator that I'm ready for the Padded Palace. As silly as it may be, this process of "placing" myself in a state of surrender is much more preferable than the alternative. The obsession is gone and the physical craving a dim memory.

I wish I could say that my visits to my private burg are frequent and extended, but they are not. I still battle, internally, with letting go and letting God. It isn't a faith or trust issue, but seems to be that tiresome issue of ego. There are specific concerns in my life that seem to incite the innate process of "righting that what is wrong", and the recipients of the aforementioned intractable tendencies are my daughter and my wife.

I just can't help it. 

But as I keep saying, it is getting better. It is getting easier to turn it over completely. 

But, as of right now? I am definitely within the walls of Copacettica.

Lets make 'em laugh today-

coop

Quest for Copacettica

Are we there yet?

No, Not really. This trip started roughly 40 years ago and I'm happy to report that I'm still above ground. Everything that has transpired over the course of this expedition can be visualized in a linear fashion... ummm, kinda.

Every preceding thoroughfare led me to, and prepared me for each ensuing change of direction. (I might think of a different way of stating the preceding sentence).

Does it ever end? I'm not referring to my existence, or the end of the road. But, it seems like there hasn't been a decent rest stop in quite sometime. I've always been under the impression that as we get older, there are supposed to be more and more moments of coasting. At least, when I was younger, that's how my elders always appeared to me.

Like life was getting easier. HA!

I realize now that that is the amount of "attained wisdom" I see on their faces. It's the "knowing that you don't really know" that always set them apart. The elders have stopped fighting it and just reclassified each following event, yet continue to learn from it.

I'm still learning about "not knowing".

I'm a hell of a map reader. I love charting courses to new lands, new locations. But there's always a damn detour, ain't there? Traffic, road construction, etc.... Things that my highlighted pathway doesn't expose.

Becoming a parent was always a "highlighted" journey for me. I love being a Dad. A Father. (I just love the way that sounds). Being a Dad is by far the most wonderful part of my trip. BUT....

It has also been the most horrible part of my trip. I never could have imagined what being a Dad was going to be like. Oh, sure, I had an IDEA of how it might be...could be. But, I was just a tad bit off in my pre-visualization of the Parent Factor,  for lack of a better term.

There have been moments of pure joy and happiness. And there have been moments of complete terror that I was going to drop dead. Shit, at one time, all of my brothers and sisters at my home group thought I was dying of cancer because I was so emaciated. Caused by the constant fear and worry I put upon myself concerning my offspring.

please note that I didn't say, "my child put upon me". All of my fears and worry were all caused by me. But, naturally, I was, and still am, worried about my child. 

When you pick up your daughter, in the middle of the night, at her drug dealers (boyfriend's) house (he kicked her out), and see all of the track marks on your baby's arm, you tend to get a little worried. And, I'm proud to say, I didn't kill anyone. Of course I wanted to storm the house and break the little fucker's neck, and then rip off his arms and beat the shit out of him with them. But, I didn't.

I just told my baby how much I love her, and that everything is going to be alright. The things a Dad is supposed to do. Going to jail for Expedited Pre-Meditated MURDER wouldn't help her at all.

She needs me. I'm going to be there for her.

You see, it's been the purpose of my journey thus far. I am prepared emotionally, mentally and spiritually to guide her through all of this. Without the life I've had this far, I wouldn't have a clue as to what to do for her.

I'd say that's sound justification for my sobriety today, wouldn't you?

It was obviously meant to be-

Here's to tolerating others today,

coop

Greetings from Copacettica

Well, I wish I had a glorious tale to submit about the wonderful world of Sobriety, and just how well things are going since I've been sober. I admit, I have been blessed in Sobriety, namely, with a whole new perspective on life. The mere fact that I am still alive and living a new life is blessing enough.

I don't want this to be yet another boring, tired diatribe anent my depressing, ongoing familial tribulations. I'm beginning to feel that to continue to discuss these matters, I am doing more harm than good, personally. (It has taken about two hours to figure out how to phrase the last 2 sentences...I still don't get it). I mean, who in the hell am I helping if I just vent about my kid for the next year, right? Do YOU really want to hear all of the emotional BS involved?

I don't think so.

I guess the point should be that I have been able to maintain a solid, spiritual grasp on my sobriety throughout this ordeal. I used to run like a fearful, terrified child from the prospect of coping with any kind of real-life drama. Change was another trigger that fueled my fear, necessitating the intake of mind altering substances.

Alcohol, for this alcoholic, was simply a coping mechanism that developed into an addiction, that developed into a way of life, that developed into a mental obsession and a physical craving that became my means to an end. Or, a means attempting to avoid an end. But, that end came several times over the course of my drinking career.

Many relationships came to an end.
Many friendships came to an end.
There were many jobs lost and opportunities missed.
And, there was that bleak week in January of 2006, in an Econo Lodge in MS in which I tried to end it, literally.

I no longer want to "end it". While life may still continue to offer me an occasional Shit Sandwich, today I am just grateful that I'm alive and able to eat it.

How's that for a former angry, misanthropic asshole? (Ummm, okay, one out of three? I'm no longer angry)

It was all made possible by trusting God, cleaning house and helping others. Oh, and I also had to stop swimming in that Petticoat Junction water tower full of booze.

I may not always make the right decision nor do I always say the right things. But, at least I'm in a sober, sound state of mind and can at least try to make a decision, rather than scurry away and veil my inadequacies with alcohol. Capisce?

More later from Copacettica