I had to break up with my best friend and mortal enemy, Vodka, January 22, 2017. I went to sleep about 2:30 that Sunday morning only to wake up to gut-wrenching pain and a very high fever. The fever was so high that my teeth were chattering and smashing together so hard, that if I were to think about it at the time, I might have thought they were all going to break. But I couldn’t really think about anything except the fever and the pain. I had to get up and pee once, and the walk to the bathroom, from one end of the 20-ft camper I live in, to the other, was absolutely freezing cold and excruciating. I felt an immense surge of relief, after the voyage was made and I was safely back in my bed under about 6 blankets. The relief was slight, to say the most.
I experienced those same symptoms the entire day, symptoms that probably would’ve driven many others to the emergency room, but if I had so much difficulty getting to the bathroom, there was no way I was getting in a car and going to the hospital. NO WAY. Instead, I lay in my bed and waited. I drank as much water as I could, because drinking water required me to not only move, but come out from under the covers. I was able to go to sleep pretty early with the help of my other friend, Xanax, who I really do have a loving relationship with because there is no abuse, whatsoever, one to another. She only helps me when I need her help.
I woke up the next morning about 3 o’clock, soaking wet. My fever had broken and all of my blankets were wet, the ones closest to my body were soaked, the sheets beneath me were soaked, my clothes were drenched and so was my pillow. The smell was purely awful. It smelled of infection and death with a pinch of urine. One of my first thoughts in my groggy state of mind was that I peed the bed, but I didn’t really care about that, I was just angry that I was still cold and now my blankets and clothes were wet.
I’m not sure about this because I am not one, but I think at that point a non-depressed person would have gotten up and changed their bed clothes. I didn’t, I kept on laying in them. I think I moved the top blanket to the bottom, but other than that, I just continue to lie in it and wait for it to dry, feeling sick and irritated.
I made it to work later that morning. I didn’t bathe before I went, but that was mostly due to the fact that the shower doesn’t work in this camper and I’m forced to walk next door to my oldest son’s father’s house and bathe there and I don’t like to go over there.
I ran a low-grade fever all day that would intermittently, raise then break, then cause the sweats. I hoped and prayed I didn’t stink. I have never been a person with very active odor glands, and I have never in my life, save a few, smelled any type of body odor on myself. So, that’s how I assuaged the fear of my stink. I probably did, because I was sweating out nothing but infectious toxins, but no one at work said anything. Not saying that would be something they would speak directly to me about, anyway. That would just be good fodder for gossip.
Today it is three days later and I have not had another drink. I’m still doing the sweat thing, but now it is being caused by the detox. My kidneys still hurt, but not as bad. My body is aching, slightly, all over. I am feeling random sharp pains in different places in my body. These pains will come out-of-the-blue and hit me like a knife in places like one of my ears, or in some part of my leg, arm, back, or shoulder.
I feel much, much better, physically, than I did Sunday or Monday, but now I am alone with Major Depressive Disorder with seemingly no relief. I know I don’t want to drink anymore because at this point there is no denying that I have worn out my kidneys and thought of weekly dialysis scares the shit out of me.
I never had great kidneys to begin with, kidney disease runs rampant on my father’s side of the family, I never met my paternal grandfather because he died eight years before I was born, as a result of kidney failure. I have had problems with my kidneys before I ever began to drink six years ago.
So here I sit, in this tiny little camper, me and my big dog, who is just as depressed as I am, and I wonder if this is what I’m left with? This is no life. This is just breathing…staying alive, but not really being alive. At least alcohol brought some sort of change to the landscape of my thought patterns.
I think about how I won’t be as fun or funny, anymore, without Vodka. Or how I won’t do anymore really cool shit like make international news 2 years in a row. I think about how my YouTube channel which is finally making me money is going to starve because each of the videos were fueled by depression and vodka. Now there’s no vodka.
I feel like I won’t have the confidence or “liquid courage” to do or say whatever I feel like doing or saying. Yeah, I realize it will be replaced with a different confidence, one that I hated not having with the vodka….the kind that allows me to get into a vehicle and go out in public if I need to do so. But the fact is, I probably won’t even do that, because there is nothing I want to do.
So, my question now remains…which is worse? Only time will tell, I suppose.