36. Bash
Bash
Current Day
“You’re extra excited tonight to just be going to a Bible study group,” I tell Erik with a suspicious look as we make our way to the common room of our dorm building. “You’re weirding me out a little.”
“What? A guy can’t be happy to get to congregate with his fellow brothers in Christ?”
I roll my eyes at him and laugh. “You can, I guess…but I haven’t seen you this giddy since the new PlayStation system dropped, and you made me stand in line with you for three hours last year on Thanksgiving, trying to get it.”
Erik stops and looks at me, a little offended. “Now ‘giddy’ is just straight up disrespectful to describe the joy a man had over a very special and now prized possession of his.”
“You literally fisted the air when you saw there was one left. I can’t get the image of a 6’2 grown man covered in tattoos, almost jumping in joy, out of my memory.”
Erik’s mouth drops open. “We said we would never talk about that night.”
I put my hands up in surrender, knowing I made my point.
“Shut up and come on, before you ruin the surprise.”
I look at him, confused as we walk up to the common room. “What su—“
“SURPRISE!” the room shouts when I open the door.
Behind everyone standing is a banner hanging up that reads:
365 Days Without a Hangover!
Happy one year of sobriety, Bash!
I stand there frozen in the doorway, the weight and realization of being a full year sober settling over me, a year without the drinks, without the drugs, without the reckless nights that almost destroyed me.
It feels almost jarring that it’s already been a year, yet I can’t even remember that life anymore.
Crazy how time can feel both like it’s moving so slow, yet too fast all at once.
I can’t help but smile as I scan the room, familiar faces everywhere—old friends who have seen me at my worst and stuck around, and newer friends I’ve met since then, in the prettier parts of this journey, ones who still encourage me and never judge my past.
Erik claps a hand on my shoulder, pulling me fully inside. “Man, I’m proud of you.”
I shake my head at him and smile. “Thank you. You didn’t have to do all this.”
He squeezes the shoulder that his hand is still resting on. “Sobriety is something to celebrate. The changes you’ve made over this last year are something to celebrate. Not everyone gets this far and makes it to the other side. Be proud, man.”
Now, I wouldn’t even say I was a real alcoholic…not really. I didn’t drink every day. I didn’t really need it to survive; I needed it to cope…and I just happened to need to cope pretty often back then. So yeah, you could say I definitely had a bad relationship with alcohol and coke.
I haven’t touched alcohol or drugs since the day I gave my life to Christ a year ago today.
I never thought those words would ever leave my mouth, let alone be my new reality.
I’ve never been a religious person. My parents were growing up in a loose kind of way, but we didn’t go to church every Sunday, and they kind of just let us decide what we believed as we got older.
My sister got involved with a youth group in high school that she always wanted me to come to with her.
But after she…died, I felt like, if God was real, he wouldn’t have let her get to the point she got.
So I gave up any idea of God, staying mad at him and the world instead.
It wasn’t even a part of my come-to-God moment with the alcohol, though.
Those two things just kind of happened to coincide with each other on the same day.
It’s funny how God works, really. The same day I gave my life to Christ was actually the lowest point of my life.
I knew God was the only one who could save me from myself, yet I was still fighting whatever his plan was for me, letting my darkness block out his voice.
It was kind of just a Hail Mary asking for his help at that point.
I ended up going straight from a church service to ditching Erik on the way home and heading to a bar.
I was only twenty, but—fake IDs, you know.
Anyway, I was a regular at this bar, so they didn’t even ask for it anymore.
When I walked in at noon, Jake—one of the bartenders—spotted me instantly, asked if I was having a rough day to be here when the sun was still up.
I told him, yeah, just one of those days.
I went to tell him to pour me the strongest drink he had back there, and the weirdest thing happened.
I mean, I turned around and looked behind me to see who was there when I heard someone order a water—water?
At a bar? Who comes there for that? But there was no one there, and when I turned to look back at Jake, he was looking at me like I had grown two heads.
I went to tell him again what I wanted to drink, and this time I realized that it was me who asked for the water, because I heard myself ask this time.
I tried one more time to tell him that I just wanted a Manhattan, but all that came out was “I’ll take a water.
” Jake looked so confused, but when I gave him a confused look back, he just put his hands up and said, “Alright.” Then he poured me some ice water into a glass and slid it across the counter.
When Jake went back to working the bar and talking to other customers, I just looked up and nodded once at where I imagined God to be watching me, as if he was just up there chilling, and said, “Fine, you win.”
I haven’t touched a drink since, haven’t even had the desire to most days.
With sobriety, I also stopped hooking up with random women all the time, trying to fill some void I had physically, while avoiding any intimacy.
That part just kind of naturally happened when I stopped drinking and getting high at parties.
Mainly because I always needed something to be numb enough to take girls home in the first place.
When I stopped getting blacked out drunk, I had no desire to have real conversations with women.
I didn’t want to care about anyone else; I didn’t want to get attached, and I didn’t want to date, so…
there really wasn’t any other appeal to sex without all the things that made it easier not to care about who I was in bed with.
I started focusing on myself, my healing, my studies, and my walk with God.
Eventually, it turned from something that just happened to a promise I made.
One I never thought I would make, simply because I never saw a long-term relationship or marriage in my future.
I didn’t want it. So the thought of never having sex because I didn’t want a committed relationship sounded crazy.
When I made that promise, I knew I had to accept either never having sex again or having to be open to a serious relationship and marriage.
I’m still working through that part now—the fear of letting someone that close to me, and caring about someone enough to risk the pain of possibly losing them.
You see, the pain of losing my sister—the closest person to me—made me want to shut off all my feelings for other people. I never wanted to let anyone hold that kind of power over me to break my heart like Isabel did. I allowed that pain to build a brick wall around my heart.
I had rules. Hook-ups—no relationships. Acquaintances—no close friends.
The only people I still cared about were, by default, my parents, and I had enough anxiety about losing them one day.
I couldn’t stomach the thought of having anyone else I would have that kind of anxiety over with as well.
But here I am now, a year later, with an amazing group of friends who I would actually die for.
I care about them that much. And yeah, obviously, I’m not in a relationship, but my heart has softened to the possibility of one.
I just haven’t met the right girl yet. I know I’m still young, and in school, and even when I graduate, I’ll be going back for grad school, but when I do decide to date, I’m dating for marriage.
I want to wait to give myself to the right woman again, one I can give my heart to as well.
Not a random fling, not another person I just give access to myself without even caring about them.
* * *
The murmur of conversations, the clinking of plastic cups, and the sound of the football game playing on the TV fill the room. The celebration has been pretty fun and even relaxing, a major contrast to the chaos that had filled my life just a year ago.
I settle deeper into the couch with a plate of food in front of me. Around me, guys from the men’s group and some of my college friends mingle together—laughing, talking, and watching the game. Genuinely good company, not people I need to be plastered around to like.
A couple of the guys gathered around, either making speeches, offering some words of encouragement, or just giving a silent pat on the back in support. It felt comforting, this reminder that I wasn’t alone. I guess I never really have been like I used to make myself believe I was—only in my mind.
The game wound down, and as the room thinned out, I felt a calm wash over me.
One year sober. One year of choosing a more fulfilling life, even when it was tough to give up that control some days.
One year of walking away from the dark and wanting to be closer to the light, a light I’m still learning to trust, but a light that’s giving me hope.