how to stop drinking

Chapter 14

Best Wet Dream, Worst Nightmare

Excerpt from ‘Licking Honey Off a Razor Blade’ by Valerie Grimes, CHt

A book on alcohol dependency and alcohol addiction and hypnosis

Available on Amazon and Medium

 

In spite of Salvador’ transformations, and the healthier I became, it was clearer to me that he had a very long way to go. And that if I was to heal fully it was really time to set him free. Still I felt I couldn’t let him down.

Text Messages 1:30 AM

“what is going to happen to me?”

“you get to decide just think about what you really, really want out of your life”

“i’m too tired”

“then come to me and let me help you some more—you were doing better”

“I’m running out of time”

Was he thinking of ending his life again?

The next day I went to check on him. He answered the door very, very upset. “Why did you fuckin’ wake me up?”

“It’s 11:30, besides I thought you were going down Sal. You sounded suicidal. I wanted to come check on you.”

He was mean, cruel and very ugly. I left and went next door to Panera Bread to pray for guidance and protection from his negative energy and hurtful words.

The next morning during my meditation, I consulted the Rune stones, they said:

Think about your past, all the things that have brought you to this present moment. Then let it go. The future is right in front of you.

I knew I didn’t have all the strength I needed to let him go. But I so much wanted a new life, that future was right in front of me. My therapy was working.

I needed him out of Dallas, so I could truly focus on me.

It was apparent that he was running out of money. In two years he hadn’t worked. He was in no shape to even go on a job interview. He was right he didn’t have time.

So over the next couple of days, I gently helped him to see that it was time to leave and go back to his parents where he might get to the source of his fears.

Luckily, he was pretty clear that he did not want to be a burden to me; he said, “I have my pride.” But he wasn’t a quitter and going home meant to him he quit. It was extremely painful for him. But he finally agreed he needed to go home, reconnect with his family and the ocean. Besides he was viewing this as something temporary, but I wasn’t. I knew I would probably never see him again.

Several days later I went to his place so I could start organizing the packing. He had to be out by the end of the month, less than a week away, and he had not made any plans so I went and bought some boxes and packing tape. Before a luncheon presentation and in high heels and skirt, I carried ten flat large boxes up the outside staircase, down the hall and to his front door. When he saw them he just complained that they were the wrong size.

Looking around I thought, ‘Suicidal is right, drinking himself to death.’ To ease the pain, he said he had not done anything in the past four days but drink, and there was proof to back that up as if his appearance wasn’t enough. There were beer bottles everywhere. He hadn’t eaten or slept much and was also drinking Jack Daniels again. This was the monster that I faced throwing me complaints about the boxes I had just spent my grocery money to buy.

He was critical of my efforts but also incapable of doing anything. I announced, “Okay here are your boxes. Get your clothes packed. My son is coming this afternoon to get your couch and your bed. I’ll be back tomorrow to help with everything else.” I looked sternly into his eyes and held his chin in my right hand, “Sal we only have two days, shake it out, I’ve got to go to a meeting.” He closed his eyes and tried to kiss me, but I turned away.

Saturday bright and early I went to his place. The door was unlocked. He was lying on the floor on his makeshift bed. He is normally very paranoid, and would never leave the door open. ‘Must have passed out,’ I thought as I entered the dark and unfamiliar setting. My heart sank, not only at the sight of him on the floor, but at the realization he was leaving. His couch was gone; his clothes were everywhere. What had I done?

Realizing I needed a drink, I walked over to the fifth of Jack (and surprisingly there was some left) and took a long drink. I didn’t realize he was awake until I heard, “That’s my girl,” Sick yes, but it made me smile it was even a turn on.

We spent the day together, I packing up while he obsessed about all the shoes and hats he had accumulated. He kept coming into the kitchen that I was disassembling and showing me the different ones, modeling them. Sometimes he would appear from around the corner in just his boxers with cowboy boots and hat, another time naked with black dress shoes and Texas Rangers ball cap. I smiled he broke the tension. I softened so that I stopped what I was doing and rested with him.

While I lay on his makeshift bed (blankets and pillows on the floor) with my head in his lap, he told me he was falling in love with me (now he tells me), and I was the only woman he had ever let see him break down and cry. After a short break I went back to work.

Moving was my idea so I assumed the role of doing most of the packing and cleaning. I had already filled my car and his truck with all I could then cleaned the kitchen and bathroom. At the end of the day and deciding he was done was on the floor on a dirty towel looking like he was at the beach on vacation. He asked me to bring him a beer.

Last straw, I lit into him! “All you need to do is load that heavy box in my car and come to my house for the night. Your bed is gone, couch is gone and now all your pillows and blankets are in my car. Get up and get that box in your truck and let’s go. I’m ready to leave. I’m hungry and I need a shower.”

But he resisted, argued that he had worked all day packing and wanted to relax and drink a few beers. He said, “Give me a minute.”

I did. And after 60 seconds I said, “I’m leaving now; it’s been a minute. If you are not coming then I’ll see you in the morning.” He would not cooperate, so I left him there.

Back at my place I unloaded my car, as I needed to make space for tomorrow’s load. I wasn’t that angry, mostly sad as I unloaded bits and pieces of a broken man’s life into my garage.

The next day was Sunday, the last day to be out. When I went back he had tried to sleep on the floor with his ‘beach towel’, no sheets, no nothing. ‘What an ass,’ I thought, ‘what a stubborn ass.’

What I didn’t realize was that he was terrified at the idea of leaving the only thing that was stable in his life, sleeping on the floor of his comfort zone was better to him than sleeping at my house.

He did manage to help with the last of the heavy boxes but put me in charge of moving his college days TV. I said, “How in the hell am I gonna pick this heavy thing up and carry it down the stairs?”

He quipped, “You’re smart. Think of something.”

So in a moment of contempt, I dragged it on that dirty towel by the electric cord to the outside staircase, then I pushed it down the stairs and continued to drag it to the dumpster, he never noticed.

Now with his apartment empty and clean and ready for us to depart, we did a clearing ritual. He said he wanted to remove the negativity. I had been studying the Goddess Path so knew some rituals for clearing and performed one. I was honored that he asked and that he was considerate of the next person entering his old space. Those are his gems I love. He actually told me he wanted to do this so I had my space clearing kit with me.

After the ritual, we left the candle burning in the center of the floor surrounded by black obsidian, then looked around in silence one last time and closed the door. Downstairs he put the rent money for the month that just ended in the landlord’s drop box. ‘Wow,’ I thought, ‘he walks away clean.’

Then with both of our vehicles fully loaded, we drove to my house where he spent the rest of the day unloading and repacking like a lost soul. My heart sank to watch him. At the end of the day my garage was full of his boxes and furniture he was planning on leaving with me, the stuff he wanted to take to Florida was in his truck. I was happy to keep his stuff because then I had a connection to him. I had some of his stuff, a part of him.

He was to stay a few days to re-group and re-energize for the two-day drive home.

By Sunday night I was worn out as well and needed to rest for my clients that week. I realized that it would be hard with him here and in another moment of clarity realized we could never live together as my preference for peace was growing stronger and my thoughts clearer and behaviors more healthy.

Monday: Day One of Suburban Sal

Because I helped him pack up his apartment, he insisted on helping me out with a few things like priming my red wall so I could paint it yellow. ‘A nice gesture,’ I thought as I left for work.

But drinking and priming don’t mix, when I got home he had gotten white primer on my concrete floor and futon, and in an attempt to affix an antique metal sign to the brick of my house (I didn’t ask) liquid nails was now a miniature stream on my porch. I could see how he wanted to truly help but he would get drunk and make a bigger mess.

During his stay he continued to be loud, disagreeable and basically detached from the reality of his situation: no home, most of his stuff given away, thrown away or in my garage. But I couldn’t blame him? I tried to let it go and allow him to basically suffer the consequences of his behavior. But also felt like I could protect him from feeling the effects of this experience.

Tuesday: Day Two of Suburban Sal

My son found a watering trough for cattle at a garage sale a few years ago. Sal found it in the back yard that day and filled it with water and sat naked in the tub.

When I got home I was looking for him and found him in the backyard looking like a king.

Pretty irresistible so I got in with him and he talked about his departure, “My mother called and wants me home, but I told my her I’ve got to help you then I’ll come home and help her.” I thought of the mess and thought no, don’t help me any more just go to her.

As I watched him from my end of the tub I was getting more and more clear about how damaged he was. He was no longer the attraction to me he once was, but there was still a connection between us, more heart to heart then the physical attraction that begun our relationship two years earlier. He said he loved me again and that he would be back, but his voice trailed off in the beer bottle, as he said, “I’ve got a few rounds left in me.”

I just looked down at the water and our bare bodies feeling completely numb, knowing I couldn’t handle any more rounds.

Wednesday: Day Three of Suburban Sal

Tonight I refused to get more booze, and after multiple requests, he gave up and went to sleep while I scrubbed primer off my floor.

Thursday: Day Four of Suburban Sal

In spite of my compassion for him and his situation, on the morning of the fourth day, I was exhausted, I didn’t want him in my house any longer and he made no mention of when he was leaving when I asked. So as I left at 6 AM to walk my dog, I let him know it was time for him to go. He was gone when I got back. I had mixed emotions, yes he was physically gone, and I could get on with my recovery, but the hope that I could help turn this man around seemed gone as well.

He later sent me an email.

“I loved those last days in Dallas with you princess”

Really?

“And what I thought when you asked me to leave was how can I after losing my place and that you were making a mistake and that you might not ever see me again.  I struggled to leave when you went on the walk with Bonnie, but I did because you asked me to, I didn’t want to stay where I wasn’t wanted. I actually went to my old place and trashed more clothes and stuff in the dumpster so I could be able to look out my rear view mirror. And I saw what you did to my TV.  I felt defeated and alone.” Love ya, Sal

Remembering his social anxiety I realized asking him to leave before he was ready was terrifying to him, but he pushed through it because I asked him to leave.

I replied to the email:

“You called me remember? And I came by. You were drunk, and you gave me more stuff to take back to my house. Remember?

“So I guess the real last time I saw you was by a dumpster.  Sorry about the TV. I was resentful of all the work I did at your place and you seemed, at the time, to not appreciate it.

“I’m really sorry it ended the way it did. I was trying to help. We both did the best we could. We are both bruised and being together it seems we keep re-injuring our wounds. Maybe now we can both heal and come back together soon.” Love, Valerie

I began to settle into the peace of my home, to settle back into my deeper self. As I drank tea with almond milk that evening I recalled a conversation with Ann when she helped me realize Salvador represented an important need, a way to be adored and to be loved. And with him gone I had to now provide that for myself, although I didn’t know how or if that was fully possible.

She also explained that those things could come from within, and that I could easily let him go when I was receiving those things from within.

“Your ego mind tells you it is outside of yourself, but it isn’t,” she explained. “What can you do for yourself each day to show you how loved you are, how you adore you?”

I answered out loud, as if I were responding to her direct question, “I can sit here and enjoy this tea and the peace that I have created, knowing I am free of his negative energy for now.” Then I said a prayer for his safe travel and healing, lit a Mother Mary candle and cried myself to sleep on the soft white sheets he generously gave me.

 

 

 

 

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