Health Magazine

My First Apartment . . . I Mean Frat House

By Dreamchasa101 @dreamchasa101
At this point in my life, I could admit to having a problem with alcohol but I couldn't admit to being an alcoholic.  Besides, I didn't need that stigma following me throughout my life. Some of my friends told me that I drank to much and I defended myself by saying that I was in school, had a good job and was taking care of my business.  I would tell them that alcohol wasn't slowing me down.  I remember one of my close friends saying, "Every time I see you you're drinking."  I really looked up to her and knew she was telling the truth.  I knew I had a problem with my drinking but I thought it was nothing out of the ordinary.  We as human beings all struggle in certain areas of our lives and as we get older, more wise and mature, we fix our problems and move past them.  I thought my situation with alcohol would be no different.

My first apartment . . . I mean Frat House

My bachelors pad.

My first apartment . . . I mean Frat House

 Random woman in my living room.  

My first apartment . . . I mean Frat House

Click here to see her dance.

I actually thought the piece of mind I'd get by having my own place would minimize my drinking.  What a fool I was!  After I got my own place, the indulgence of my vices only increased.  I later learned that as an addict, everywhere you go your addiction follows.  I heard a man in an open drug-alcohol talk share how when he went to the Navy, he was stationed overseas and - to his surprise - his addiction still followed him.  He was stationed in Hong Kong and was still able to find his choice of drugs and alcohol that he enjoyed while living in the States.  After moving into my first apartment, I also began to get the "big head" because I could drink heavy, still make it to work on time, do a good job and then come home to a lavish place.  Yes, I pimped my apartment out.  I bought a new 40' inch flat screen TV, a leather couch and love seat, rare artwork, glass tables and a king bathroom set.  I invited every girl I knew over to my place to make up for the days that I couldn't bring them to my parents place.  We drank and partied like it was no tomorrow.  I told my friends that they can come over anytime.  I told them to bring women, alcohol, drugs (even though I didn't do drugs) and anything to get the party started.  My apartment eventually became that of a frat house.

My first apartment . . . I mean Frat House

I would pass out drunk.

My first apartment . . . I mean Frat House

Me after work.  Still in my uniform.  

Things started to go downhill after I was drinking so much that I started missing work.  I went to sleep so drunk that when I woke up, my body simply would not allow me to go to work.  Sometimes, when I made it to work after a night of drinking, I would throw up right before my shift in the employee bathroom.  My eyes would be bloodshot red and I would feel like crap.  I wasn't eating right and I wasn't getting enough sleep.  Again, when I started drinking, I just couldn't seem to stop; I couldn't control it.  The high felt so good that I would continue into the late night hours.  Eventually, I began to stop at the liquor store almost everyday after work.  The alcohol just made me feel powerful, like I had everything under control.  I stopped thinking about the things that I couldn't change.  I simply drank myself into a "Never Never Land" where everything appeared to be pleasurable.  I could easily accept the pleasurable fantasy world - that I could drink myself into at any given time - as opposed to the harsh realities of the real world.  And the more I drank, the further away from reality I became.  My mother even tried to talk to me about my drinking, but I was still living in the denial that I had it under control.  

All of that changed the night I got my 2nd D.U.I.  

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