I asked my husband Chris to be my next guest blogger, with the question of “What is the hardest thing you’ve ever gone through”. I’ve heard this story, but never like this. In fact, Chris used to say ‘he didn’t drink’, but not until recently did I hear him identify as an alcoholic, or talk about why he didn’t drink. This was the first time I’ve heard the story of ‘why’.

Thank you, Chris, for sharing your story, and for being so vulnerable. I too am very grateful and proud of you for that decision you made.

Here’s Chris’s Story:

The hardest thing I’ve ever had to do in my life was stop drinking. In 2017, I was living in El Paso and had just been discharged after a ten-year career in the Army. Convenience stores in Texas can sell beer and non-liquor drinks starting at 7 a.m., so every morning, I’d buy everything I thought I would need for the day. Not only did this eliminate the need to leave the house again, but I was usually still a mess from the night before, and I knew I should be off the road by the time parents were dropping off their kids at school.

I’d go to the store and load up on any drink with 8% or higher alcohol content. These were usually sweetened malt liquors sold in 16- or 24-ounce cans (think Four Loko, if you remember those). I’d load up an entire handbasket every morning. I seldom ate breakfast, so when I got home, I’d start drinking on an empty stomach. I’d drink fast, and every once in a while, I’d throw up immediately—only to drink another one shortly after. The next two or three hours were the only part of the day when I felt “OK” or “good,” because being drunk is only fun in the beginning. After that, the best I could feel was nothing, and the worst I could feel was despair.

Nowadays, when I tell people I don’t drink because I’m an alcoholic, I don’t know what they think that means. Some might think that I had embarrassed myself one too many times while drunk, or that I woke up in a strange place and decided to quit. But when I say I’m an alcoholic, I mean I spent a solid portion of my life trying to drink myself to death. I didn’t feel any connection to the world, and I was committing suicide one day at a time, because I didn’t have the courage to pull the trigger.

Alcohol, depression, and low self-esteem have always been my struggles, but the year leading up to my discharge from the Army was the hardest I’ve ever had. I went through a divorce, sent my son to live with my mom hundreds of miles away, and walked away from a ten-year career in the military. The Army wasn’t just something I say I loved when people thank me for my service—it really was the best job I ever had. I made great friends with some of the best people I’ve ever known. I taught young guys about artillery, and there was a whole platoon that respected and looked up to me because I was in the best shape of my life, had deployed to Iraq and Afghanistan, and really knew my stuff. When I left, I was alone in an empty house, stuck in Texas, dealing with the end of my divorce and verifying my VA disability claims.

I started drinking more. I drank during the day and throughout the night. When I woke up with a hangover, I’d drink it away. I sat in my air-conditioned house with the curtains drawn and the TV on. I’d laugh, cry, and play video games by myself. I had gone from being somebody to being nobody in the blink of an eye. And the more I tried to fill that void with alcohol, the deeper I sank into depression. Every day got worse. Occasionally, I would try to take a day off, but I’d shake and sweat so badly I thought I was going to die. Worse, as soon as I even thought about drinking, I’d start feeling better. My brain had reprogrammed itself to make me feel good the moment I told myself I’d have just one more drink to calm my nerves. I’d go to the store, fill up my handbasket like I always did, and promise myself this would be the last time. One more time. It was always one more time.

One night, I was talking to my mom on the phone. She was telling me about how Jack, my son, had spent the day with my nephew Gabriel, and they had such a good time. I remember asking her, “Who’s Gabriel?” She paused and said, “Your nephew, Gabriel.” I tried to pretend like I’d misheard her, but I couldn’t remember my own nephew’s name. As we were talking, I started wondering how long it would be before I started forgetting about Jack too. I remembered the day I sent him to live with his grandma because my ex-wife and I were in such a bad place. I remember crying in the street as I watched him ride away. When I got off the phone, I started crying again because I didn’t think I’d ever see him again. That was my rock bottom. Knowing—not just thinking, but knowing—that if I kept drinking the way I was, I’d die alone in my house in Texas and never see my son again. It was the thought of not seeing Jack ever again that saved my life. Jack saved my life.

Going through withdrawals was hell, but I knew I had to get through it. I didn’t sleep for days because I had been passing out drunk for months. My body had forgotten how to fall asleep on its own. I shook terribly, I would dry heave randomly, and my stomach would throw water back up, trying to force me to drink alcohol just one more time. It didn’t just stop one day; it took weeks. I had to train myself to do normal things again. The most important thing I did was to start planning out each day and never giving myself time to sit and think. One of the best pieces of advice I ever received was, “You can’t steer a parked car,” and that’s how I started living. I didn’t always know what I was going to end up doing, but I knew that if I gave myself too much free time, I’d start thinking up ways to drink again. The last time I had a drink was January 5, 2018.

Today, I have no desire to drink. It doesn’t bother me to see people drink, and I never have any physical or mental urge to take a sip. But I do stay busy. I wake up at 5 a.m. and exhaust myself until 9 p.m., making sure I don’t waste any more days. Jack really did save my life that day, and that means I have to be the best man I can from now on to honor him. It’s because of Jack that I lived long enough to meet Amanda, and now we have James and Benny. None of them deserve to have the man I described earlier as their father. They deserve a man who would gladly lay down his life to defend them. That’s who I try to be. I’m far from perfect; I’m sure I’m absolutely unbearable to some. But I’ve learned to forgive myself for my past by making the most of the present. In the future, when I look back and regret things I’ve done and said, I know I’ll forgive myself because I’m really trying to be a better man. I deserve to be the best version of myself, and so does everyone who lives under the same roof as me.