Hi there. I wrote this introduction and started this blog in September of 2009. As you will see, now 7 years later, I’ve continued to drink…

This blog is the tale of a drunk. It will document either my deliverance or demise from what some people in our culture call the “Demon-Drink”; ALCOHOL.

I’m in my mid-fifties and had my first taste of alcohol when I was about six, but have been drinking steadily since I was 19. I can still remember my first sip of the emerald green, oh so sweet “Creme de Menthe”. So began my love affair with Alcohol!

See the “About Me” page (next to Home, above) for more of my background info.

Your comments, input, advice, admonishment, whatever, as I travel this journey are all most welcome and appreciated. I so desperately want to be “finally free”.


Still drunk….

I’ve had some sober days, but mostly drunk. Still struggling big time with the beast. 

It wants to kill me. I know that. Do I care? I’m 58 years old now and the care is lessening. Not a good thing, I know, but this is life in my culture! 

My children and grandchildren live apart from me (6 hour $600 trip), which I can’t afford. 

If I didn’t drink, I could afford to visit them, but they all live within 3 blocks of their Mother, who has made it clear for years that I am not welcome in her neighbourhood! History has shown that when I have infringed upon her territory, she makes my kids and everyone miserable! This clearly isn’t right. But I cannot penetrate the fortress to this day (13 years in). I welcome suggestions!!!!


I’m ok. New plans to produce a video blog, a “Vlog” as it’s called now.  To showcase my next 30 day’s ambition to go on the wagon. Of course, I won’t post it here unless I’m successful, which I think I will be! And then you will see the real me. Take care, friends. 


Choosing to live…

I’ve been profoundly moved by a comment Karymayhickey made a few days ago in response to one of my posts, about her choosing to live rather than waiting to die. Having reached a state similar to what I’ve been in recently, with high blood pressure and high anxiety and a high fear of dying every night from the drink, she suddenly chose the opposite, stating in her comment;

“No more waiting for death to come find me, I’m going to make it search its ass off, I’m going to start living.”

And that’s when she stopped drinking herself to death. This morning I read something equally profound stated long ago by the artist Agnes Martin;

“If you want life on your side or to be on the side of life against death you must surrender completely to life.”

As I’ve “matured and developed” (sic) in my own alcoholism over the past few years I’ve had a growing realization that one of the primary reasons I drink is to avoid the truth. The truth being the facts of and in my life that I don’t want to accept or deal with. I drink to protest these things, I drink to avoid these things, and I drink to forget them. In the spirit of Karymayhickey and Agnes Martin, I think by so doing I’ve been choosing death instead of life. What is “Life” in this context? Life simply is what is. It is the facts that I have chosen, by drinking, to protest, to avoid, ignore or forget.

When we make the conscious choice to start living and surrender completely to life, I think we can put the damn bottle down. That’s what I’m counting on. I choose to start living. I choose to surrender completely to life–finally. May it be so.



Blood pressure, that is. For as long as I can remember my blood pressure has averaged around 145/95. Yes, that’s considered “high”. No, my doctor didn’t put me on medication for it. Rather, he meekly encouraged me to keep working on my “interest” to quit drinking. I suspected he knew something that I didn’t. I hoped that was the case anyway. His worry about my pressure may have been under-rated, and my worry peaked a couple weeks ago when it hit 160/110. So I went to see another doctor.

The other doctor, in the same clinic, had my chart history. “So” he said blankly, “I see you’ve got fatty liver.” From my hungover numb-skull I dredged up a, “Yup”. “Well your pressure is high so lets send you for blood tests and then see me or Dr. M next week”. I knew what the blood tests were for — to see just how “fatty” my fat bloody liver is now. Fatty liver is stage 1 of alcoholic liver disease and is reversible. Stage 2 is cirrhosis, which is not. I didn’t go for the blood tests. I just went home and prayed that I wouldn’t stroke out or die.

Then last week I had my little “Truth” epiphany. The one that gave me goosebumps. Since then I have–no, not “miraculously” stopped drinking. I wish. Rather, I have, let’s call it, “melodramatically” been able to limit my drinks to “around-3” per day. It wasn’t easy. After around-3 I really wanted another round or more, but didn’t, for fear of death mostly. That and I’m broke, which helped.

8 days ago my pressure was 160/110. 5 days ago it was 147/93. 2 days ago it was 138/92. This morning it is 125/82. Holy crap. That’s with averaging around 3 drinks per day; sleeves to be exact, of beer. The fear of death has left me, for now. I say “for now” because I know damn well I could go right-back-out there and ramp it all back up again.

But maybe this time I won’t race out and ramp up again because, well, I’ve seen the truth. And, borrowing from the bible somewhere it says “the truth shall set you free” –? Hmmmmmm.

I guess we’ll see. And oh–I don’t plan to “limit” my drinking. I want to be bloody free of it altogether. For those who have stuck with me here, thanks a million, and stay tuned.



A few day’s ago, I was driving to meet a dear old friend at the pub. Whilst on transit, a thought came to me. One that has been haunting me for a very long time. That is, that the truth is, that we alcoholics don’t want to scarcely see, hear or know what the truth is about our condition. On the road that day, I suddenly saw it. I had goosebumps, all the way to the pub, where I drank only 2 pints, because I couldn’t drink more, having seen the truth. The truth is, all alcoholics are die-hard optimists! Yes! We keep hoping and dreaming that life is not the way that it is, but is rather the way that we would “like” to see it! The truth is, is is NOT. The TRUTH is, is that we have deceived ourselves with our cultural optimism! It has kept our eyes shrouded for Oh-too-long! The TRUTH is, that if we continue to drink, the drink will KILL US. We make all sorts of excuses along the way…along the way, the road to the truth. But the real truth is that alcohol is a beast, and it will kill us if we keep entertaining it. 

I am very close to that door. 

Last week my blood pressure was 160/110. My resting heart rate was 110. The doctor was worried about me! Since then, I have cut back. But, I have gone through several sleepless nights worrying that I would DIE! 

This morning my blood pressure was back to more or less normal. My heart rate was down to 70. Tonight, I didn’t go to the pub, but I have had too much wine at home. God willing, I’ll be able to pick up where I left off yesterday, tomorrow. God willing. That is, if the BEAST doesn’t kill me tonight.

I don’t mean to be a downer here, friends….the 99% of you who are clean and sober. I’m just reporting in on this “One drunk’s battle with the bottle”. Y’all take care. God willing, I’ll report in tomorra! Please wish me luck. That might help.


Not well…

I honestly thought that by now I would be free from this scourge. That this bitter sweet cup would have been past me by now. But no. I continue to slowly but surely poison myself, cup by cup, sip by sip, drop by drop. I’m not sharing this to solicit sympathy or ask for help or anything of the sort. I’m just stating the facts. This is my journal, “One Drunk’s Tale”, left open for all to see. To see the destruction that the demon drink can do, does do, to a Joe Blow like me.

There was a time when I wouldn’t consider going into rehab, not so long ago really. I’d go now, if I could, but I can’t. Well I could if I lost everything and ended up on the street. Then the government run rehab would take me in. That’s the last place in this world that I would like to end up in, honestly. I had the money a few years ago to afford a really nice private rehab, but not anymore.

A.A. is a good program, if you work it. If you call your sponsor. If you go to meetings. I can’t even do that. I guess I’m doomed, destined to die, of just old age maybe, in the grip of this disease. Many do. I’d rather not be one of them. But look at me. I started this blog almost 8 years ago. At least my drinking hasn’t gotten worse. One concession, but it was already bad enough.

I’ll go to a meeting today, probably. You see, I know what to do. I just don’t do it. And I don’t know why. Perhaps I’ve finally hit bottom.