[Volume II may be found here: http://darksidelawyer.posterous.com/comment-the-dark-side-dialogs-volume-ii-threa. A link to Volume I may be found in Volume II as well as on my Posterous home page.]
May 27, 1999, 11:30 AM
Okay, maybe I was being a little disingenuous with my intentions. On some level, I thought that I would be able to feign some contrition, act like the remorseful, petulant puppy for a bit and then get out of the dog house, eventually weasel my way back into the "main house" and return to business as usual (for the most part). Hate all you want, but I did not think that I had a significant problem. Rather, I just had a bad night. Plus, this was back when I though Pet rose still had a shot of getting into the Hall.
You see, I was not an everyday drinker. My drinking was confined almost exclusively to weekends, with the occasional weeknight event (such as the golf outing). Also, there were many weekends where I only drank on one of the two nights. I was much more adult with my drinking than I had been a scant six or seven years earlier. But those are other stories for other posts. Regardless, I was not one of those "three-martini" lawyers of yesteryear who got sloshed at lunch and then faked it back at the office until happy hour. That would be...uncivilized.
However, my own personal rationalizations aside, I needed to do something to make up for the prior evening and for other recent instances of drinking malfeasance. And that something needed to be somewhat grandiose. Luckily, I had a blackbelt in going through the motions which had allowed me to escape inordinate amounts of accountability and responsibility to date. And I had the perfect patsy in mind.
May 27, 1999, 11:45 AM
The number was not hard to find. There were "ads" in the monthly State Bar Magazine, and occasionally a feature article would run therein. Also, the annual "meat book" (a/k/a the State Bar Directory) had a listing in the Administrative section and additional "ads" throughout. Evidently, lawyers have a disproportionate occurrece of chemical dependency and mental disorders (I know, right??). As a result, like most others, our State Bar Association has established a Lawyers' Assistance Program. That is, we have a dedicated group of individuals, some of whom are available 24-7-365, ready, willing and able (not to mention clinically trained) to help, whether it means lending an ear, providing information or even performing intervention services.
I must admit that I was kind of nervous when I called. Admitting weakness has never been a strong suit, even when a tactical move as part of a grander scheme. However, they must have know of my VIP status, because I was put through to the Director without any issue. I hemmed and hawed a bit, maybe even hedged a little, but eventually I was able to spit it out. "I need to talk to someone to see if I have a problem with drinking." Okay, no trumpets blaring; no quartet riding down the sreet on horseback--not the end of the world. So far so good.
The Director broke the ice by telling me about himself. He was (and still is) a lawyer. He was (and still is) an alcoholic/addict. He was (and still is) a licensed recovery and intervention specialist.
Editor's Note: There is a certain degree of debate within the acloholic/addict recovery community as to whether use of "recovering" acloholic or "recovering" addict is more accurate. I will address "recovery" separately in greater detail. Suffice it to say, brevity being the soul of wit, I do not use the qualifier in parlance. Also, I like to think of it the same way I do about organized religion. Most people do not say "non-practicing" Catholic. Or "non-practicing" hedonist. So nyah.
So, after speaking for a bit, he then turned the discussion back to me. I described my drinking habits and patterns, constantly qualifying that I never drank whil working, I never missed work obligations because of drinking, et alia, et cetera, et tu, Brute. He let me go on uninterrupted for a bit (classic Dark Side tactic), then he moved in like a trained assassin. "You've told me about your drinking not affecting your work, and that's great. Your license is safe. What you haven't told me is (a) how your drinking affects your home life and (b) what motivated you to call me now." Left hook, right uppercut--both square on the jaw. Cus D'Amato would have been proud of him.
So I recounted the gory details from the night before. And the Sword of Damocles perilously perched over my pecker, if not my head. Obviously he has heard this song before. A little light cross-examination with kid gloves elicited admissions of an increasing frequency of blackout-style binge drinking over the past six to 12 months. Oddly enough, this was right about the time I started drinking martinis.
On par with Manhattans--a drink that even Keith fucking Richards finds repulsive--martinis are the ultimate drinker's drink. Gin (or vodka, if you are a fucking pussy), vermouth (optional) and bitters (mandatory, unless you are a uckiung pussy). Note that only truly hardcore drinkers will go to the trouble of using Angostura bitters with their martinis. And Bombay Sapphire was my preferred poison, though I was not beneath drinking Tanquerray or even Seagrams in a pinch. Go fucking big or stay fucking home. In fact, my wife was the one who bought me the martini "cookbook" and a mixer set as a gift, so she gets at least an honorable mention enabler credit on some level. My favorite recipie was the Winston Churchill: 6 oz. dry gin, pour in shaker over ice, wave the bottle of vermouth over the shaker (without pouring any out!), cover, shake, pour and drink. Repeat. And I had a BIG martini glass set. I could easily get a 10 oz. martini in one of those. I would at least maintain the facade and sip the first one. The subsequent offerings went down much more quickly.
While talking with the Director, I had a small epiphany. I did not enjoy BEING drunk as much as I enjoyed GETTING drunk. The sting of the first swallow. The creeping body buzz. The lightheadedness. The crescendo of conversation. The irrational arguments and reconciliations. The whole damn process. Unfortunately, the GETTING and the BEING were becoming inextricably intertwined. I was consuming so much during the GETTING that the BEING was becoming a foregone conclusion, so much so that the enjoyment of the GETTING was fading. And forget about stopping when in the midst. If I was only going to have one or two, I would not even bother. I just saw no point in half-assing the job. But I always was a gunner.
A gunner who really DID have a problem.
May 27, 1999, 12:45 PM
"So, what do you want to do? This is your life, and this is your decision. If you want additional help, I have some names and numbers that I can give you. You don't have to go through any of this alone. You can talk this over with your wife first if you prefer."
Fuck me running. It would have been so much easier if he had said I was obviously off my rocker, the men with the white coats and the backwards jacket were en route and I was going to get a nice little break. Three squares a day, group chats, visitation days and the like. But noooooooooo. That would have been too fucking easy. I guess some penance was due for the suffering I had inflicted upon others.
"Also, I can assure you that all of this can be as confidential as you like. No one will know about this call, and no one has to know about any recovery services in which you elect to partake." At the time, one of my specialties was employment law, so I was well aware of my rights.
I paused. I think I forgot to breathe. Or perhaps I was truly in the moment, and special relativity was kind enough to essentially stop time around me. Not one to shy from melodramatics, the monumental nature of the prospect of closing a circle was not lost on me. It was almost five years ago when I had sat down with my father and told him that he was going to get help for his drinking "or else." Again, more stories for other posts. Could this really be happening to me? And could I somehow end up winning by admitting defeat?
May 27, 1999, 3:03 PM
"Real help. I mean like clinical help. I called Lawyers' Assistance. I'm going to go to AA."