Hustle or Bust – Act 1

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My well had run dry – both the liquor that customarily inundated my bloodstream and the great American dollar I relied upon to obtain it; the catch – money essential to fuel my alcoholism could not be traceable by my wife, which, to say the least, was not an easy task; she was annoyingly scrupulous and thorough in regards to our financial situation which forced my hand into adapting a very elusive, clever, and creative skillset to carry on in my ways.  I had started to exhibit faint signs of the shakes; ensuing symptoms of cold sweats and hallucinations were more than probable occurrences should I not scheme up a remedy for this particular predicament in a timely fashion.  The demon inside demanded to be pleased and satisfied or misery would surely be headed my way, sooner rather than later – and trust me when I say I would always rather deal with consequences later – preferably never, but surely not sooner. 

Triggered into a trance; I frantically parade around my basement, sporadically reaching up into the ceiling to reclaim lost treasure.  Within fifteen minutes, I was madly and meticulously draining diminutive drops of liquor from the empty whiskey shooters I kept hidden and haphazardly placed about in black baggies above the ventilation systems and ductwork of my home.  Hundreds of miniature bottles stood at attention, united as one flowing entity with a common mission; an army amped up; obeying the command of their General, strategically spread out and categorized by rank in a grid on the surface of my washer and dryer; soldiers I had formerly tucked up and away instead of providing a proper burial for; all in preparation for just an occasion such as this; the obsession that never ceased thinking three steps ahead to ensure my well would remain perpetually plentiful.  

After an hour of this astonishingly unorthodox undertaking, I had extracted enough booze to fill one shot glass or, in my case, the medicine cup that accompanied the bottle of Tylenol in the cabinet – It was in these moments of desperation that the disease completely hijacked all rationale and the age-old-alcoholic insanity showed up to prove what lengths we are willing to go to for even the tiniest taste of relief.  This sickness that plagues me; it disgusts me at times and I myself get perplexed trying to make sense of or decipher the depths I would sink to in pursuit of relieving my undesirable discontentment.  I wish I could say the insanity stopped there, but one shot would never hold me over, let alone subdue my compulsive craving for more; I still found myself needing a means in which to feed the beast; alcoholic activated – welcome to my hustle.

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I’m not the alpha male type that strolls into a bank wielding a gun on the hunt for cash – the risk doesn’t match the reward; percentages favor the house leaving my chances of getting caught far too high, ultimately interfering with my agenda; how to successfully arrive at the liquor store undetected each day.  So no, my hustle never involved violence, grand larceny, or any category involving a major felony; I had to face the facts and accept that I would make a shitty criminal.  I found my strengths, my “calling”, if you will, was in the art of denial, deceit, and manipulation.  I bagged up the entirely empty pocket size vessels of anesthetizing solution into a large garbage bag and crept slowly up the stairs and out the side door like a deranged and maniacal Santa Claus hoisting around a sack of certifiable nightmares.  Across the street from my house was the town’s high school; an optimum and favorably anonymous dumping ground; under the blanket of night I could finally bury my valiant soldiers virtually undetected.  After making gesture of my final salute for a job well done, I retreated back across the street to my house, hamster wheel spinning rapidly in my mind – forecasting direction of the next act in this nonsensical shit show; a quest to fulfill an insatiable inclination that cannot, in all reality, ever be filled.

(In act 2, I will delve into my own personal various hustles over the years and how low I would go to feed this addiction. I’ll also explore some of the ways in which other people I’ve met along the way have fed their addictions over the years.  Stay tuned.)        

11 thoughts on “Hustle or Bust – Act 1”

  1. Will do. I am certain that most of us don’t deal with our addictions this way until we see the error of our ways. I enjoyed reading this and can certainly apply some the actions to my own. Although alcohol has never been one of mine (couldn’t hold my liquor at all), I can appreciate the real view from your side of the fence.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Thank you, I really appreciate it – I noticed on your page that you are a Reiki master…I have really found Reiki sessions have been extremely therapeutic, at least for me, in playing around with my various energies…I always leave feeling so refreshed and rejuvenated…If you ever find yourself in Southern California let me know, I’d schedule a session for sure!

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  2. This is written impeccably. Wow. Such great detail and real live honesty. I commend your bravery. The ability to tell on our disease is a huge fete. You’re inspiring in a sense of helping me realize the necessity of getting to and telling the exact nature of my wrongs. Thank you.

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  3. As the ex-wife of an alcohol and recently the girlfriend of another, having watched helplessly as a bystander to the alcoholics sheer force of self-destruction, I find it both daunting and interesting to explore what drives the alcoholic’s great thirst to the exclusion of all else. I’ll be honest, I was hesitant to follow you. The behaviour of alcoholics scares me. But I resolve to follow your blog, so beautifully written, to gain some insight and understand, not only of the alcoholic, but also of me, the enabler and co-dependent.

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    1. We’re hard people to love, I get that – trust me, but we are also loving, caring, intelligent, creative and fun people with extreme potential for success and “alcoholic” doesn’t define who we are. We get the opportunity to step back and look at our lives, like hovering in a helicopter assessing everything. We learn principles to live by and take steps to learn and utilize tools in all our affairs; tools that make us better people; even some “normies” live miserable lives because they haven’t cleared out or dealt with their particular hurts. The hard part for us as alcoholics or addicts is that we generally go through so much hurt and pain and misery while causing immense destruction to get to the point where we are desperate enough to do whatever it takes to live free – but we do get there; I know this because that’s where I am right now.

      Liked by 1 person

      1. That’s why your blog is so interesting to me. I’ve only known alcoholics who won’t admit they’re alcoholics. Going to a few open meetings allowed me to see the people in recovery behind the label of alcoholism. I also see a great correlation between alcoholism and bipolar in that we are both powerless over the illness and we need strategies in place to live healthy lives. And our illness doesn’t define who we are as human beings. I’ve only ever known alcoholics that won’t admit to having a problem. So following your blog will be an interesting journey for me. Thank you for letting me tag along 🙂

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