One of the many things I’ve learned with age is that there are lots of peaks and valleys during one’s life. When I left San Diego, I had reached a significant peak. Little did I know I was headed for a very deep valley.
I didn’t know what I thought I would do once I returned to Washington. Things seemed to be going OK at first. I had managed to line-up some venues for teaching t’ai chi, but since this wasn’t enough to make a living, I needed to have a “real” job.
In the Navy, I’d learned how to type. That was my one marketable skill. After a relatively short time back in my home town, I knew I couldn’t go back to living there. I felt I didn’t belonged there anymore. I had changed–the town hadn’t. So I started looking for work and a place to live in Seattle. I got a job at the UW as a receptionist for the Health Sciences Department at University Hospital. Cool, I was working in the U-district! I found a little cottage to rent in West Seattle right across from Lincoln Park and the ferry terminal to Vashon Island. Another score! Seemed things were falling right into place.
Life took another good turn 6 months later when I got a job at Boeing. For someone with no real skills, a high school diploma, and one year of college they were offering what–at the time–was more money that I could imagine. Like most newbies at Boeing, I moved around a lot. It seemed like every 6 months or so I was moved to a new location with a new job and new shift. Teaching t’ai chi classes was no longer possible with all the Boeing moves, so I ended them after less than a year.
Working at Boeing was stressful. Because of all the moves, I was always the new guy and just about when I figured out how to do my job, I’d get moved to a new one. Alcohol became my very close companion. I started living for the weekends–going out to bars and taverns. I was over 21, alcohol was legal, and I was able to drink a lot of it. Problem was, more often than not, I couldn’t remember what happened when I woke-up (more like “came to”) the next morning. I later learned these are called “blackouts” and an early warning sign of impending alcoholism.
Since I liked drinking, but kept having blackouts, I came up with what–at the time–seemed a perfect solution. Cocaine was at the height of its popularity during this time (late seventies). It gave me lots of energy and kept me awake. It seemed to counteract the alcohol. Unfortunately, like coffee on steroids, cocaine doesn’t sober anyone up–it just leaves you wide-awake AND drunk. Worse yet, cocaine has a very short half-life. This means it wears off quickly–more quickly than alcohol. So the cocaine keeps you up and you drink even more because you don’t notice the effects of the alcohol because the cocaine is temporarily masking them. The cocaine runs out, the bar closes. Time to drive home. Halfway home the cocaine wears off and the full wave of alcohol hits the brain. Nighty night!
Do this long enough and, if you’re lucky, you end up in a jail cell charged with DUI. Guess what, coming out of a blackout and finding you’re in jail REALLY sucks. It also gets your attention. A few weeks later and I’m off to rehab to avoid having a DUI on my record. 26 years old and fresh out of rehab. I think this safely qualifies as a “valley” and a pretty deep one to boot. Three weeks in rehab gave me plenty of time to think. How did I get here? When did it all go so wrong? What’s next?
Well, the good news is that there’s only one direction to go when you hit bottom. Fortunately Boeing has an employee assistance program, so by telling them I had a problem and getting help they didn’t fire me. I still had a job.
I tried going out a few times after rehab. No drinking, but it was also no fun–in fact–just the opposite. Socially and emotionally I was back in Junior High when it came to dating. In my mind I was rejected before I ever even asked someone out, so why bother? It was so much easier when I had a few drinks and some lines (not the “do you come here often” kind–the coke kind). Misery and disappointment seemed to stretch out as far as I could see. Well, if that’s the case I’ve got nothing to lose. Maybe it was time for another reinvention.
Sometime between kindergarten and first grade, I developed a pretty serious stutter. It stayed with me through most of Junior High until I found something that not only got me over it, but took me to the opposite end of the spectrum. By the time I graduated, I received my high school’s drama award after acting in every school play since my sophomore year. The answer was simple–if I could be someone other than me, then I would be OK.
About this time, punk rock/new wave was taking over the music scene. A subgroup of this was the rockabilly revival (remember the Stray Cats?). My stage was set. Shy self-conscious me became a rockabilly rebel. DA haircut, white sportcoat with fake leopard skin lapels, sideburns, shades–I was a real cool daddy-O! After seeing me jitterbug to the boppin’ beat, girls we’re asking ME to dance! I had learned how to have fun with being chemically altered. All I had to do, was not be me. But, I was starting to crawl out of the valley.
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