Alcohol Contents Beer
Unhappy hours-a history of alcoholism and Survival
How much abuse can have on your body? A man traveling to the depths of addiction to alcohol, and it took him to overcome.
Friday, March 17, 2000. D-day and the sun was shining in Margate. My bedside clock said 5:15 a.m. and I was wide awake.
The night had passed, like many others in recent months. The anxiety of the days to come I was paralyzed. The addiction of the mind and body is killing me slowly. They had spent hours with me hanging around, waiting for the dawn. I must have fallen into a deep sleep at some point though, and woke to the sounds of the neighborhood come to life. Saying shit I felt would be an understatement. My head, stomach and body in general seems to be in its own mission, outside my control. Experience had taught me to let the new day slowly sink in that I was not in a state to do otherwise. My history of alcoholism I have no choice.
Margate was in the midst of a hot summer and mild and my body was covered with sweat. Nausea overwhelmed me and my vision blurred. Like all those who suffered the illness in my life, but this took the cake. How could a man feel so bad and yet alive? All I knew was that I had one more day to get through as best I could.
Closing his eyes, took a lot of mental strength to carry myself to face the reality of the position it had ended on this day. Today was the big day: a day, according to everyone in my life would end all without problems. The only thing was it was not so convinced. Margate Private Hospital awaited me at 5pm and 12 hours was too long for someone like me.
Luckily the duration of relief was only an arm's length in the form of beer. Alki always makes a plan. Rows and rows of empty beer bottles filled the space between the bed and the window, the evidence of weeks of drinking. There must have been 200 to 300 empty DOPS perfectly aligned. Retreating to my room was one of my actions to try to cover up the problem.
More importantly, however, I have always had access to the course at any time, day or night. Beside the bed were a few that I would unopened to see through until I had to make my way to the office attached to my house. I reached over and grabbed a bottle and with a quick movement, twisted practiced the superior. Sitting on the bed and put his beer to his lips and began to drink. He knew the mother milk and two long drinks made short work of it. The effect was immediate. There been only a couple of hours since my last drink, but even that short period of time had ravaged my body. The very act of consuming alcohol seemed to relax both my body and spirit broken. This was my miracle cure. It is a popular choice, but bloody effective in my opinion.
Place the empty bottle in the plant went back to my normal position in bed. The drink came about through my whole body I closed my eyes and savored the moment. The power of this damn thing ever ceased to amaze. A few minutes were all I needed to start to feel almost human again. The terrible weakness and nausea that had grabbed me from the moment I decreased and woke up my mind responded with silent and grateful thanks. Breakfast at Alan with a capital B!
My room was enough to drive anyone to drink. I called the hell hole. The stench of human waste and stale beer was overwhelming. Who could blame Mary, my wife, to move. I spent my time alone in a bed, the king of a castle that no one in their right mind would get caught in, made tolerable for me by the habit that had prompted I here to begin. I was bitter, angry, resentful? Not anymore. Those were questions that I had no answers. I could blame someone or something for this? Probably. My mother, my wife, my boss, my neighbor. What the hell what about the man in the bottle store? There was a good goal. A few more drinks and maybe I there was a storm in his punch and lights off. That made me smile.
Anyway, enough time to meditate and another beer. If I was going to the hospital had to be seriously collapsed above. The second beer went down like the first, quickly and welcomed. A few weeks ago, I would have risen after a couple of DOPS and passed through the office. At least then I had access to cold beer from the fridge. Even an alcoholic is demanding and only drank warm as a matter of convenience or desperation.
Unfortunately he then had to pace myself during the day, I felt extremely weak all the time. My company only opens at 8am and I was only 20 meters down to work. I tried to stay out of the way in the bedroom until I ran liquor and was forced to replenish my supplies from the fridge.
For some reason the third beer of the day had recently taken his own life and had become my "Head of the toilet bowl beer. My body had reached the end of their tolerance to the large amount of alcohol that was pouring into it. The third beer oblige me to go to the bathroom where he vomited everything he had consumed. This usually left me lifeless on the floor, wondering what had beaten
me. Sometimes Mary hears the noise and helps me see who always found a broken man on the ground.
The doctor had written it yourself: "You're Alan suicide. Read my lips: your liver has had enough. "Lying in bed waiting for the third beer serves me correctly, it occurred to me that a lot of good people intentionally expressed their views about me and I had ignored them all. Mary, my parents, brother, sister, psychologists, friends, business colleagues, medical. Even strangers had had their say.
Anger erupted inside. This was part of Alan Butterworth gone horribly wrong. I never asked to be awake at six in Margate a beautiful morning, waiting for sick people and I want something that took for granted. It happened. I was not looking to blame, only to survive. I wanted to scream aloud that I was not so bad. I wanted to tell the world to forgive me, I order all the time. For the love of God, might be you. Or worse Furthermore, it could be me.
My pity party was interrupted by the sudden need to rush to the toilet. I made it in time for once and vomited into the bowl. It was definitely worse and once again ended up sitting on the floor of the bathroom drying my face. Often they do not and had to throw where I stood. Me struggled back to bed and waited for the attack to happen.
I had no doubt that the average Alki last much longer living in the problem of what seemed to an outsider. We've all been the guy in the street without a mother in drink, or a guy in the office know that seems drunk all the time. Let me tell you a secret: the same people probably spend a lot of intrigue and dreaming of one day out of his hell. But as much as I would have liked to lie on the bed and the outline of the entire the day, my personal demon was not going to allow that. It was time to get up. Dress was not a problem simply because they had changed clothes for six weeks, and slept on them too. My shoes were old slip-ons which presented no problems. The trick was to get up and get moving. Twenty meters from the office with a quick stop at the refrigerator for a cold beer, then in my seat in the office. Once there, the world was my oyster.
My days of drinking in secret was over months before, so I was not worried about Mary surprising. I drank as needed now and empty containers stacked on my desk. Only later did the idea came to me about the damage he was doing business. There was certainly a good many people came in and was horrified to see the pile of empty bottles and the remains of collapsed in his chair. Not that the wreck was a curse. He had more important things to attend to, how to keep the devil happy and flowing beer.
The fourth beer I broke the chain of thought and polished it into a drink. What a great invention was the refrigerator. I was safe and satisfied as the fluid rose through me and calmed my mind and body. Mother's milk with an alcohol content of 5.5 percent. My own recipe, repeated each time I felt the need. I even had my own barometer how I felt. When I woke up this morning I would be in about two out of 10. Now I think I had beaten five. The best offer was sleep. He gave me a six or seven years. The average? Probably about four.
This part of the day was my best time, alone in the office at least one hour. Always in my room was asleep or feel bad. Here, after a few drinks you could sit and relax without pressure. No contact with people easily understand. No questions and no answers to be given. Only me, my thoughts and beers.
All that would change at 8am and Alan Butterworth Farms kicks in life. In a hectic day of a number of people who could pass through the doors. For weeks he had been unable to cope with demands and requests that had not been a problem before. Paranoia had crept into my psyche and I could feel people looking through me. For those who have known me for some time I have to have been a real shock. The fall of a respected businessman, known in his own eyes. My Addiction Alcoholism and my anxiety of what people thought of me were in the bottom of my mind now.
Mary and I had started in 1994 with absolutely nothing and created a good deal. The office was filled with the memories of those days. The walls were covered in housing schemes, advertising, posters, etc, all representing a prosperous and interesting profession. How on earth could put it all together and yet fall so far? I had no idea how the business was doing. It seemed busy every day but I had no interest in her. I found more solace of beer in one hand and the times when I was alone with my thoughts. Those times gave me my lift in life.
Background noise in the office seemed to intensify and as usual I was beginning to feel that the walls were closed on me. There was half a beer left and I lit another smoke. I was fairly sure I had spoken with Mary to go to get clothes for the hospital for my grand entrance. Who had carried out all my clothes. I also had developed serious concerns about washing them, as well as myself, and the drinking problem has made it easier to treat.
Me looked like death and yet, something deep inside wanted me to be well thought of. I got up very slowly. "I'm going to stores. I'll see you later." To my great relief there was no response and I do that as an endorsement. Maybe it was the silent prayer of everyone in the room that this would be my last trip. Or After a terrible fatigue which prevents any significant response. Regardless, I took this as my cue and headed for the garage and car. His anxiety of my gradual the fall was very clear now.
They had tried absolutely everything to encourage me not to drive, but I had resisted until the end on this issue. The car was my passport to a relative freedom. It allowed me to go out and buy my beer and then choose my place to drink. Drunk or not, I realized the terrible consequences of my drinking and driving. I knew very well what the risks I was taking. To this day bears the scars and wounds as a result of the battle between consumption and motor vehicles. As a young man who was lucky and yet I still pushed my luck. For me it was a calculated risk. I had long they reasoned that if it was a choice between risking my life and that of others, and not be able to get my 'fix', then there was another option. Very selfish, insensitive logic, but for me, as I now, a total need. I thought I could drive reasonably well, even under the influence.
Priority was to reach a bottle shop and buy pots. Even after a few minutes without a drink I could feel the nerves by calling a little liquid. Children of a bitch, never left me alone. There was a time when I could go for hours without drinking, but that is history. My alcohol addiction is now in full swing.
I had three bottle shops I visited and went to one of them. We live in a quiet suburb of Margate and I had a tour of five minutes before running in any traffic. I knew the area
like the palm of my hand, and as a result I could stay off main roads where possible and avoid the police local traffic.
I found the trick was to drive slowly. The luck had been on my side, especially in the last couple of years. I never had been detained at a checkpoint, let alone test.
One advantage of Manabi Beach shopping center was the fact that there were no cars to deal the guards. Nothing personal but I did not need to be looking for the change to my return. That alone would add to the list of things to do and now I was starting to feel bad.
As I parked, one of my attacks began. Sweat poured off me while I hit terrible stomach cramps. I rested my head on the steering wheel and waited for it to pass. A time came and went in a couple of minutes. This time I realized I was in trouble. I urgently needed a dop and was unable to walk. The bottle store was only 50 meters away, but it could have been on the moon. I opened the door and threw up all the asphalt. Luckily I had her back entry to the store and this event went unnoticed.
After a minute arcades that collapsed in the car seat. Tears filled eyes and overwhelmed me want to scream. His hands gripping the steering wheel and turned my head slightly to take a breath of fresh air. Looking vi normal life happens, people beyond my drama. Taking a deep breath I managed to exit the car and take a good look at the scene before me. There were no cars parked between me and the bottle store, so I had a clear path. I checked my pockets for money and found a R50 note to take me 24 beers, more than enough to until last night. I went very slowly and stared straight ahead, but after a few steps I had to stop and get off my knees, resting his hands on the floor. Then I went to bed. As I looked behind me the clear sky. Not a bad view. My mind was spinning, but had not lost my urge to get to the store bottle. One beer and I would well. I called what was left of my strength and I stood up.
The manager and a man behind one until they were the only people in the store and went to walk-in beer fridge in the back. During the months that I know have had good and no doubt had their own ideas about me. But it was probably one of his best customers who always treated me with courtesy. They could not have failed to notice the huge amounts of alcohol he was buying.
As I walked to the cooler of beer the clerk came out of nowhere and said hello. "Sawubona" he said. Seemed to look right into my very soul. I wondered what he was thinking. Sometimes I helped with the car and today will be different. No doubt it was a shock to him too. Maybe I was too paranoid. Of course I was skinny, dirty and sickly, but then maybe there was a lot of people like me who enter and leave the bottle store every day. Perhaps what intrigued them was where the money comes of. That must be a mystery when I looked down as a typical and out. Bugger it. We will reflect on them.
The refrigerator of cold beer revived me a bit and I always stayed a couple of minutes longer than necessary. I found my beer and asked the assistant to help me take the case to the box. He fumbled for the money and handed the boy. He paused and handed me the change I made to the wizard. He muttered a quiet "Siyabonga" and the case brought in the car.
The prospect of a cold beer was very uplifting and walk back to the car was no problem. Once there, I tore open a plastic cap of the beer and twisted the top and drained it in one motion. It felt good. I took another and dropped into the driver's seat. The trip to Margate was complete, but I was gasping for a beer at the time I got in my way.
Running our business from home means that you always had someone in the office and this time was no exception. The trick now was to get my beers in the fridge without attracting too much attention, but the interior garage door opened the office. So I went for it. Even now people still bother me question my actions. He felt no need to take other people's feelings into account. I was totally absorbed in my own misery and my own personal struggle, only to spend days and nights.
I felt he had no choice. The liquor consumed all my mental and physical energy. People coming and going in my life I was babbling like an accident. I consoled myself with the idea that should see me when he was deprived of my beers.
I stopped at the bar long enough to sink a cold and then came to the office. My entry went unnoticed and Mary just looked up and asked how I felt. Plonking was lying, I could not help noticing that it had become a beautiful day.
I was aware of the talk around me. Then it was common knowledge that I was "not right" and most people who had regular dealings with me was kind and concerned about my company. I had seen his employer instead of a well known and respected as I was now. My self-esteem and confidence was at its lowest under ever.
He had not bathed or showered with God knows how long, and a shower was something I had been planning for a couple of days. At least now almost I smell like a normal human being. Taking off the dirt that had taken over the past few weeks, I went carefully under running water. I placed a beer outside the shower and at the moment, was content to stay there and enjoy it. But that apparently innocent action brought an immediate reaction beleaguered part of my body and I vomited all over the floor of the shower. Still, I laughed. It was a sight to behold, I sat on the floor of the shower, beer in hand, laughing like crazy as my washing vomiting. The laughter soon turned into tears and the joke was on me. What I had become this sad wreck? Why I can not empty the beer down the drain and start over? At that moment I knew in need of help.
I'm not a man openly religious, but I believe in a God of love and mercy. I was broken and scared. Fear of what awaited him and if he had the strength to do the right thing.
The laughter turned in terrible sobs.
For days I had promised that he would continue drinking until the last possible moment. I felt the only way to go in that hospital was if I was completely out of it.
I did not have great appeal to me very idea that my last beer is becoming a actually was. It seemed impossible that after all this time I would spend up to 10 minutes without something that had become such an important part of my life.
Once back at my desk, my eyes never left the clock. I had half a beer left on my desk and found myself staring at him. After all tears, screaming and drama, needed all the inner strength and determination that I could muster. He took the bottle, I pressed my lips slowly and let the last liquid slide down my throat, and for seconds, murmured a silent prayer to whoever was there and listen. Mary and my parents were standing now, aware of the crisis was going on. They knew they had to be strong for me. As confused as a drunk and I could not resist to take the empty beer bottle, giving a kiss and shouting at the top of my voice, "Go to hell!"
A final goodbye, done in my own perverse way.
Two young nurses were waiting in the room and got into bed. It felt clean and fresh, a stark contrast to the way I had been living for the recent months. He immediately tried to insert a drip into my right arm, but could not find a good vein. Most of my veins had started to collapse. As soon as my left arm, which pushed the drip in and out of me until they found a vein. Mary and my stepfather, Rudi, were at the bedside, reassuring me. Was about to mourn and asked a nurse to let me go home. Of course it was wiser than that and cracked a joke instead.
The doctor explained that was more or less sleep for a week while passing withdrawal symptoms without causing any pain or my pain. Now I was here, had to say something my loved ones, while I was still able to speak. My time had arrived and I was no longer scared. "How long do I have? I want to say something." The nurse smiled. "About three minutes, Mr. Butterworth." Tears ran down my face and I remember Mary giving a step towards me. "Please forgive me. I could not help it. She was talking to me, but I could not hear the words. It was time to sleep.
The next morning
It is almost two years since my 'D Day' in Margate and I can look back with some objectivity. My hospital stay was only the beginning of my struggle against alcoholism. I had won a battle but faced a greater threat the day to day mission of staying sober. This is really what this disease is question. Staying sober requires every ounce of my mental and physical strength.
Gradually recovered physically, but the mental fight twice broke my spirit. On the last occasion eight months ago, for reasons I can not remember, I went and sank a bottle of hard stuff and was rushed to the hospital for a bomb stomach. I woke up the next morning in my own bed and no memory of the drama that I had caused. Once again, my life was in crisis and this was the most I came close to the loss of Mary. I did not need any other reason not to drink again.
Like many alcoholics, I became depressed and took to the prescription of pills to relieve pain. But the terrible cravings for alcohol continues. As I write now the cravings are still there only one who can control.
Why am I an alcoholic? Who knows. Medical science is divided on the reasons. It could be genetic or can be a personality trait. While there have been great advances in the treatment of alcoholism, the best cure is still possible to complete abstinence. Easier said than done. To think of spending the rest of my life without a single drink is almost too terrible to contemplate. The only way is to take place day by day. We live in a world of alcohol, eat in restaurants announcements on television. The Anxiety of Alcoholism and where his next drink is likely to be replaced by its value to meet with the Planet Earth.
With the help of my loved ones, medical personnel and care power of prayer I would leave you with one thought: to turn his biggest weakness at its greatest strength. Addiction of the mind and body need not be a death sentence. You are not alone.
About the Author
Middle aged Estate Agent from Margate South Africa. Suffered through Alcoholism and Depression and now like to write about them.Full story at http://alcoholism-alifesentence.blogspot.com
Feel free to Email me at alanbutterworth@telkomsa.net
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