Thirst of an Alcoholic

The Thirst of an Alcoholic

Going back to my life when I was twenty one was the most frustrating moment of my life. 
The day to day suffering from withdrawl of alcohol was nothing new for me. I had reached rock bottom two years prior to today so I can honestly say it was the most frustrating, depressing moment in my life.
Every morning at 6:30 a.m., I’d wait for the sign of the store to switch to open so I could have a fresh brewed, hopps filled beer for breakfast. I was itching for the feeling it gave me. I’d drink from 7:00 a.m., pass out at noon, drank again at 4:00 p.m., and pass out for the day at 9:00 p.m. then repeat. Black outs occurred often, as did constant hangovers, yet I was comfortable with my life the way it was.
Working as a roofer for a living, I enjoyed a cold brew on the job. Nothing could stop me from doing what I wanted. My body was put through a year of abuse I was dying from the inside out. This went on for months on end, all I wanted was the care free feeling a fifth of Jagermeister could give me. Little did I know, that’s all my life was, nothingness without end. I’ve managed to consume enough beer and liquor that it pulled on the very fabric of my life until there was nothing left but a thread.
The shouting tongues from the bar as if it were a pentacostal church, the inebriated clinking of glasses and bottles always drew me in. I loved every bit of the bar scenes whether I was working the next day or not. I didn’t know the meaning of sobriety.
Choking from intoxication, being left behind the empty walls of what was my life, I grew tired of being broke, hungover, and unconscious while not remembering a single event that had happened. With the mere treadmill like twelve step program, A.A. didn’t do anything, a treadmill in the sense that it was nothing but moving forward while going nowhere. Victory was short lived over my fight of alcoholism. I survived my addiction ever how abrupt. I went back to my old ways, pawning things for a bottle or a couple of cases of beer. 
Mid-day, on Jan. 25th 2011 is the day I’ll never forget. Out with my comrade hitting the bars and soaked every ounce of my liver with alcohol. Feeling fine to go about with what we were doing, I was the driver. In the corner of my eye I spotted the sleek midnight black and sterling silver state trooper. Off I went and not even a humming bird could blink before the flash of my freedom left before my eyes. Blowing a 2.7 into the breathalyzer, I knew I was in for it. The process of binge drinking woke me up inside as I sat at the jail waiting to be processed. Moments had passed and I thought this was my new home, with a new wardrobe of neon orange with “department of corrections” as the designer label. Slumbering myself sober in the muggy, cold cell on a wood bench, I had the chance to make a phone call. I knew my mother was beyond pissed, she was expecting to identify my dead body but instead she saw how my eyes spoke a cry for help. That night, I had the most intense wake-up call a person could receive, a voice mail that stated “I’m pregnant.” I knew right then, things had to change and change for good. I didn’t want to be the dead beat dad raising what would be a little girl today. Alexis Nicole Rogers, born on Nov. 24th 2011 at 3:05 a.m. but she had changed my life as of Jan. 26th 2011 when I got the news. Sobriety is now in my life, I can now drink and know when to stop all thanks to my daughter. If it wasn’t for her, I’d be a homeless, vile piece of garbage that the dump wouldn’t even want.