A Bearded Recovery: Day 0

I’m an alcoholic. I’ve written about it, and how pervasive and underestimated the abuse of alcohol is in our culture. While I have accepted the word, I have danced with the devil through moderation for the past few years.

On April 30, 2018, at around 5 A.M., I emerged into the predawn Florida morning after an eight day stay in county jail, the minimum sentence for a second DUI. (It’s easier than you think, most especially if you drive even a little drunk more often than not.) While not deliberate, I started growing a beard that day.

Sixteen months later, my drinking patterns looked nothing like they did for the majority of my adult life. I have been drunk about half a dozen times in that span; I have blacked out only once, a rage response to my $10 a day alcohol monitor being removed after 4 months. (I was very unhappy about how that came to be, but that’s a story for a different day.) Until very recently, I believed I could moderate, and by almost any measure, I have.

But this is me, a few hours ago. This beard has seen me drift to the brink of darkness. It has seen the lies that I let alcohol tell me, and it has caused immeasurable damage in my relationship to the most wonderful woman I’ve ever met. Every promise I’ve made, I’ve failed to deliver, if only by the smallest of margins. We’re not sure if there exists enough trust or hope to recover.