Dr. Williams picked up her tablet from the desk and sat in the mustard yellow corduroy love seat across from Miles. Her face took on a different color when the screen lit and she looked at him.
“Before we continue where we left off last week I need to ask you something I should’ve asked a few weeks ago.”
“Sure”
“What does it feel like, to be alcoholic?”
“Serious?” He couldn’t tell if she was joking. “Well, I remember what it feels like, being drunk, feeling buzzed, forgetting problems for a bit, talking to women, being with friends, but then I think about the hangovers or smell it on someone’s breath, my stomach sours. It’s revolting. We covered this.”
“Yes, but what does it feel like? Not just to want it, but needing it and everything else, the emotions, anxiety, depression and so on.”
He looked out the window at thick glossy football sized leaves of the magnolia tree outside her 2nd story window. “It’s exhausting. If I’m understanding you.”
“How so?”
“There’s a lot of lying involved. Every breath is a lie, a reflex. I’ve spent most of my life lying.”
“Do you still lie?”
“Yes, I’m human. It’s a hard one to shake. A few small ones slip through from time to time but I’ve done a lot of work and it’s easier to spot them, keep them out of my mouth. Lies require a lot of work, high maintenance. New ones sprout out of necessity to keep the current ones afloat, then I adapt them, prune, adjusting, decorating old ones, or keeping tabs on new ones. It’s exhausting, but I never saw it that way. It was a challenge to keep them running, manipulating people and situations.”
“I take it you’ve lost a lot of friends.”
“No.” He paused, “Well yes, but I made enemies of those I couldn’t fool, villains for my story. I was the victim and I needed people on my side. I saw my life as story and I was the main character. Delusional, I know.” He chuckled, shook his head realizing it was the first time in months since he’d shared this, admitting to himself and another human being the exact nature of his wrongs.
“These baddies were people I couldn’t fool, they saw through my acts, my tantrums. They became my deepest resentments. They rode the empty passenger seat of my car, appearing in daydreams. A memory of their perceived slight sparked anger and I’d engineer rebuttals to their snark or insult for next time I crossed them, but those prepared arguments never panned out as planned. Eventually, in some moments of vulnerability I’d tell someone the original disagreement, mostly gossip, usually a close friend. I’d sprinkle half truths of context to make myself the righteous party, the wounded dog, manipulating them to frame the other as a foul irredeemable person who should reap what they sowed, always emphasizing my victimization.”
“How often would you do this?”
“Every day.”
“Every day?”
“Every day I was obsessed with being right, being the funniest and the smartest in the room. I loved being the victim of my unfortunate circumstances, mostly self imposed. I was an insufferable monster. If I didn’t get my way I’d rage or fall into deep despair, sobbing to shitty music on drives with the volume cranked all the way. Feeling sorry for myself was easy. I froze in anxiety from fear of events that never came to pass or materialized as a result of impulsive behavior and emotional stupidity.”
“You mentioned imagined fights and arguments with people, preparing for confrontation. Any of those fantasies ever materialize?”
“Only If I forced the issue, trying to be right, trying to make a point, even while knowing the outcome would not be favorable. I did it anyway, risking a jobs and relationships. I dwelled issues, it was a sadistic pastime. Hours and days wasted diagnosing mistakes made or perceived, finding blame, arguing with myself. I was addicted to the drama, the anger and despair. I didn’t know any better”
“You’re an alcoholic.” The phrase slipped out under her breath, an understanding was clear.
“You get it now?”
The picture was clear, more than anything she’d read or studied in college or saw dramatized on television shows as a subplot to a supporting character. She remembered the series “Shameless”. The shows writers provided honest depictions of this condition, spreading the symptoms across three characters; Frank, Lip (Phillip), and the bipolar Ian.
“What were some of the biggest Lies?”
“I played cornerback on the High School Football Team.”
“That makes sense, you’re short and small, probably quick and fast.”
“That’s why the lie fit so well. I was definitely quick. I played offensive and defensive line, sometimes outside linebacker.”
A look of disbelief covered her face. “But your so -“
“- small? Yeah, I know.”
“So why not just say the truth? It actually sounds interesting.”
“I used this one to establish trust, stating something believable.”
“Trust through a lie?”
“You asked what it’s like living like this, being an alcoholic. This is it, this was normal to me, being uncomfortable in my own skin, angry at reality, doing or saying anything to adjust my perspective, doing anything to soothe my discomfort. I hated myself.”
He spent the rest of the hour acknowledging lies he’d discussed with his sponsor. How he was raised in dire poverty and was accepted to an Ivy League university. His family’s poverty was nothing more than generic working class americana. An Ivy League school’s admission officer called him once to ask a few questions, he understood it to be an admission. Then there was the opportunity to join the Marine Corp after college and become an officer but he declined, citing disagreements with the war, he confessed he was afraid of dying. He then disclosed joining a group that reinforced his noble Native American heritage, of which he had none, then admitted it was a cult. He laughed and she took part.
“So it’s not just drinking that’s the problem”
“The drinking was the answer to feeling like shit. The real problem is the delusion that I alone can fix my problems, my short comings and insecurities, and when I couldn’t a few beers made me feel normal for a moment, then the moment passed and I sought out more.”
“You had resentments against people.”
“Of course, many, but the biggest ones were places and institutions.”