It has been, in fact, over a years since I’d taken my last drink of alcohol. That’s right; if you hadn’t heard already, ol’ Matty’s been on the wagon for over a year.
In that year, I’ve had some pretty amazing changes in my life. I can’t say they’re all from dropping my alcohol habit but there are quite a few I can. See, like anyone else who’s looking to solve a problem in their life, I had to first admit I had one: Hi, My name is Matt and I’m an alcoholic.
To some of my friends that statement may have been a surprise, maybe not so much to others. You see, for me, alcohol has been a compulsion that I was unwilling – or unable – to control. I remember about the time this picture was taken thinking, I ought to try and limit myself to three drinks a night.
For me, that never worked out. If I had one drink, I was going to continue drinking until I went to sleep. It would start out as, “What a long day, I sure could use a drink to unwind,” however, unwind never happened; it was a matter of momentum and acceleration. I remember when I first had my driver’s license, I would feel uncomfortable (it sounds weird even as I type it) remaining at a constant speed or decelerating. As a result, I ended up with my fair share of speeding tickets. Somehow, I managed to get that same feeling when I was drinking. If I didn’t keep accelerating into my intoxication, I felt uncomfortable in my own body.
It’s powerful, I mean, how do you deal with that?
Here I am again, out drinking with some buddies who came out to visit me when I was in Las Vegas. Notice I’m basically in the same pose? The drink is in my hand, the horns are out, I’m as brutal and black metal as they get. At least that’s what I wanted people to think.
I had moved out to Las Vegas after some pretty significant life changes. But most of my habits kept up with me. There was even a brief period of cigarette smoking. Whenever life changes in a significant way there’s this natural tendency to figure out where everything first again – your life is a well-manicured block house and when it violently tumbles down around you there’s inevitably an emptiness that we try to fill.
Toward the end of my Vegas life, I was starting to feel a sense of normalcy. I was working (a lot), I was gigging (a lot), and I was writing (you guessed it, a lot). I never drank and worked, though I often drank because of work as so many of us do. I never drank and gigged, though I often would drink heavily afterwards. And I never drank and wrote; or at least I realize very early on that my brain couldn’t function on the level needed to make coherent thoughts appear coherent on paper while alcohol was involved. This was my first clue.
I had started writing a screenplay with David Stewart (you can check out his works here) in 2010. It was really the first project I’d ever worked on that was mine. I mean, the first project that I felt like was my baby. I don’t think it was his first but I know he feels the same. I could not, for the life of me, reason out plot points with a single drop of alcohol in my body. Couldn’t happen, wouldn’t happen, didn’t happen. I would, inevitably, drink after I wrote. Suddenly a clear picture of my life is forming in my head. I rushed through the things that other people thought were important to reward myself with a drink.
Here in lies a problem: I’d spent my entire adult life drinking. It dawned on me that I didn’t know how to socialize without drinking. That’s a problem. Seriously. If you’ve ever felt that way, consider what’s happening.
But I didn’t know what to do. It was socialize with alcohol, or; recluse in my room and be creative. This was me at the Tao night club. A bunch of us had gone out that night. We had a lot of fun in the Vegas party scene but honestly, even though I look relatively like myself in this picture, I didn’t feel like myself.
It took another life changing event: I left Vegas. David and I were musicians to the bone but our passion was storytelling and we figured we didn’t need to be away from our families anymore to do that. So we left the Las Vegas sun, and my block building came tumbling down again but this time writing was at the center. That April, 2013, David and I wrote a complete screenplay, a page one rewrite (basically a complete screenplay) and a complete teleplay. In thirty days, we had completed three MAJOR works. It was easily the most productive I’ve ever been in my life but still, at night I drank.
I drank now because I had no social life. I had my family nearby but alcohol is a part of our culture. When you’re trying to rebuild, you tend to model your life after the people around you. So I drank. I drank with high school friends; I drank with family; I drank watching the Giants play and frankly; I drank alone.
Until one night.
Seriously, Mae Rabe God bless you.
I drank one too many.
Then I drank three or four too many.
Then I was dropped off at my house.
Puking my brains out.
This was early May: May 9th to be exactly. I woke up at the time that David and I always scheduled to write. Except I was going to pay my respects to the Porcelain gods. I puked all morning, then slept on the cold tile floor. By 10am, David had called me more than a couple times to make sure I was okay. I couldn’t answer. My head was inside a church bell and nothing would make the ringing stop. If you drink the way I did, you’ve had a hangover like this before. I’m sure I text messaged him at some point to let him know I was alive but something broke inside me that day: it was the first day in more than a month that I wasn’t going to be able to write. It made me say the magic words:
I’m never drinking again and this time, I mean it!
It took me two days after that to decide I wanted another drink but there was an oath I’d made to myself. I could do anything for five days, after that I would make decisions based on how I felt. At the five day mark, I realized that It had been ten years since I’d gone a full seven days without a drink. At seven days the animal in me would have killed for a drink. I wanted one so bad I could barely think straight. It was then I made another decision:
I can let this compulsion control me or I can control it.
It took me about two weeks before I social occasion coaxed me out of sober hiding. A dear friend had just graduated from his nursing program and even though I knew there would be alcohol there I chose to go. You can’t live your life in a bubble, protecting yourself (or anyone else) from undesirable things. You have to make choices. I chose to be with my friends.
I was reserved, but glad to see them. They of course had questions and I did my best to answer them. How did I feel? Was I craving it? Do you think you’ll ever drink again? Good, yes, I don’t know. I was much more reserved that night then I would have been with a drink in my hand but I was talking about things that were important to me. I talked about my writing; I felt like I actually connected with people I hadn’t seen in years; I felt… like me. And that’s an interesting realization – it wasn’t until a couple months later, at a family gathering, that my Aunt Sherrie said to me, “Matt, you act like YOU. The way you used to act. You have the sense of humor I remember you having. You stopped drinking but you’re still so funny!” She was right. Some interesting things had happened.
I met someone. The most important someone I’d ever met.
I came out of my shell. In doing so, I became comfortable with who I was, who I’d been running from. We all carry baggage that we begin accumulating from the moment we’re born and alcohol had been how a barred it. Without the alcohol I actually had to acknowledge the things I had been carrying around all these years. Alcohol had helped me change my personality to suit the people I was around; it made me a social chameleon. Because inevitably as we go out into the world from the safety of our parents households, it’s natural to thirst for the approval of people around you; to strive for acceptance in your new environment. In doing so, for me, I had eradicated all the unique, special things about myself.
I wanted so badly to be a performer – to be an extrovert, really – that I used alcohol to stifle the introvert that I truly am. Sober, I had a clear channel to my feelings and the things that were important to me. I remember exactly how that smile felt, when I brought Cinderella’s slippers back to her.
Then I began giving private concerts. I did it because I still loved playing; even if the piece wasn’t being performed flawlessly. I’d make up the words, and sing mumbo-jumbo about the room or how Jaida (my little dog) was going to eat me if I ran out of her dog food during the Zombocolyps. I played and a sang because it was fun – I hadn’t done that in years.
Something else happened - I wasn’t hiding myself in pictures anymore.
I could let the “goof” out to play. I was just me, unabashed. I loved myself, finally, and someone else loved me in return. This was taken about six months after my last drink. She put a bow on her head and I did the same. At this point, we’d both realized what a gift the other was. If I hadn’t taken the time to shed myself of the garbage that was clogging my life, that alcohol was blinding me to, I would never have been the person I needed to be to attract the person I needed to be with.
Not everything is amazing and perfect on the road through sobriety. There have been a number of times when the guilt of something I’ve done is nearly overwhelming and I’ve got to pick up the phone and do my best to make amends for it. I know there have been more than one occasion where David got a phone call or text from me with an apology for something that happened long past, but those are exactly the things you can’t let fester. If they fester in you, they fester in the person you affected. I was lucky enough to be received with open arms and forgiving hearts. There’s a reason reparations is a part of Alcoholics Anonymous – it’s powerful and cleansing. It’s not just about gaining another person’s forgiveness, it’s about being able to forgive yourself. If I'd not had that, I may have never been able to stand up and give the best man's speech at my best friends wedding.
My Dad said something to me today that made me smile. “You know, Son? You’ve had a pretty good year.” I looked back at him with a wry smile and said, “I think you’re right, Dad.” Because after a year of sobriety some pretty amazing things happened. I’d put myself on a road to a career that would give me a future: teaching. I’d started writing with unbridled passion, committing to something that will fulfill me until my dying day. I had rekindled my lifelong love of music, bringing it into perspective in my life where it serves me, rather than me serving it. I’d moved back home to be with my loving, ever-supportive family who’s advice and nurturing have made my entire life possible. And finally, if not most importantly, to which the point of this blog would have fallen incredibly short, I met the absolute love of my life.
She’s a woman who by her very nature compliments my being, I mine hers. A woman who not only knows who Group-X is, will sing the Mario Twins with me in the car as we’re driving off to eat ice cream and then watch Bob’s Burger. A woman who’s unmistakable love for her family, nieces and nephews tells me that she’s going to make an amazing mother. A woman who knows me, and the things that make me happy, enough to give me those moments of solitude when I feel like I might pop from the pressures of everyday life.
She’s a woman who, while bursting with laughter after she and my mother sang Beatles songs in our kitchen at the top of their lungs, turned to me and said, “You realize your dating your mother.”
You know, I sure could do a hell of a lot worse.
So while you’re sitting at home reading this, she and I are out celebrating one year as a couple. And so, Elizabeth. I’ll have already asked you by the time you read this, but for God’s sake:
Will you marry me?
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