Shortly after I asked my wife for a divorce, I met a beautiful man and began what seemed as if it would be a relationship that would last forever. It did last for a very long time. It's just that nothing in this life is written in stone.
After years of spending my life as a sex addict, I thought the lure of that addiction would finally be broken once I met a man to whom I was attracted. I certainly loved him. Unfortunately, love is never enough when it comes to the void within the addict that nothing outside of him or herself can ever fill.
I pledged to remain monogamous to him, but it was only a matter of time before the spell was broken. After my first few slips, I fell into another suicidal depression. Once again, I weathered it out without reaching out for help. Then, after a few months, it disappeared. I was back on top of the world again. Life seemed absolutely fabulous. The only problem was that I was acting out sexually more than ever. That would remain my dirty little secret.
The following years would unfold in a similar pattern. I would plunge into depressions that would be followed by emotional highs. Fortunately, the depressions were not as devastating as my earlier ones. That was a blessing that would not last. The zinger lay ahead.
On October 19, 1987, I attempted to hang myself. Realizing that I didn't want to have my partner find my body hanging from a noose, I somehow managed to undo the knot as I struggled to keep from dangling from it. Once free, I took an overdose that should have knocked out a horse. As my good fortune would have it, I had developed an amazing tolerance to substances. I had become an active alcoholic in deep denial and I only ended up turning into a zombie.
I spent the next three weeks on a psychiatric ward where I had my first encounter with a psychiatrist. He turned out to be a loser. Every morning, the waiting room would be filled with his patients. One by one, we would be called in to see him where he would spend all of one to two minutes before sending us back to the ward. The medication I had been put on took away my suicidal inclinations, but I still felt miserable.
Finally, I was released to the care of my partner and I soon returned to work. I was ashamed of my hospitalization and kept it a secret. I went into work where I felt totally incompetent to carry out my duties. Somehow, I carried on.
Eventually I came out of my stupor and began to feel as if I was invincible. Once I had reached that point, I began to drink like a fish. The end of my alcoholic career was dramatic. I drank more and more each day until it was an around-the-clock love affair with the bottle. The thing that brought me to my senses was when my partner left me since he couldn't handle watching what I was doing to myself or the damage it was having upon our relationship.
It also opened a door that I was about to walk through that would bring me into the next phase of my journey to sanity. On April 5, 1988 I had my last drunk. The following day I went to my first meeting of Alcoholics Anonymous. That would take care of the drinking problem, but a new problem was about to emerge.
Author Davis Aujourd'hui
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