I hope op isn't busto

What are you up to right now bud?

Just drinkin in some ghetto parking lot furious that my attempt for a free shower failed

Go home man.
You are luck that have a home (and a family) and u can change ur life.
Many ppl don´t have homes/families... education and/or jobs/ ... u are just kiding w\ life and joking around.
Trying to be the ultimate degenerate, the ultimate gambler on 2p2. I read all of ur story.
I think that this all begin w\ this thread...
U are now doing stuff to write about..
too sad.

I appreciate your honesty and a lot of your words are true.

get into surfing OP, trust me.

just read the whole things from start to finish... it was a rollercoaster of emotions and I would like to say thank you, i enjoyed the ride

questions:
How are plans for the phillipines going? Are you still planning to go over?

Any more medical experiements on the cards?

If phillipines isn't on the cards anymore whats your next step?

Wish you all the best man, hope you find the strength to overcome your demons and this thread turns into a true busto to robusto story.

lol what ?

op is not doing well, at least by conventional standards

http://forumserver.twoplustwo.com/54...ourne-1153568/

oh dear! theres a second thread... thanks for the link

A twisted search for peace and the reality of alcohol sickness

Day 1 - Saturday, 14th January

I’m in Adelaide, I’m not in a good place but I don’t yet realize it – the disease is patient and cunning to a degree I cannot fathom and it’s hiding in wait, doing push ups as they say in the rooms… There’s a pretty sweet metal show in Melbourne and a lot of people I know are making the trek over there. Tempting, but y’know, I’m trying to save money for the Philippines, don’t know if I can justify spending a few hundred bucks on this show (lol at a few hundred, I still have not checked my bank balance Then I check my email. The very next night Toxic Holocaust are playing. With Nocturnal Graves. And Desecrator. Ok, so I’m going to Melbourne. I’ve been warned by those in the know that this is not a good idea, but hey, I’m a smart mother****er, I can play this my way right?

I land at Melbourne Airport and connect with an old friend. I need little encouragement to start the process and before I know it we are at a liquor store. One litre of Jacks and a carton of Henninger. $88. No problem. I’m thirsty. Off we go. I drink like I always do, wasting no time pouring as much down my throat as my stomach will allow, and then some. All the knowledge, all the determination to get sober, to get better, to be the person I want to be is gone – this is me and let’s ****ing go.

I get to the gig and group with my Adelaide crew, and without blinking an eye I produce a beer for each and every one of them because I want everyone on this trip with me. They, being metalheads far from home to see a band they love, happily oblige. Half a carton gone, no worries. I have plenty more where that came from, I’m cashed up and these are my people and I don’t give a **** how much I spend, let the party begin.

Blackout almost immediately, see none of the bands play, spend god knows how much, talk to god knows who about god knows what, drink, drink, drink, drink. Disappear to find food, order a dish that is not vegan that I’m not supposed to eat… morning arrives, head back to a mates, make abusive angry phone call to ex to remind her that I’m a sick weirdo instead of the guy she still wants to believe I am, finally reach my limit, pass out.

Day 2.

Wake up, grateful for this mattress, I already know it will be some time before I see another. Do the little hangover dance where I pretend I won’t drink immediately, but already I’m feeling the jumping around of my brain and the shakes, maybe I should just pour a small one for the nerves. Mate says it might be best if I find another place to stay tonight, he has work the next day etc. Music to my ears, that scary world I’ve never entered now awaits. I leave his place and say farewell to all hope that this thing could still be prevented. I find the nearest place that looks appealing – a ****ing beautiful park area, and begin.

This is the golden time. All is well, the alcohol is like a medicine and I feel nothing bad, I feel love and appreciation and I marvel at the moss on the dirt under the grass with the ant and the butterfly signing it’s path across the landscape of power lines and blue sky and ****ing hell am I a lucky guy. Spend hours here, drinking, using my army bag as a pillow, meet a cat that trusts me and knows not to be afraid, meet a nearby resident, meet a bum that speaks to the voices in his head, always sharing whatever I can. In this case some change. I did not feel it would have been right to have given this sick person a beer. I’ll let that line sit for a moment.

Finally leave the park as the show draws near. Things are looking good, I’m on the second night, and what that means is that all the tentative problems of night 1 are gone, my body and brain are not shocked by this sudden toxic assault, I’m almost guaranteed to not be abusive or cruel to anyone unless they absolutely deserve it. I’ll be able to drink astonishing quantities with impunity and not blackout without a fight. I’m all set baby, let’s see some bands.

I get there (The Hi-Fi Bar) and I get déjà vu as I realize I’ve been here before, some years back. Cool. See people I know, buy rounds, we’re off and running. I have a great time, I let loose, I look like a ****** banging my head and smashing into people, sure, but this is a metal show, I aint the only one. Connections abound, connections that, unfortunately, I can barely recall. The whole purpose stolen by the very thing that authors it, what a shame. I’m talking about those conversations where the girl can’t believe the **** coming out of this clearly plastered bum looking guy’s mouth/heart and all of a sudden wants to totally find out everything about this guy but there’s this small problem… he just wants another drink, it doesn’t matter how beautiful she is, she’s not as beautiful as that double gin and lemon that’s waiting for him at the bar. Opportunity for a connection with a cool human being – gone, no more excuse is needed to plunge wildly into the booze, enter blackout.

Come to at another venue. **** who is this chick I’m talking to now? Sorry babe I need to suss out the booze thing asap, you’re not offended right? Not offended that no matter what you say or do you cannot compete with a stinking pint of VB? Nah, course not. **** a normal person could get laid so easily in this city. Search frantically for my bag that has all my belongings, draw attention to the fact that I’m homeless, lose the ability to conceal the true nature of this façade, time to split. But not before a double whatever-you-got.

Day 3

Wake up in a park and I honestly have no clue where I am. Am certainly sick enough to find some raging love for this whole situation. I am pretty sure I was attempting to revisit the park from Day 2, but I must have failed somewhere along the way. This place is not as nice. My wallet and phone are nearby, miraculously not stolen. My hair is in a ponytail, which means that I vomited. With any luck I’m not lying in it. Find my near empty of Jack Daniels and two last green glass angels in my bag, oh thank god. I drink the beer and look for a place to buy a coke or something for the whiskey, the morning is not conducive to straight spirits, the stomach rejects violently and that could rupture something. Find a cool little café that I spend wayyy too long in, but it’s ok, I’ll have a coffee, and a muesli, and a chickpea wrap, and a ginger beer. You can have the money, just give me my right to take refuge here. Jacks covertly is added to the ginger beer, everything is on track, except there’s this problem. I’m lonely as ****. So how about I post on the internet like a ****** about how I’ve just roughed it and really conjure up the love. Sigh.

Posting from phone. Have money in my pocket, am not looking for and will accept no charity, just sharing. It's quite beautiful waking up to trees and birds. A coffee too, in some quaint location. It's frightening how right this all feels.

Make embarrassing overly poetic posts to an audience that is laughing at me. Justify it with denial. Eating/drinking has concluded, time to go. Where? To the nearest ****tiest bar.

Hit the piss in a place that doesn’t want me there and doesn’t appreciate my clearly awesome humour and pearls of wisdom. Or maybe it’s the puke on my jeans, crap. Oh well, as long as I behave these ****ers haven’t got a choice, I have money. Have deep conversation with a cool human. Wow, things are looking up. He leaves because he’s not an alcoholic. I stay and drink some more and when they stop watching me I pour the very last of the whiskey into my beer. Finish up, head out into the hot day, pissed as a fart, addled and stinking. This is a Monday.

I make my way to this hostel that I know is booked but I can totally scab a shower and get things in order. Sweet, I do my little trick of pranking the joint so the chick behind the counter gets distracted and doesn’t notice me walking in and I’m almost home clear.

“Excuse me I need to see your room pass”

Now I must lie and be a **** and basically accept that I will not be taking a shower here. Oh well. I sit down on a chair at the back of this lobby room with adjoining kitchen and plug my phone charger into an outlet so I can embarrass myself further on 2 + 2. These 3 Swedish chicks come sit down at my table. Ok, let’s play the game where I pretend I’m not drinking for the third day and sleeping on the streets. They introduce themselves and do a good job at being oblivious to all the things swirling in my ****ed up head. In fact, I don’t know what I’m saying to these chicks but as usual I do what I usually do which is at the very least inspire some curiosity, somehow, by being too honest and mentally ill like is my habit. Now these girls keep ****ing smiling and ****, and I am getting signals and the hottest one is the worst culprit of all. ****ing hell… Kinda cool right? Of course, and as soon as I can I sabotage the situation and make the transition to weirdo and end up in some ghastly area behind the building with broken glass everywhere being a ****ing bum with nothing and no-one. Post more on 2 + 2 obv. Wander the streets accosting strangers, offering twenty bucks to the first **** to let me de-filth in their shower. Surprisingly no-one jumped at the chance. Desperation sets in. I really need a ****ing shower. Otherwise I might feel like a bum or something. I try one more hostel that I know about and BOOM oh my ****ing god I am the luckiest guy on Earth. Without a doubt was my favouritest shower ever, and I’ve had some showers that included company. The hot water was like angel pussy and I was lapping that **** up. Clean clothes, all set. Head back to other hostel where they serve food, eat ravenously, amazed at my hunger despite my condition. Meet some cool travellers. Lie to them about being a poker pro. Sense what is happening and don’t like it. I somehow connected the dots and find a bar. Now it’s getting hard to bull**** myself, I’m ****ed, I’m disconnected, I got no spark, the internal bull**** aint workin and I’m not gonna connect with anyone. I order a double jagerbomb, down it, order a double whiskey and a pint. Get my fix, go to the bottle shop, grab a fourpack of 8% and a bottle of vodka. What now? Back to the ghastly area behind building with broken glass everywhere. Get major ****ed up. I rip through my booze and cut myself on the glass and bleed on everything and then it all starts happening, I’m laying on the broken glass, full blown hallucinations start coming in like something out of Wizard of Oz. The trees are these huge giants with long hair and beards and the wind causes them to sway and contort, then the shadows in my peripheral come alive and I’m being watched from all sides. Oh man, it’s been a while since this kinda **** has happened, and the first time ever that it’s happened without also consuming drugs. Not a good sign. Then it hits me. I can’t move. I’m stuck to the cement like it’s a magnet and there’s nothing I can do about it for like 5 minutes. Now that’s a first. Then it gets fuzzy, as I almost get into a fight with some racist local before realizing he’s got 12 mates within earshot, forget that. Escape without harm, wander away, now it’s dark (Frank Booth), I look down an alley and see someone just like me. He has a brown paper bag. Perfect. He’s form Canada, he likes to drink, he is fond of this alley, he is now my friend. As I encourage him to help me with my vodka (I’m already wanting it to be gone so this thing can begin to end…) We talk about incredible things but there is the tragedy element and the crushing impact of the conversation which involved the meat and dairy industry and something involving having your jaw shot off deeply rattled this nice young man, and he stumbled into the wall and then ran off, to which I called angrily after him, frightening him more. Then it’s just me again, drinking vodka straight from the bottle which is another first, and I decide I’m too ****ed up for this bull**** and I need to go home. First flight is probably at least 8 hours away. Maybe more. I jump in a taxi and tell him I want to go near the airport. He asks where. I say I don’t know, just drive and I’ll get out where it looks good. Well, nothing looked good. I got out at a foolish location, some café thing at the outskirts. Nothing was good, I sensed I had made a poor choice and was intoxicated to a degree I could not hide from anyone with eyes that worked. I staggered around, feeling hopeless, found a door and turned it… and it opened. Holy ****. I walk in, I have no clue where what why, there’s two ceiling fans turning overhead. I’m the luckiest guy in the world. I lay down, being quiet, but now I need to take a huge piss, but I don’t wanna risk being arrested pissing outside, that would **** everything up. I piss in what I thought was a watering can. I lay down and enter hellstate for a couple of hours and then I hear it. People are entering this room and the lights come on. Three big black people walk in and they look at me and stop. Then they keep going. They drop to their knees and start kissing the ground and speaking in tongues and freaking the **** outta me, like I’m not even there. I look around. I’m in a ****ing mosque or something. These ****s have come to pray and I’m here and I’ve pissed in one of their ****ing sacred artifacts. Time to leave. I don’t know where to sleep and nothing is good now.

Day 4

I wake up on a steel bench and the first thing I sense apart from pain is the wind. It is wild and raging and cold and fresh and perfect, it brings a very real smile to my face and then I see this big black crow land just before me and it caws at me and I speak back and we get this rhythm going and I am really in this moment with this crow. I close my eyes, hearing the wind and the early morning Tuesday coming alive.

I’m woken by two police. Demanding answers and ID and stirring up all sorts of crazy realities. They are immensely disappointed when my name comes up clean and now the interrogation begins. Where are you from, what are you doing, why are you here. Hostile, bloodlust, power hungry. I was polite and accommodating, still you could taste their disgust. Wasn’t the best feeling but I had 3 days worth of rocket fuel in my blood, I was able to lie to myself and pretend everything was ok.

So I’ve got half a bottle of vodka in my bag, and in every other morning I would just drink to escape the withdrawels. But something has shifted in me. The decision to return home brought with it a longing to stop this madness, but I was scared, how the **** am I gonna live through what is on the cards if I don’t anesthetize these horrible symptoms? Somehow I did not pick up that morning and I booked a flight and I listened to Wolves in the Throne Room for 3 hours and then got my arse home and back into the rooms. I’m major ****ed up like shaking and twitching, but that’s the deal. I drank for days and slept on the streets, of course I feel like ****ing ****. I was searching for something and what I found has yet to be understood and I accept it all and despite everything feel good because no matter where I’ve been I am finally where I belong, back in the rooms, not picking up a drink, just for today.

So there you go, a look inside that world. It's not glamorous or cool but it's an affliction of the mind that is not unique to me. There are many others who know it but can't see any alternative, are too sick to want an alternative.

"There are many others who know it but can't see any alternative, are too sick to want an alternative."

And NWB, are you one of those who see an alternative and want an alternative? Kudos for getting clean, but this is your pattern man. Next time you'll surely end up dead or in jail.

I fear you've used up the last of your alcoholics nine lives--maybe you have one left but I somehow doubt it. Hope you will stay on the straight and narrow but somehow your poetic regard for some of what you go through strikes me as a justification to do it all over again.

You really do need to surrender to something. You need to get to a place where you no longer trust your inner voices, and find the healthy voice buried inside of you and listen only to that from now on. But it seems that voice is tiny because you've continued to feed all your demons, and they talk the loudest and you listen to them the most.

Time to seriously get down to the healing business which you sometimes think is boring and soul crushing. But your drunken hallucinations and incoherent philosophy isn't impressive or new or beautiful. it's the ravings of a lunatic on his very last legs, ready to jump off a cliff.

Maybe if you heal you'll have some real philosophy and wisdom to impart and not this pseudo beatnik bull**** that had its time in the '60s. Most of those people died young and lost their minds. Do you really want to hold claim to being another young person who lost their mind to alcohol and drugs because he thought it was ****ing poetic? It's not anything but a waste of a life.

Oh wow...angel pussy huh?

*sigh* you are most likely wasting your time here. Tell him to search for God and Jesus. You'll get a sincerely passionate response then haha.

It's probably a waste of time, but you never know. And it only took me about three minutes to write so no big loss if he ignores it.

I do think that NWB is a talented writer and seems a smart individual. But I have no illusions that he's going to sincerely turn his life around. We'd need to see something like 2-6 months of him being clean from booze and drugs and actually engaging in a real, sincere healing process in order for me to believe it.

This is just ridiculous

+1

If you know that it's hard for you to control yourself and have reason to believe that this event could go sour, you really need to:

strongly consider not going

be there conscience of the fact that it could go sour and constantly remind yourself of all the bad times, and how you're not going to let it fall to that level again.

restrict the amount of money you have access to so you can't blow it on risking your life

What. Why? You have this idea to do x (here at metal show with mates) you need to drink to really feel it or whatever. This is obviously total bull**** because you have a pattern of getting so wasted you miss the damn show and and up feeling like sloppy poo whilst dodging a two-outer on your life.

The reason people have recommended meditation is not simply to find inner peace, it's to develop what's called a "observing ego" Meditation is the act of relaxing in a way that one doesn't become tired(like lying down would) and observing all the thoughts that comes into one's mind. If you had the ability to observe these thoughts as they come in, especially the bs ones and horribly -ev, you'd have a much better chance of resiting the alcohol because you're no longer auto-piloting following pre-programmed conditioning.

Some parties you have

Don't you see a pattern? If you do, once you're in the grip of the pattern fall out of it

Some mate


whaaaaaat. You give little empthatsis to woman at the other locations when you're clearing a wee bit lonely, especially in regards with woman considering the call to your gf, and now here you sabotage your chance? Did you actually sabotage it? 'Cause that's a huge tell if so.




You really need to start recognising the the thought processes that happenmwhen you get into these situations. You lied about being a poker pro to someone, clearly you're not happy with who you are, try to find something that you'd happily brag about to others that doesn't involve something that isn't unrealistic, like being a hardcore chef or something.

I also suspect on some level, like the poker, you believe that you can still some day drink alcohol when your cured. This is a fallacy, clearly you can never, ever drink again. It's just hugely -ev. You need to get it into your head, adopt it as part of your personality. Every day when you wake up or something tell yourself you no longer drink. Be quick to tell your buddies that you no longer drink(I suspect a big part of the initial cycle is group conformity, than once you've gotten into the habit you feel as if you can't stop, you mentioned that you wanted someone to help drink the booze so that the torment can be over. This is a fallacy. If a play is -ev, it's -ev. It doesn't matter if you've already invested money, that money is gone, the play is -ev so you're losing value by continuing with the act) Be proud of the fact that you no longer drink. It means your having the discipline and wit to recognise that it's not +ev and you're resiting the urge to indulge, that ain't such a hard thing to do and deserves respect.

I'm going to do the screening for the guinea pig thing tomorrow btw

Part of the motivation for writing those 3,000 words was to illustrate the bull****. The lies to your self, the justification, the denial etc. but I barely was able to truly express the sheer magnitude of these things, whatever I described it's 100x stronger irl when it consumes the mind. I'm sure many already are familiar with these aspects (just scroll back anywhere ITT), so maybe it's just repetitive and/or pointless. But I know that for me it was very important to really highlight that, because this is the problem. You guys are right, my disease works on my mind in such a powerful way, it romanticizes, feels right, all the rest.

The point is now, I'm doing whatever I can to save myself, I'm handing my will over to a higher power, and that power is the fellowship of men and women that come together to solve their common problem. I don't care what I have to do, I'm ready and willing, because gorvnice is on the money - I have no lives left, I felt that when I was hallucinating, I felt something from beyond, something in the trees and the sky telling me that it was ok because it would all be over soon and it would protect me one last time. But that's it, now it's all on the line. Do what is required of me or end up shackled or dead. Pretty ****ing full on when you're not even 30 yet...

Right now my pain is a weapon that I can use against my disease and I have to get busy building a foundation for when the pain leaves and a drink starts looking good again. Whatever I can to not let this be another failed attempt, and right now it's meetings meetings meetings. I'm going to two meetings today with my friend, gotta get showered and dressed etc but thankyou for your posts, it's fantastic having support from the annals of a poker forum of all places... always unexpected.

God your gay

Yep, if everyone in this thread stopped supporting this loser, they would help him for real.

NWB. Stop wasting your time on 2+2 FFS. I know you feel like you're a piece of ****. You've got no self esteem and you're good at nothing. You wont find any feel of achievment by posting your pathetic story on an Internet forum. This was a true piece of advice.

Start a kangoroo farm and become millionaire. Or surf or w-e aussie people do.

Idk the metalfest sounded like a pretty good time imo

Somehow I lost track of this thread but I've just spent an hour to catch up a little bit.

Just wanted to say you're still one hell of a writer OP, and I really enjoyed reading your Melbourne story, even though it was kinda disturbing.

I've been following your post for a bit now and never really thought much about it when you said you have a drinking problem....because like 70% of people get drunk and spew their bank roll...but you've taking it to another level broski...sleeping in parks blacked out of your mind...I'm reading this if you want to take the fastest amtrack to rock bottomsville.

Don't push it if it isnt there. Sounds to me like you need to get a little perspective and realize your life isnt that bad. Get your head right and work hard at stuff you like in life and balance it out....dont sweat the small stuff, we all have life leaks.

Good luck sir.

it's giving him opportunity to reflect, hugely +ev imo

NWB, The way this will be the last time is when you really give up trying to have whatever delusional fantasies of life that you still harbor. Forget the poetry of your drunken conversations, the way the grass in the park looks when you're loaded on vodka, or how your drunk friend's face is illuminated when you're rolling on ecstasy or whatever the **** else it is that you've romanticized this way.

Your romantic view of poker and degeneracy and alcohol is just a bull**** excuse. So many people view themselves as these "artists" running around drinking or taking drugs and thinking about life while they slowly rot from the inside out. In the end, the only intelligence they have has been taken from them by the bottle and they die shaking and jittering, their brains full of holes and their spirits so far gone they might as well be potted plants.

It might be romantic when you're young and good-looking and your brain can still function, but with each passing year you die a little faster and your body and brain decay and become poisoned until there is nothing left.

Plenty of people go down that road and you can easily be one of the many. Another cautionary tale, another burnout with no brain and no one left who even cares.

Or you can give up your fantasies of that poetic, romantic life (that can't ever really exist) and start dealing with the here and now. Give yourself over to your program, truly, admit that you don't know jack ****. And try to learn. In a year or two--maybe five--you might have some actual wisdom to impart. But until you've actually held onto your sobriety for longer than it takes you to piss in a back alley and gamble away your latest check--you have no wisdom to impart. Right now you're just a car accident people rubberneck to look at.

You have a chance to be more than that, but it's going to take time and dedication and truly surrendering to a different path.

I hope you find the grace to do so, I'll definitely be hoping for more positive updates from now on.

I said this before and you ignored me for some reason.

Inpatient treatment is your only option here. You need 30 days- preferably 90 and this will save your life.

You will look back when you are 60 years old, and you are playing with your grand kids, and you will say to yourself "thank god I went to treatment."

Inpatient is so easy you will love it you don't have to do anything. It puts you on a track to sobriety which you need desperately.

Trust me if you don't go to inpatient treatment you will not live 3 years. You have a death sentence from this disease- fight back and tell it to f--k off.