Relationships, Toxic or Otherwise, Part 1

Where to go next... It's overwhelming trying to pick one tangent to expand upon.
Toxic relationships... I've had too many. In fact, I'm not sure that I've ever had a "normal" relationship. Looking back from my perspective as an addict, I can now see how my drinking was affecting a lot of different aspects of my life, especially romantic relationships.
Once upon a time, I thought I'd found him, my soul mate, my one true love. We worked together at my first job as an attorney. We were both associate attorneys, worked for the same partner, our birthdays were less than 20 days apart (both Pisces, not that I'm aware of the real significance of that), and we both wanted the same things: successful law careers, families, happiness. We started to hang out as friends almost immediately, sharing lunches, going out for drinks after work, etc.
One evening after work, we were again at a local bar located on the water in St. Clair Shores, MI. It was a warm summer evening, we were seated outside, and we were having a good time with another associate attorney. At some point, they started picking on my about my ultra-liberal views, and I eventually got offended enough that I headed for the door. I had to stop to use the restroom first, and by the time I headed out to the parking lot, there he was, sitting on the curb, waiting for me.
I sat down next to him, and he apologized for upsetting me. He said that what I thought of him meant a lot, and I reciprocated, telling him that I really cared what he thought of me, if you know what I mean. (wink, wink) He knew exactly what I meant and indicated that he felt the same way. He was, however, dating someone at the time, and felt he had to do the right thing by ending things with her, before starting with me. I respected the hell out of that, but I still insisted on some drunken kissing, and boy, was it worth it!
After a somewhat shaky start, as I wondered if it had been the drinks talking, that he hadn't really had feelings for me, and because also, in my opinion, he took too long to end his dating situation, we were finally off and running and falling in love. We eventually moved in together, discussed marriage, and our future together, including possible names for children. However, there was one huge problem we couldn't overcome: fighting.
There were some really crazy fights. One time we were down in Detroit at the Hockey Town Café bar/restaurant/upper deck. We were hanging out with some of his friends. Some chick started making eyes at him, and when I went to the bathroom, they started talking to each other. I came back over, pissed as hell. An argument ensued, and he hurried down the several flights of stairs to exit the bar. Well, he is 6'4", and I'm 5'3" on a good day, so it was pretty difficult to keep up. I barely caught up to him in the parking structure next to the bar, but he wouldn't let me into his truck. I did the most obvious thing anyone would do (right?): I jumped in the bed of the truck. He drove out of the city and hit the expressways with me screaming at him from the bed of the truck, threatening to jump out. Eventually he pulled off of the highway, and not in the nicest of neighborhoods. We stood in the street fighting, until we became aware of our surroundings, which included some random, sketchy people coming over to see what the hell was going on. We got in the truck, the cab of the truck, and left.
There were several other fights that involved me threatening to jump out of the car and situations where he, in my opinion at the time, was acting shady. Always the next day in the aftermath of these fights, the day would be filled with silence and avoidance of each other, until we inevitably briefly talked it over and agreed not to do it again.
Regardless of our resolve, it didn't stop. It came to a point that this wonderful relationship was imploding in my face, so we decided I needed counseling for my anger issues. I wanted to salvage what I could, so I found a therapist and went with the best intentions. During our first session, the therapist wanted to talk about my alcohol use. I firmly stated to her that I was there for my anger issues; I already knew what the problem was. What was HER hang up? She would try to bring it up several more times, even broaching it in terms of "alcohol abuse," as opposed to "alcoholism." Each time I would reiterate for her that alcohol was NOT the problem, my anger issues were.
After a job change for him took him across the state, this fragile relationship couldn't withstand the distance. That is mostly because I quickly became very whiny and needy. In fact, so much so, that on one occasion, I set out one night after being at the bar, driving from Farmington Hills to Grand Rapids, and somehow found where he lived. I don't know the Grand Rapids area, and had no address to work from. I have laughingly shared this story with friends, joking that I sniffed him out. Needless to say, he didn't let me in. I crashed (slept, not an accident, which wouldn’t be surprising) in my car in his parking lot and drove away the next day.
Another fight worth mentioning occurred during a night at a club with a bunch of friends, including a co-worker of ours. She was like a mother to us, not only in age, but in other motherly ways. Well, he danced with her, and I blew a jealous gasket. I ruined everybody's night. And it took him more than one day to get over that.
My point to this story is that it wasn't until several years later (this relationship ended in the fall of 2003; I entered treatment in May of 2008), that I was able to look back with the eyes of an admitted alcoholic and see that my therapist knew exactly what she was talking about. Every single one of those fights happened when I was drinking. I don't threaten to jump out of cars when I'm sober. I don't drive a couple hundred miles in the middle of the night to stalk people. And to be fair, he never was acting shady; that was my alcohol-induced paranoia.

But with sober eyes I will say this: that relationship never would have lasted anyway. It had serious problems in other areas. I wish him all the best, and he knows that.

Consequences Part 1

I want to begin this brand-new blog by explaining what my blog title means by providing a brief explanation. First, I do not mean to imply that I am better than any other addict; it's simply given my story, I have been told before that I am not the typical "face" of addiction.  Addiction, and the fallout, can happen to anyone. In my case, no one saw this coming, especially the true depths of my addiction.

I seemingly had it all. There was my exceptional high school career: not only did I have the grades, but I was involved in many extracurricular activities: sports, student government, almost all of the clubs you could imagine, and had a very active social life. Following high school, I attended the University of Michigan and did very well there. Again, the grades and social life were in the palm of my hand. I had an enjoyable and successful experience. (There were a few traumatic experiences, but I will discuss those at a later date.)

Following college, it only made sense that I would continue in my education; I "always wanted to be an attorney" (SO cliché), and so I continued on to law school. I enrolled at the University of Detroit Mercy School of Law (on a two-thirds academic scholarship), and by most standards did a pretty good job, while continuing an active social life. Certainly law school was harder than my previous schooling, but I still managed to graduate cum laude. I was fortunate enough to blow right through the bar exam with minimal preparation.

After passing the bar came the job opportunities. Well, actually an opportunity, as I accepted the first offer that came my way. After putting in my time at my first job, I was head-hunted by two firms. Holy inflation of ego! And, of course, it was a great excuse to celebrate and drink more excessively, not that I needed one.

Once I changed jobs, I felt like I was on top of the world. And for a period of time, I was. More of a justification to celebrate on the regular, right? Unfortunately, the good times came to a screeching halt when I made a drunken fool of myself at my firm's open house where we were celebrating the grand opening of our beautiful and extravagant building. I had a gorgeous office with a private bathroom and almost anything (gadgets and a support staff included) in the palm of my sweaty, shaking hand. But I couldn't handle it and got completely wasted at the party (Judges and high-powered attorneys in attendance from the Detroit Metropolitan area) and sat cutting my arm while sitting at my massive, expensive desk, which occurred during tours of the office. Not exactly the highlight the firm was showcasing. I lost the job, and my mind, and admitted myself, albeit with pressure from doctors, to a psychiatric hospital unit. Everything was spinning out of control, and I didn’t know why or who to blame. What I did know is that drinking was NOT the problem.

I did bounce back and started my own practice and did very well, yet again. However, with all of that freedom to come and go as I pleased, the drinking escalated. And eventually the hard drugs started finding me, especially cocaine. I also entered an abusive relationship with a fellow attorney 20+ years my senior. I know now that he was truly a soulless creature, simply a biological entity wandering the earth leaving in his wake destruction and trauma. That's not to say he poured the booze down my throat and held my nose over the cocaine, but he didn't help things with his mind-fuckery. But again, another story for another time.

In late December of 2007, I was arrested for my first drunk driving. I received some leniency from the Judge and arresting officer, as I had been fleeing an abusive incident: I was covered in bruises, spaghetti sauce, and was wearing one shoe and one slipper.

A few months later, during another physical altercation, I called the police on my ex, but it resulted in my arrest. Those charges were eventually dropped, as my ex refused to pursue them, and I don't think it hurt that we were attorneys and had worked with the Prosecutor several times.

On a subsequent occasion, I was stopped for drunk driving but somehow managed to talk my slurry way out of it. It wasn't long, however, before I yet again had contact with the police. This time I couldn't talk my way out of it, not that I'd remember trying, as I was in a complete and total blackout. That's no surprise considering my BAC was .33, on a blood draw no less. (Very accurate.) I also urinated in a parking lot in front of a crowd of 20-30 people. Coming out of that blackout in jail in the Psychiatric Unit was scary. Not so much because of where I was, but more so because I easily could have been told I was there for killing someone; I had no recollection of what occurred, so that would not have been surprising. (It certainly would have been devastating, but I doubt that would have stopped me from continuing with the drinking and drug use.)

That last drunk driving arrest was in April of 2008. In May of that year, I checked myself into treatment.

Unfortunately, that was not the end of my drinking/drugging career, nor my criminal career (misdemeanors eventually escalated to felonies). I continued down my path of destruction and went on to rack up more consequences, including health, career, and financial, not to mention relationship issues with everyone I knew.

I guess that's a start for my first blog, and I hope to continue to put my story out there. Maybe it will help someone?