I walk into the kitchen and I smell it before I see it. Lime. Gin. Tonic water. I lick my lips. Remember the old movies? The alcoholic walks into a bar and his face contorts in misery. He licks his lips. He covers his mouth with his hand. He fidgets and shoves his hands in his pockets. And you think to yourself, He’s going to end up drinking. He looks so weak, in so much pain. How can he possibly hold on? Damn him. Damn his for surrendering.
I could walk over and drink it. Or maybe just take out the lime and suck on it.
That’s my favorite part. The lime. Just like my mom’s favorite part of a Manhattan was not the whiskey or the vermouth. It was the maraschino cherry on top. “Why, Mom,” I would say with childlike innocence as a teenager, “Can’t you just pour the cherry juice and a few cherries into a soda and drink the part of it you really like?” She would chuckle, and so would my father as he mixed the Manhattan. That’s one of the things he did well: mix drinks. My brother is good at it too. And then she would wave her hand with a devil-may-care bravado and eat the cherries and drink the whiskey and vermouth. After all, it’s the cherry on top, but the alcohol beneath it, that makes the fucking cherry taste like heaven on earth.
I glare at the lime and the gin and the tonic. It is not my friend. One time, before we had children, we drank many G&Ts and I said,
“Let’s paint the dining room.” And he laughed and we got out the blue paint and the rollers and brushes and turned on the music and we had a grand time painting and dancing around until it was . . . stop. Good memory, and good memories are bad when you’re staring at a glistening crystal glass filed with gin and tonic and a lime on top.
When do you know you have a drinking problem? Is it when you lick your lips and imagine the liquid burning your throat as it works its way into your belly? Is it when you close your eyes and wait for the buzz that only a stiff drink will bring? Even bad buzzes are good buzzes at least at first. And bad buzzes make worse memories fuzzy. Fuzzy bad memories hurt less than clear memories, clear like crystal glasses filled with . . . stop.
When do you realize you’re an alcoholic? Is it when you mourn, and celebrate all in the same instant, the fact that you turn, and tighten your jaw, and walk away from the glistening crystal glass with the gin and the tonic and the lime on top?
I don’t know. I don’t know anything. Except that I turn, and even as I lick my lips, I walk away from the glistening crystal glass with the gin and the tonic and the lime on top. I walk away tonight, and that’s all that matters. Tomorrow? Tomorrow is another day and I don’t contemplate tomorrow until it’s today.
Beautifully written. You captured it – I was totally there with you – so glad you walked away. Love you.
Thank you so much dear Trece–so so much. Love you too.
Beautifully explained. Addiction–and it come in many shapes and forms–is rarely the raging monster we often see portrayed in movies and media. It’s a dark seductive tingling and you have to constantly retrain yourself to walk away.
Thank you so much Kelly. Yes. Some people, like me, never hit rock bottom. I grew up with alcoholics and I knew for years I was on the edge of it . . . instead of walking on that edge and tripping, I finally just said: No. Done. It is and it is not easier, if that makes sense?
Makes absolute sense (we also have a family history of addiction).
It’s a good lesson to teach early. We have been taking our oldest, who is not yet of legal drinking age, through a loosely calculated plan resulting in, we hope, a respect for alcohol and and understanding that each person has different limits but there is never a good reason to deliberately try to find and exceed those limits. We’ve seen too many kids lose themselves the freedom of being legal so we hope our preemptive approach proves valuable.
WOW! WOW! and WOW!! This is one of the most powerful, honest pieces I’ve ever read. The lessons within this piece are many and so valuable,and I will be sharing this post at our dinner table tonight. As the mother of 2 teen girls who have been taught about the “legacy of their grandparents and great-grandparents alcoholism” that runs on both sides of their family and the genetic predisposition that comes from that, I thank you for such a candid look at a drink through your eyes. With my older daughter preparing to start college next month, I thank you for the timeliness of this post. Much love to you!
My dear friend: I grinned when I read your kind note above!! Thank you! To think that I could affect in some way your children–yes!! I wish I had read this sort of thing as a teenager–could have kept me out of a whole lot of trouble (:sigh:)! I so wanna talk with you soon! Miss you and much love right back atcha!!!
Dear El,
Now is the only time we ever have and you handled it perfectly. This was well written and smack on target. I know I’m far away and you don’t know me that well so this doesn’t much matter, but I am really fucking proud of you. Nuff said.
Aloha,
Doug
Dear Doug,
I read this comment and I was running out the door, so I carried your kindness with me the way my children carry a beloved pet chickie (my son finds great comfort in chickens) or book (my daughter). When someone I respect as much as you tells me he’s proud of me–wow. It really comforted me and made me feel secure. Thank you my friend.
xo,
El
This? Is quite possibly one of the best “honest” posts/articles I’ve read–and you know I do not give that kind of praise lightly. Beautiful, raw glimpse into your mind. I have so much respect for you.
Really?!!! Coming from you–I was bowled over, too bowled over to write back–so I sat with it for three days and I still don’t know what to say. Thank you so much my friend. Your words fill me with gratitude. xoxo
I’m glad it’s healthy to be addicted to your writing, El, because I sooo am. FYI, I tried running with this metaphor, but comparing you to a drink with cherries got really shady, really fast.
Oh! Speaking of shades! I picked up some new aviator sunglasses yesterday and thought of you. I am not rocking them nearly as hard as you do.
This was such a fabulous, honest post. I wish I could say I didn’t relate to it deeply, but I do. Thank you!
Jules! Your comments always make me smile!
And I spent the first part of my run trying to imagine what your new shades look like!!
Much love and gratitude to you!!
Your writing sucked me right into that moment where time slowed and it all flashed through your head. Painfully beautiful to read.
Thank you so much, Kourtney, for your kind remarks!!
This El is wrenching. I felt the desire, no need to reach for the glass along with the ongoing dialog of all the reason why no. Wonderfully and honestly wrenching. Thank you for you ongoing exposure.
I love you for that.
Val: thank you my friend. It was wrenching to write, to be honest. I was almost in tears. It’s painful to want, to need . . . out of weakness. But like you, I’m not going to hide from the truth. And I love you for the exact same thing. xoxo
One Day At A Time is a good mantra for all.
Thank you dear Lisha! It’s funny, how powerful that mantra is!!
You are an incredible person. And your writing always blows me away. You’ve captured what so many people struggle with daily in such a honest way. Thank you.
I am so honored by your kind comments my friend. Thank you so much!!
What a powerful post because of the topic, but also because of the powerful, specific, and vivid language. Really outstanding. And I don’t say that lightly. I’m not one who calls every post “stunning” and what now. (I have not read the other comments so I’m hoping if somebody used that weird they know I’m not mocking!) Just trying to say, that I really was wowed by this.
Aw Nina: thank you so much my friend!! I’ll accept “stunning” with tremendous gratitude!! I hope you’re having a lovely week! I’m going a little nutty with all three children out and about, but tomorrow I get a day alone to write–sounds like heaven, yes? xoxo
What a powerful piece…
pretty sure everyone has already said that… but since my vocabulary is usually lacking… you know. Still, it seems like that’s a word that couldn’t be over-used here… wonderful, El!!!
Thank you so much my friend!! I am honored by your kind remarks!!
Totally relate, and totally feel thankful that I don’t have to be tested most of the time. However, when my bo and I go out and choose to sit in the bar area (to watch sports, or if the restaurant is too crowded)…I laughingly order “my drink” of Diet Coke with lime, make jokes about “not going over my limit” and such…deep down…nobody knows what that is like unless you’re alcoholic. Your words make me appreciate my sobriety, and I’m so, so grateful that you didn’t pursue the glistening glass. Such a powerful share! XOXO-SWM
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