Straight Jackets and Drunk Olympics

Which is impressive considering back then, most days were a blur. 

I was living in my parent’s basement, passed out on my couch/bed for my mid-day drunk “nap” when I was suddenly interrupted by cops. 

Confused and incoherent, I was thrown into handcuffs and dragged upstairs and outside where I proceeded to attempt to fight back. Spoiler alert: I lost and gave the neighbors some free entertainment as my legs were kicked out from underneath me and I face planted into the ground. 

Life hack: Do not try to get out of handcuffs or resist arrest. 

The next part is what I remember the most and that’s because I was as equally annoyed as I was angry because the first thought that came into my head was “fuck. Now I can’t drink until tomorrow.” 

Cue the ambulance rolling down the street…

My day was ruined. Never mind my parents and younger brother who were watching me being hauled off in handcuffs as I screamed at everyone about how much I hated them. 

Watching your loved one struggle with addiction and trying to help them before they’re ready is one of the most heart-wrenching things to go through. 

Handcuffed to a stretcher, I cried to the EMT. Now sidebar: looking back, I was very fortunate to have interacted with some healthcare staff that actually treated me like a human being during my most demoralizing and humiliating moments. I remember each of them and the empathy they expressed even though I was a raging and selfish alcoholic causing havoc on their unit. To say I’m grateful for them is an epic understatement. 

So there I am all boo-hoo to the EMT, as if this was my first mental hygiene arrest. She was very empathetic to me and even let me smoke a cigarette before I headed towards “my” room. “My” room for those of you who have never been in the psych ED before, is the one that has the door that locks on the bottom and opens on the top. The room that is under video surveillance. The room that makes you feel how I imagine caged animals at the zoo feel. 

My hospital security officer escort was kind. She helped me change into my beautiful hospital gown and I kindly thanked her by hurdling the almost five foot locked door to “my” room and escaping into a nearby bathroom. I hid as I heard the security team freaking out over their walkie talkies about my escape. Being the professional alcoholic I was, I was discovered in about 45 seconds and escorted back where they tied me down and offered me a bedpan because people who attempt to assault staff do not get the privilege to use the restroom. I will never forget the glare the nurse gave me as I refused the bed pan. She didn’t even have to tell me how much of a scumbag she thought I was. Her eyes said it all.

Now pause.. because this is so important and something I didn’t realize until I recovered and moved into the behavioral healthcare field myself…

We are not nice or easy people to deal with when we are in the throes of our addiction. It is nerve-wrecking to manage people who are violent, angry, and unpredictable. We are a different breed. When you’ve had a long day no matter what field you’re in, your tolerance runs low. More so, you want yourself and your co-workers to feel safe. Today, I understand and have no hard feelings towards this nurse. Recovery gave me that perspective. 

Fast forward through me screaming as they took my blood against my will and hit me with a bunch of other meds I assume… I found out I was going on another excursion. 

And there I was.. Sitting at the local psych ward in a straight jacket, thinking “this is not my fucking life right now.” 

By this point the booze had worn off and I was left with my own thoughts in a padded room on a cot, in a dungeon. The psych ward is scary. It’s cold. It’s eerie. I don’t suggest having your kid’s 5th birthday party there. 

I realized in that moment that I wanted to live. Not just purposelessly exist. 

I felt ashamed. 

In fact, I don’t even think I could lift my head up or make direct eye contact with anyone. It seemed like my whole life up until this point was playing in my head and I just kept asking myself “how did I get here?” 

That was a pivotal day for me. It wasn’t the day I got sober nor was it my last mental hygiene arrest. In fact, the next time I went on a trip to “my” room, the security officers told me how they still talked about how amazed they were that I was able to jump over the door. These are the types of conversations you have when you’re a frequent flyer at the local ED and a drunk. And no I have not added my drunk olympic hurdling skills to my resume (yet). 

I share this story because this is my truth. I share this story because this is a typical day in the life of an alcoholic. I share this story because this was an experience that began to plant the seeds for me even though I wasn’t ready to quit drinking. I share this story because maybe you can relate or are struggling right now as you read this. I share this story because maybe I’m your loved one and you need some hope. I share this story because I don’t believe in sugarcoating a disease that is out to kill people.

 I share this story because each and every experience has brought me to this keyboard typing to you right now. I share this story because addiction doesn’t discriminate and perhaps you encountered my page and saw the blonde hair and blue eyes and began to paint this fairy tale in your head of how much better my life must be than yours and started the self-destructive hating on yourself rabbit hole thinking that I plan to help you break out of. I share this because I want you to know that I get it and that recovery is possible.