by Ron Schecker

Created on: April 30, 2008   Last Updated: October 31, 2008

I grew up in a household where alcohol was present, but was never brought out of the closet. I can remember my mom making whiskey sours for the holidays and nothing more. My dad would have a beer each night with dinner, but I never saw him overdo it, so to speak.

I had those "moments", like I am sure everyone has had at least once in their lives. You know, going a little overboard, drinking more than one should have in a normal time frame. But I never thought in a million years that as I got older, the problem would worsen.

So it was in mid 2007. I started to have mounting debt. I was not moving up in my job as quickly as I wanted to. Money began to place its vice-like grip on my body and soul. It was then that I began to work the dasyhift, which meant my evenings were filled, at least I thought, complete and sheer boredom. So I began to pick up the bottle. And with much more aggression than ever before in my life. It started out completely harmless. A small bottle of rum, which would last a week. But then, my tolerance began to increase, and by then, I was back on my night shifts. Which meant when I had my 2 days off, they were nothing more than drunkenness and headaches back to back.

Soon my tastes went from rum to whiskey, Wild Turkey 101..as in 101 proof. Small bottles to start, then an entire liter of the stuff, all washed down with some soda. I tried real hard to stay focused at work, and for quite some time, it was proved successful. But soon a mistake here and there began to rear its ugly head, and I had to try to laugh it off.

When 2008 began, I was in this downward spiral, unable to control myself. To describe what I went through is difficult: I truly LOVED the feeling of being buzzed, and all relaxed, but I HATED the morning after-groggy, headache, nauseous, always feeling "out of it".

It was around this time things started to get out of control. I had to have a drink every day, no matter how hard I tried to escape from the bottle. So much so that now, not even 101 proof would satisfy my cravings. I had to have something higher. I went to 151 proof rum. And even THEN, I felt nothing. When I went to almost pure grain alcohol, I knew I would do 2 things: fight this battle and win, or die.

I set about my last day like some sort of ritual. I did my usual routine on my day off, went out and got my last small bottle of alcohol, went home and actually had to speak to it, as if it were alive. "You will hold me down no more after tonight. I SWEAR on this!"

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