Drunken Style: An Alcoholic Story Part 1

“ My name is Asher Morris I’m 40 years old and I’m an alcoholic.” It’s true. I am. I can honestly say that I have spent the majority of my adult life drunk. Today, January 15 2019 as I write this I am exactly 14 months sober which to pretty much everyone who knows me is fucking miraculous. I personally don’t think so. I would pray that God wouldn’t waste a miracle on me, but if I were watching my life through their eyes I must say that I would have to concur with their view of divine intervention. The fact that I’m alive at all does seem (pardon me for being redundant) miraculous. Reason would tell you that I should have died several times over, yet, here I sit.

I’m writing this in the hopes that people who read it be they strangers or loved ones might get some insight on what it’s been like being me and maybe help others come to terms with their own addictions and get help should they need it. I need to add a few caveats before I go further. 1) I am not a licensed counselor, nor do i intend to appear as such. 2) Though this is my story i do not live in a microcosm of Asher and therefore certain details will be omitted to protect others. 3) I don’t care about whether or not you see addiction as a disease or not. I also don’t wish get in any nature vs. nurture debates. 4) For some reason alcohol and me don’t mix. My relationship with alcohol over the years is mine and mine alone. It is what it is, and I own it.

I love to drink. Love it! I can remember being very young, 3 or 4 maybe, and being at our Church friends house at a BBQ and repeatedly stealing swigs from my Dad’s beer when he wasn’t looking. Which if you know my Dad is kind of funny, he drink’s Scotch and I can count on my fingers how many times I’ve seen him drink a beer. When my parents were still married ( they divorced when I was 12) we lived in a large old house in the historic Red Brick Azalea district in Tyler. My parents would throw rather large parties for many different occasions. There was always a full bar and sometimes even a large tent in the front yard. It was fun! All the guests would bring their own kids and myself and my sisters would have our own party upstairs. I would be allowed to have some of my friends stay the night with me also. The 3 guys who were my best friends growing up were not exactly a good influence on me. in fact one was killed before we graduated high school and another is currently serving a life sentence in prison. By the time I was 11 years old the 4 of us had successfully committed several crimes including- breaking into cars, shoplifting, breaking into several homes, and too many acts of vandalism and criminal mischief to count. I wasn’t a bad kid either ( I swear), but ,I was VERY susceptible to peer pressure.

So, during these parties my friends and I would take turns sneaking downstairs to steal whatever booze we could. I really don’t know why we did. I do know that it wasn’t my idea though. But being the people pleaser I would help steal and drink with my friends. We would always end up stealing vodka and gin. To this day I abhor vodka and nothing but contempt for gin! Now, heres the thing, I don’t remember if I got drunk or not back then. I’m positive that I must’ve given the amount of alcohol I would consume and my body weight at the time, but I don’t remember “being” drunk. I’m positive that I didn’t blackout that memory because I remember that time in my life very clearly, what I don’t remember is the feeling of being drunk which by now I’m an expert. It’s hard to explain. I do remember having a ton of fun, and why wouldn’t I? I hadn’t had any negative experiences yet.

Eventually my parents wised up to the fact that my friends weren’t really my friends and were a bad influence on me. Not long after they divorced. Myself and my 3 sisters moved with my mother and eventually I switched schools and made new friends. Most of them I am still friends with to this day, some of them I consider my brothers, and the ones I am not so close with should know that I will always be there for them. Now, by the time my new friends discovered raiding their parents liquor cabinet we were all at a more appropriate age for such experimentation. Now these times I remember being drunk and having fun. I remember being drunk and liking it. As I write this I cannot help but smile. Man, did we have fun!

When I was 16 I got alcohol poisoning for the first time. Those who were there will remember this story because bits and pieces have been retold a number of times over the years including but not limited to myself in and out of consciousness while vomiting while my best friends older brother stood over me naked and urinating in the toilet that my head was on. Anyway, the next day I had to work a double at the restuaran where I was a cook. I threw up all day long and was about 8 hrs into a double shift before anyone noticed. I’ll never forget the bertender making me drink a glass of orange juice which immediately made me worse and I was walking and puking at the same time as they walked me out to my mothers car. My Mom was going to take me to the hospital so I came clean and told her that I wasn’t having a heat stroke that I was drunk ( I didn’t know the word hangover) I should have known then that me and alcohol don’t mix well.

Around this time I started training in Kung Fu. I honestly believe that Kung Fu is why I managed to abuse my body for so many years and live to tell about it. I love training and over the years my motto was “Train Hard Party Hard”, I would outwork you, outfight you, and damn sure out drink you and do it again tomorrow. This formula worked for a long time.

Time went on and I continued to work in kitchens, had a daughter, got married and divorced. I continued drinking daily and life went on as it does. Before I knew it I wasn’t drinking AND having fun, I was just drinking AND drinking….

When I was about 30 I tried to quit drinking. This wasn’t the first time but it is the most significant. I had been working at the same place off and on for 10 years while my daughter and I lived with my mother. Many different events had built up to a boiling point and my Psyche cracked and I basically had a nervous breakdown.

Before I go on I should mention Stacy. Stacy was my cousin who I had reunited with at AA of all places. Long story short - She died. Her addictions killed her. I saw her before she died in the I.C.U. I heard the sounds of the machines. I saw her with the tubes and what-not attached to her and I knew she was going to die. I mention her now because every time I think about sobriety I think of her. She also has a lot to do with my opinions on Alcoholics Anonymous, which I promise I will share with ya’ll in the future but not today.

So. One night while hanging out with my sister and her ex husband I freaked out. They convinced me to go to the hospital. So I stayed up drinking all night before I could get a bed at the Behavioral Health Center because tomorrow I was going to quit for good. Makes sense, no? That was ten years ago.

After three days in the BHC they let me out. I did everything that they recommended to stay sober this time. Now heres the prescription they give you. First go to 100 AA meetings in 100 days. Check. I was going to AA 3 or 4 times a day for months. They recommend that you change your environment. Check. I not only quit my job, but my career as well. Restaurants are rampant with drunks and drugs, it’s one of the things I loved about that life. It was fun! But, with sobriety being the goal, not money, I quit cooking. This was not a decision I made lightly and I must admit that I regretted it for a long time.

After a few months of going to AA all the time and beginning to train Kung Fu again (on my own) I needed a job. Now, for some reason and this is no Bullshit I have been hired for every single job that I have ever interviewed for. Not applied for, interviewed for. So I interviewed for a sales position at a local smoke shop. Not only did I get the job, but I ended up meeting my love, my partner and my future wife, Chastity, during that interview. I worked there for a while and stayed sober for 10 months.

~~ I need to pause here to be clear about something. When I say sober I mean not drinking. I was then and still do now use cannabis on a regular basis. Many people have a problem with me saying that I am sober and a “Pothead”. To them and to you all I will simply say I don’t care. Alcohol was killing me. Weed wasn’t isn’t and wont. I could say much more about that but for now this should suffice for the sake of clarity.~~

That first year at that shop at the company Halloween party I started drinking again. The exact who,how, why and what isn’t important detail at this time. The important part of this story is that I STARTED drinking. I started drinking AND having fun again. For the first time in a long time I was happy and in love……..

I’m going to stop here for now. Stay tuned for seizures, Japan, broken bones, and finally Operation M.A.R.S.