Where Sin Abounds

Usually when I went out of town other people would travel with me.  That didn’t deter my late-night drinking alone in the motel room.  But from time to time, I would plan an overnight trip alone.  This gave me more freedom to drink as I desired. 

That was the case early in 1997.  For several weeks I had planned to travel to South Alabama to visit a program called The Shoulder in Spanish Fort.  That was the pretense I would use to go to Gulf Shores, a short distance from Spanish Fort, and drink.

On the morning of March 19 I left Montgomery headed south in my state car.  In Foley, I stopped at a liquor store and purchased a half-gallon of vodka.  At the first available place I bought a mixer and began to drink. 

After checking into a beachfront room at Gulf Shores, I called Phillip Drane, director of The Shoulder, and told him that I wasn’t feeling well; and that I would not be there at the scheduled time.  I said I would check with him the next morning to see if I could conduct the regulatory visit.

I then called my supervisor in Montgomery and told him the same lie.  The remainder of the day and much of the night was spent drinking alone and watching television, or sitting in the dark by the pool.  As I reflect on that night, I can’t comprehend the attraction, but I can well remember the misery. 

Anyone struggling with the problem of drinking or using other drugs can relate to the experience.  Details will vary, but the lies, manipulation and hopeless feelings that are associated with drunkenness are common denominators among what the recovery industry calls alcoholics and drug addicts.

               Counseling and program management in the treatment field eventually led me to work in the Substance Abuse Services Division of the State of Alabama Dept. of Mental Health.  My job description said that I was to supervise the regulation of all Alabama alcohol and other drug treatment programs.  I was given the title of Chief, Office of Program Development, a fancy name for the person responsible for applying state regulations to treatment providers.  I was supposed to be skilled and trained in implementing current treatment methods for addiction. Plus, as a “recovering alcoholic” I had personal experience.

                As I sat drinking alone by the motel pool in the cool midnight air I remembered my life for what it was: a lie.

“How much lower could a man get,” I thought.  I would soon find out because what happened in the next 12 hours would change my life forever.