Chapter 33 #3
“Fuck,” I hissed, slamming my forehead against the steering wheel. “I fucked it all up. I should’ve thought about the fact that my siblings are nosey. I should’ve cleared everything out the bathroom.”
“Is it such a bad thing that they know you’re in a relationship? I mean, you don’t have to tell them who, or even her name if you don’t want to, just…it might make things easier if you’re not piling on another lie they’re gonna question.”
I squeezed the steering wheel. Fuck, I’m a shitty brother. And a shitty son.
“Fuck. Fine. You can tell them I’m at my girlfriend’s house.”
“Okay, brother. Text me, or call me, will you? I just, I worry about you when you’re on edge and I want you to know that I’m here still.
Fuck everyone else if we’ve got to. It’s us three against the world right now, even if it feels shitty saying that.
We’re ride or die, no matter how fucking cringy that sounds. I’ve got your back.”
I squeezed my eyes shut before steeling myself to head inside.
“I love you, brother,” I said.
“Love you too. Bye.”
The sudden silence in the car made my ears hurt.
I thought the smell of stale cigarettes and coffee would have been more settling like it usually was, but as I sat and listened to the others in attendance tonight, I found myself struggling to comprehend any of the words.
My mind just kept going back to the fact that I was being selfish and a coward. Honesty and making amends in relationships were cornerstones of the AA program. And nearly a year in, I still couldn’t do either of those things with my family.
Rick had already lectured me about it when I called him the other night, reminding me that this was a pivotal apart of recovery. That my fear and shame weren’t valid excuses in avoiding repairing a relationship that I thought could actually be repaired.
And I thought it could—no, knew it could. I knew my family would ultimately be supportive of me, even if they were hurt or upset at first. But the added layer of keeping Shiloh a secret had halted any progress I’d made in working up the courage to tell them.
I feared what would happen if I did repair my relationship with my family.
Because Shiloh was right, keeping her a secret from my family would be hard.
Harder still if they were involved in my life again.
And today proved to me just how much this situation was impacting me and how much I’d changed in the last four years.
I couldn’t imagine the Enoch from four years ago ever yelling at his sister, least of all his mom. I didn’t think I’d ever even raised my voice until everything changed.
A part of me longed for the simplicity of my younger self, longed for the weightlessness on my chest, the easy smiles.
And, yes, shamefully, a part of me also longed for the version of myself that didn’t care, that was numb, that wasn’t reliant on anyone else, that could use alcohol to forget about every other person, responsibility, and memory from my past.
It was a strange feeling, to miss something that I logically knew wasn’t good for me, wasn’t healthy and was ultimately destroying my future.
But that time in my life was predictable.
I knew exactly what I would get when I drank and I looked forward to the feelings of relaxation and muted happiness.
Even the hangover, or what later became withdrawal whenever I went too long without it, were comforting in that I knew what to expect.
It was a routine. A self-destructive one, but a routine, nonetheless.
Even if my life was spinning out of control, at least alcohol never changed.
I blinked out of my thoughts when the man who’d led the meeting stood in front of me.
“Pardon?” I asked, completely missing whatever he had just asked me.
He smiled gently. “It’s Nathan, right?”
I shook my head with a polite smile, “Nox.”
He slapped his forehead with a chuckle, “Right. Sorry. I’m so bad with names.”
I nodded along with a smile, “No worries, man.”
“So, Nox, what’s got you in your head?”
I blinked, a little surprised by the directness of his question.
I cleared my throat, glancing around the meeting space to find that most people had already left, only a few remaining and chatting amongst themselves. I fidgeted with the empty coffee cup in my hands.
“I don’t believe you’ve ever shared anything personal in one of our meetings, so, truthfully, I don’t know jack-shit about you or your story, but that’s kinda a good thing sometimes. I’ve got good listening ears,” he said, gesturing to the pierced ears on either side of his head.
I nodded, studying his face for a moment. Bryan was his name, if I remembered correctly. He looked to be in his forties, but with all the tattoos covering his neck and part of his face, it was difficult to be sure.
“My family’s in town,” I finally said.
Bryan jutted out his bottom lip and he nodded, waiting for me to continue.
“They don’t know about me being sober, don’t even know I’m an alcoholic. I kind of cut them out of my life when shit got bad. And tonight, they brought it into my home and offered me some.”
Bryan nodded again, his lips thinning into a tight line as he listened with interest.
“I accepted the drink, but I didn’t actually drink any of it. I ran out of there like a bat out of hell and my family might have gotten caught in the crossfire of my panic.”
He hummed in understanding. “Is there a reason they don’t know you’re a recovering alcoholic? Are they a risk to your sobriety?”
I swallowed, shifting my weight to my other foot. “No, it’s not that. I honestly don’t have a good reason for not telling them or for not making amends.”
He nodded again. “First, good on you for getting out of there and for showing up tonight though. I’m glad you came and made the difficult but better choice by walking away from the alcohol.”
My cheeks heated under his compliment.
“Second, recovery isn’t supposed to be easy.
If it was, we’d never be pushed to change or grow.
And third, it’s a journey, not a race. You might not ever feel ‘ready’ to make amends, but you’ll know when it’s time to take that step with your family.
Trust me, it might suck, but it’ll get better once you get through it.
It really does feel good to get it off your chest and stop holding onto the guilt of your past wrongdoings.
It’s how we can finally forgive ourselves and really, truly change for the better. ”
I nodded releasing a long exhale. “Thanks, Bryan.”
He smiled once more before slapping me on the arm and walking away.
Was this a sign that I just needed to do it? That I needed to finally take the next step and face my family, apologize for cutting them off, for putting them through hell those last few months before I left, and then refusing to let them into my life again afterward?