Nobody ever said anything when I had three doctors on payroll, did all of my shopping at multiple pharmacies in multiple countries, and polished off a gallon of
every weekend.
”If you don’t remember it (and there’s no video evidence), it didn’t happen!”
Nah, nobody ever said anything. Instead I had designated drivers and was surrounded by people who pop pills. “Got any Norcos?” Yup. “Eh, did you get more Xanax?” Yup. Nobody ever said anything.
I haven’t had a drink since 2014 and I haven’t eaten a pill for roughly a year longer than that but there’s about a decade, give or take, prior to 2014 that doesn’t read the same way.
Hospital stays? Yeah, a few of those, I drank so much in my 20’s I developed an ulcerated oesophagus that needed repaired—twice! Ever hear of Carafate? Lucky you. It’s an oral liquid used to repair internal ulcers and the best way to describe it is: “I never drank powdered concrete..... until then.”
I remember one time they restrained me at the hospital and refused to let me leave because my white blood cell count or red blood cell count, one of those, was too low. I’m pleading my case, “but I drove myself here!!” They said “you’re lucky you made it” and the next thing I know I’m being wheeled up and down beeping hospital corridors on a gurney and didn’t get discharged for five frikkin days. ”It was just blood, Dr. Schmidt, I didn’t mean to cause such a fiasco.” Clear enough? Fast..
to present day.
I make a conscious effort to take care of myself today, I’ve been practicing since 2013, I call it training. I had a medical evaluation a little over two years ago—the physical they recommend every man does when he turns 40. When I went back for the results, Dr. Raján, with a notebook and a pen in his hands ready to take notes, said “what exactly are you doing? Step by step. Because I need to do whatever it is you’re doing.” You know how many people have accused me of being on drugs since I got clean?
I don’t.
Nobody ever said anything back when I weighed 230 and had to hold my breath to tie my boots—ate fast food and processed food, had an endless supply of narcotics in my pocket (backpack, glovebox, cigarette pack), drank Coca Cola all day long, and pounded whiskey on the weekends. That’s how I used to justify my drinking—by only drinking on the weekends. Every weekend—a handle.
My friends-friends, the ones who have been with me forever, they wouldn’t do that. They’re proud of me, they encourage me and, if anything, they challenge me to arm wrestle or something, do things like compliment me.
I went to my buddy @carkelvicci ‘s dads memorial service—this is a couple of years ago so I’m about four years into my transformation. I’m probably right at 185 lbs, two hours a day in the gym type training and doing things like weighing out my own supplements and counting calories, plant based eating, stuff like that—really making a conscious effort to be a better person and to be proud of the mirror. I saw some brothers I haven’t seen for a couple of years at the service, one of them has his wife with him, we’ve known each other a long time. He and I shook hands, “nice to see you!” “How have you been?” Etc etc. I shook his wife’s hand, “what are you on?” She asked. “What do you mean?” She said “I can’t fit in my suit and want whatever you’re on.” Is that riiigght?
I haven’t seen my buddy Jeremy for probably five or six years. About a year ago, I ran into a mutual friend of ours, Phil, a brother I went through the apprenticeship with 22 years ago—he knows me well. We hung out for a little minute, caught up with each other, I asked him about his family, he asked me about whatever, typical small talk. We shook each other’s hand when we were done, I gave him a hug, “love you brother” met with “great seeing you again.” Normal interaction—like I would expect after running into someone I hadn’t seen for several years. Well, I got a call from Jeremy either that evening or the following day.
:ring: “Yooo!” “How’s it going?” Add small talk here and a few formalities. We probably caught up for a minute before he finally said what he really called for, “I heard you saw Phil at the hall,” he said. “Yeah that was nice, I haven’t seen him for awhile.” He asked “are you good man? You ok? Phil said I need to call you, he said you look all sucked up.” He continued, “you been drinking again or something?” Is that riiigght?
Funny, I’ve heard several unassuming comments like that since I cleaned myself up. A lot of people have something to say when they see a ‘middle aged’ me at 6-1, 180 lbs, who trains five days a week, pours his own supplements, stationary peddles an hour each day, and has a knock-out wife who can’t keep her hands off him. Counts 1300 calories every other day, 10% body fat, taking nutrition seriously and #love being able to say “I’m in the best shape of my life” and they all have something funny to say.
However...
Walk around that same height, 50 pounds overweight with an empty Del Taco bag on the table, two 50 gallon drums full of empty coke cans in the back yard and First 48 is starting to play repeat episodes, a pocket full of pills and a severe case of the shakes, freezing cold under a blanket in August because I haven’t had a drink since last night—nobody ever said anything.
