Back in 2011, I was sitting at a bar in the Dallas airport. I had just come from a family reunion where I made a fool of myself by being drunk the entire time. I had several glasses of wine and some shots of vodka. I spilled a drink on someone, threw up a bunch, and overall made a huge ass of myself. I can only imagine how the family views me to this day. I was thinking about the past few days of being shit-faced and embarrassing myself. I thought about how the alcohol wasn’t the best thing on that trip, but I still sat there and drank.
At the airport, things changed in my mind. Something fired away and made me think the craziest things. I wondered if I should even go home because that place was a hell hole. I thought maybe being homeless was a better option. I just wanted to run away. Another thing that happened while I was at the airport was when I was waiting for my flight back; I stopped at a restaurant to grab a bite. I sat there thinking if I could ditch the tab and not get caught. It was a serious thought. I got a rush thinking about it. I had almost convinced myself that it was possible that airport security wouldn’t come to find me like I had somewhere to hide. I built up this trigger for myself to be in an airport.
Alcohol had skewed all parts of my mind and my decision-making skills. I had convinced myself that my behavior at the reunion was ok and that what happened in the airport was somehow acceptable thinking. From then on, every time I went to an airport, I had to have a drink to cope with the feelings. You would think it would be the other way around. I wouldn’t get help for a couple of years after that. I kept on trucking on through using.
Fast forward a few years, and I had just relapsed after 5 years clean. I started playing the rehab game, in and out, for a few years. All five times I flew to rehab, I made sure to hit a bar as soon as they opened on the way there and when I arrived wherever I was going this time. And in airports, they open very early, and I was always the first person ordering a drink. I didn’t give a fuck what people thought. It took years to get to a clean point again (now I have over a year).
The last time I went to rehab, we watched a movie, A Million Little Pieces, and in one scene, he bought a drink at the bar to test himself. He picked up the glass, held it a minute, and then took a deep breath in to smell it. On my way back home, I stopped by the bar when I got back to Nashville and did the same thing. I wanted to test myself to see if I would pass. It was incredibly stupid, but thankfully, I didn’t drink it, but it was a hard thing to do I don’t know why I would put myself in that position, but I’ve been clean ever since.
I have been on two flights since then. I hesitated at every bar we passed, but thankfully, my husband was with me, and that helped. I went in with a plan, though, not just to rely on my husband but to muster up my own courage to be able to keep moving past each one of those numerous bars. I keep my sponsors number on quick dial if I need to work through some stuff. And also, there is the whole “friend of Bill W” you can do at the ticket counter if it gets to be to much and you need help from someone. It’s worked so far. No more test drinks, I don’t