After the episode where I blacked out and hit my head, I tried to get sober on my own, but it didn’t work. I didn’t go back to the bar, but every morning I would wake up craving a drink and would try to make it longer and longer through the day without drinking.
I had only been a casual, social drinker before my mom died. I’d never considered myself to be someone with an addictive personality, and when it came to alcohol, I’d experimented in high school and college in what I’d thought was a “normal” way, but nothing crazy or out of the ordinary.
As I described in my last post, after my mom died and I quit my job at the fitness center, I quickly fell into a pattern of drinking pretty much all day, every day. While I knew this wasn’t quite normal, as I’d never drunk like that before, I figured it was a phase that I was entitled to because I was deeply depressed after the passing of my mother.
It was about three years after my mother died and I moved into her house that I hit what I consider my rock bottom. Three years I wasted, drinking myself into oblivion, hardly seeing anybody except the bartender at the sports bar, and my drinking buddies Mark and Brian.
I named my business “The Berry Street Garage” because, yes, my mother’s house was on Berry Street, and it fit so perfectly with the concept of my fresh fruit and vegetable juices I pressed and blended every day.