Tuesday, January 13, 2009

LUNCH IN A BAR

I had lunch in a bar recently.

Since I quit drinking I don't go there often, but when my friends or business aquaintances go there, I tag along.

A quarter to noon.

A very dark bar, and it smells like every other bar. Booze, cigarette smoke, a smell of rancid dampness.

I order a coke - a dirty look from the waitress. They don't want to sell just coke. Just the hard stuff - that's where it's at. The profit.

Five minutes to twelve. A little man in a dark suit comes in and sits in the corner. Works in an office somewhere. He is restless, eyes bloodshot, a slight quiver. Nervous. Noon.

He orders a beer. Has to drink with two hands. Some small sign of relief in sight.

Another beer. Really starting to relax.

Third beer. Drinking slower now. The world is coming into perspective. He relaxes more.

There is a warm glow coming on. The muscles start to relax, the inner shakes are going away. The face starts to smile.

Can forget last night now. The blur of bars, lights, loud sounds. The long woozy drive home, the quick look outside, is the car there? Any blood, dents? No.

The cold hard disapproval of the hurt wife.

The children are in bed. Haven't seen them for several days now. Too late getting home at night, unable to face them in the morning.

The cold meal and the loneliness, and the dropping off into a fitful sleep for a couple of hours. The awakening into those awful cold sweats and shakes.

Back to work with the stress and strain of the day's problems. The only thing keeping him focussed is the bar waiting for him at noon.

Back at the bar, at 12.30, three drinks and some french fries. Life is returning to normal. To Hell with the wife and kids and the job. Everything is ok now, the alcohol coursing through the veins. As good as the peace of the junkie's needle.

I look at the little man, and I see myself, waybackwhen. He was me and I was him. God how I pity you little man!

You are obsessed, incapable of functioning without your chemical.

You are in your own jail.

Incarcerated by your addiction. You can get out, but do you want to? Can you take the pain, and the facing up to life that you must do, in order to kick the habit? Or are you going to continue through life like the "dirty little junkie you are?" I hope you can make it.

DON FELSTEAD, (December, 2008) I wrote this from personal experience. In order to kick the habit I had to go through a very hard time of suffering from withdrawal. Without going into detail here, I made it and I have not had a drink since May 24th, 1969.

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