A little over a year ago I had become a master at hiding my reality.  I wouldn’t answer the phone after a certain point in the day.  I wouldn’t make calls before a certain point in the day.  I didn’t want to be seen by people who knew me.  I spread my liquor buying habits out among several stores.  I buried my empties deep in the recycling bin.  I hid what was really going on from the rest of the world.

Only my immediate family could see how bad things were externally, but even they didn’t know the true depths of despair that were the result of my daily drinking.  That’s because I didn’t speak about what was going on.  And when I did, I spoke in broken code and half truths.

None of my friends knew how far down the scale I’d gone.  To the outside world, I appeared to be fine.  I had a job, a house, a wife, a car, nice clothes — all the trappings of success.

But inside, it was different. Inside, I was trapped in a hellish cycle.  Inside, I had feelings that even I didn’t understand.  Feelings of hopelessness, frustration, anger, isolation, and despair.  Feeling’s that I was worthless, undeserving, and unloved.

I was in a place where I couldn’t drink enough to pass out before the feelings crept in and took over my soul. On a few occasions, I tried to cry out for help, but I don’t think anyone understood.  To the outside world these cries for help appeared batshit crazy.

Screen Shot 2016-08-12 at 9.51.15 AM

And they were.  I mean, really, look at that post.  Let it sink in.  What the fuck does it mean?  My brother said it best when he replied, “Sometimes I feel like a park bench, too.”  One friend understood, and I was grateful.  Eight months later I understood what he meant when he wrote, “I hear you” after we had dinner in San Francisco and talked openly about our lives and our headspaces. But to the rest of the world, I might as well have posted something like this image that night, because nobody understood it anyway.

Screen Shot 2016-08-12 at 10.07.16 AM
That’s what happens when you encrypt your feelings.  What the rest of the world sees doesn’t make sense — it’s gibberish.  Random characters, strung together.

Even as I was reaching out, I was careful to make sure that no one could truly understand. I was the only person who had the key to unlock this encryption.  There was no public key available.  I didn’t pass it out.  In truth, I didn’t want anyone to understand because I knew that once others understood I would have to change.

Over the past ten and a half months, I’ve started to unlock those codes.  I’ve started to hand out the public key.  More importantly, I’ve stopped speaking in codes and started to speak about what’s really going on in my head.   And a weight has been lifted from me.  My relationships are getting better.  My life is getting better.  The way I feel about my life is getting better.

I’m living in clear text these days.  It’s nothing short of a miracle.


This week hasn’t been easy. I traveled to Orlando, FL for a work conference on Monday. The first event was billed as a BBQ and Cocktail Reception. There wasn’t a thing on the menu that had seen a grill. I ate sushi — at a barbecue. Really?

Tuesday and Wednesday were jam packed from 7:00 AM until 10:00 PM with meetings, buffet meals, and more cocktail hours. In the past, the cocktail hour was the reward for sitting through 8 hours of PowerPoint hell. But I don’t get that reward these days. And I’ll be honest, on Tuesday night, I really wanted that reward.

I didn’t follow protocol. I didn’t call another sober person before or after these events. I tried to rely on my own strength. And I did, but it was not a fun time. When I first got to the party I was confronted with a bar that was serving several craft beers from Florida. Because it’s all about me, the first thing that I thought was, “sure after I get sober they finally start having something good to drink on offer at these things.”

I saw the fun. And lets be honest, sometimes drinking was fun. In fact, most of my drinking career was fun. Except for the puking. Or the falling down and busting my tailbone. Or the hangovers. Or the pit of despair that I found myself in at the end.

I have to remind myself of those times when the drink looks like fun. I have to remind myself that picking up a drink will lead me right back to that pit of despair where I found myself less than a year ago.When I think about that, all the fun of drinking slips away in an instant. Because that wasn’t fun. It was hell.

So that’s what I did on Tuesday night. I thought about the reality of my drinking. I thought about how much pain I was in last year and how no one could crack the code. And that’s all took to make me come to my senses.

I asked for a bottle of water. I’ll gladly have a glass of water to avoid an encrypted life of hell.

 

 

11 thoughts on “Living in Clear Text

  1. Great post Damien, as a co-dependent I fought those same battles. Everything seemed so normal to everyone else, it was so easy to cover, but inside was chaos and mayhem galore. Thank you for sharing.

    Liked by 1 person

  2. Emotional encryption! So spot on. Are used to wonder why crap what happened and I wouldn’t feel anything, and then get overwhelmed later about it. The more I stay sober the more I realize that was all a function of alcoholism. most of it anyway. So if it’s also that macho crap I pull. Such a great post Damien. Always good to hear from you man. Hope a nice routine settles in for you soon.

    Liked by 2 people

    1. This is the intersection of my professional life and my recovery – it started out as just the story of the week, but I recalled that post from a year ago and realized I’d been crying out in unintelligent coded messages. And bam, the idea of Emotional Encryption was born.

      Liked by 3 people

  3. Hi Damien!
    Me too. The only one who really knew what the drinking was doing, was my hubs and one close friend.
    I hid it from everyone else.
    Now though, my sunny disposition is back much more!
    I sound like a pollyanna, and I probably am a little bit, but that’s okay!
    Each day I stay sober, I find I don’t have to think of all the bad times as much.
    But, I keep it in my memory, not to shame myself, but to never forget!
    xo
    Wendy

    Liked by 1 person

  4. Fantastic post, Damien. I understand this totally. I was fractured in many ways, and no one saw the real me, as I didn’t want anyone to know the real me, as I thought they would be horrified. But recovery is about unlocking a lot of that stuff. Doesn’t mean I trumpet everything, I am still low key and all, but I don’t have to be so tender and haphazard with the truth.

    As for the craft beer thing – I often say the same thing! I hear about these awesome sounding beers and I think – oh great! NOW they have those cool beers. But then who am I kidding, Damien – I drank vodka for a while at the end because it got me to oblivion quickest. Beer was only for getting rid of the shakes. All that lovely fancy beer was wasted on me. So I have to keep that in perspective.

    Wonderful stuff here

    Paul

    Liked by 2 people

  5. Great post! I was just thinking about this the other day how when we get sober and the rest of world keeps drinking–damn them & their craft beer! I mean I moved back home to Denver with 2 years sober & just as Denver is crowned the Napa Balkey of Beer & makes pot legal. Hilarious.
    However it sounds like you’re navigating it all really well! I was a disaster at 11 months so you’re on the right track. Thanks for sharing your journey, Damien.

    Liked by 1 person

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s