When I started going to meetings I naïvely thought, as I listened to all the “old heads” (as I like to affectionately call them) with months and years of sobriety under their belt, where is the, No Shit, Man This One Really Works Quit Drinking kit?
By Shane Willbanks
Back when I was drinking, if you had offered me $1 million to quit drinking forever, I think I would have done it.
It’s true.
I’m not sure how successful I would have been, but I would’ve dropped everything to meet that challenge. Wouldn’t you? If someone offered you $1,000,000 to stop drinking (or whatever your “thing” is) for the rest of your life, wouldn’t you take it? Wouldn’t you completely turn your life over on its head, forsaking all that you had ever known, so that you could do this new, hard, extremely lucrative thing?
Would you fight someone who tried to take your kids from you? Would you challenge someone who tried to take your job because they think they are better at it than you are? Would you sacrifice all that you want and all that you need to make sure that those you love have what they need?
I’m sure the answers are yes, yes, and yes. But if you are still drinking, or if alcohol is still in your fucking toolbox because you just can’t seem to take it out, then the answer is not yes, yes and yes. The answer is no. And no.
And no.
Let that resonate for a bit. Marinate in it. So far, your answer is: no. None of those things can happen if you continue to drink. Those around you won’t get what they need, because you are taking it from them.
The fact of the matter is, if I am honest with you, the reason I didn’t quit before, even though I wanted to so badly, was because part of me did not want to drop that life buoy.
And that part was so strong. It would laugh at the rest of me as I prayed out loud in literal fits and screams of anger and tears. It would tell me to shut up. “You are going to drink today, boy. Get that through your thick fuckin’ skull.” It would tell me that we, insinuating that all of me would go along with it, that we are going to the liquor store today, and we are going to drink today, just like we do every day.
Fuck you, little monster. And fuck all your little monster friends.
The day that I stopped, the day after my birthday two years ago, I had had enough. There was no more we. Not with that evil little son-of-a-bitch. The little me, the weakling, the scared child, the hopeless addict, the man who watched his blood and bile and every other good thing that was supposed to remain inside his body come out of both ends multiple times a day…that little me finally had enough. I said no.
Hear me. Listen to this whisper. “No.”
Now listen to me say it out loud. “No.”
Now hear me say it with compassion and purpose. “No!”
Now hear me fucking roar. “NO!”
I was 68 days sober before I joined a sobriety support program.
To be honest, I don’t know how I made it that long. It was hard. The not drinking part wasn’t hard for me. I’m going to be honest. But the reason I drank was not so easy to escape (in fact, that’s why I kept drinking). Every time any part of me that needed help came to the surface, I just poured tequila in his face-hole hoping he would drown as that little evil killer laughed and poured and laughed and poured. But somehow I had made it to that point. I was done.
When I started going to meetings I naïvely thought, as I listened to all the “old heads” (as I like to affectionately call them) with months and years of sobriety under their belt, where is the, No Shit, Man This One Really Works Quit Drinking kit?
How much is it? Can I get one now, or is there a waiting list? Can I jump to the head of the line so I can get mine now? Is there any way I can get one now? I drank longer and harder than a lot of these amateurs and my particular brand of fucking-up is out of their league.
I was exhausted. And there was no kit. Only me.
That shit was in me all along. You know, if I could drink for 35 years, despite all of the destruction that it caused to those around me and especially to my own body and mind and sanity, then I can stop for one goddamn day. Then another. Then another. Then today. Then now. Then now again. Then tomorrow when I wake up sober.
No. There is no kit here. It’s in you. It’s been there all along. You just have to know how to use it. The Sane, as I like to call him, said, “Shane, you are one of the world’s greatest drinkers to have ever lived. Your stories are legendary. In your own fucking head, anyway. You are a master addict. So use that superpower, and get addicted to something else.”
It’s like being the Hulk. In reality, you are the mild-mannered David Banner, always trying to find the path of least resistance to the problem. But this problem requires all of your resistance. Be the Hulk. Hulk smash. To quote the Hulk himself, “Hulk smash hard.”
So I did. I got addicted to sobriety. I got addicted to living and feeling and being present and basking in the love from someone who never gave it to me before: Me! I got addicted to finding Shane again. Turns out, I actually love the dude.
No, in the end I didn’t do it for money, or for my kids, or for my career, or my family or friends or pets. I did it for free. I did it for me.
223-0. I beat you again, motherfucker.
Photo: Flickr
Shane is a dad of two, doggo dad of one, recovering numbness addict, and current cancer warrior. In his many lives Shane has been an author, a teacher, a researcher, a restaurateur, an entrepreneur, a Taekwondo champion, a motivational speaker to inmates and parolees across Arkansas, and a world-class fuck up. With just over two years of sobriety, now he mainly just writes and journals, mainlines chemo every three weeks, and finds joy wherever he can.
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