I
have a belief that—and I wish it wasn’t this way—but in the formula of life, to get to the good stuff like recovery and the joy it brings, it just seems that you have to hit bottom and go through pain to get
there. And the bottom can be financial ruin, the loss of a relationship, health problems, or any number of things that hurt like hell. Mine was emotional; I became depressed. I had a wonderful supportive wife, I had good money coming in, I had stature in the community, I was a local hero for helping bring two championships to our city, but I was not happy. I had no appreciation for the good things that were happening in my life, and really good things were happening. My owner liked the job I was doing and gave me a substantial raise without me asking for it, and we had found a great piece of property in one of the best neighborhoods in Houston. It didn’t make sense that I had this black cloud hanging over me.
I thought I was living a pretty healthy life. I was eating an 80 percent vegetarian diet, I was working out a couple times a week—but I was drinking and smoking cigarettes. I truly believed I had the drinking part of my life under control. I had guidelines that I usually followed. In basketball we have a term for when a team plays on consecutive days, called “back-to- backs.” Well, I felt that as a drinker, my back-to- back days were over. I was in my forties now, so I’d space out my drinking.
This strategy didn’t always work; there were times when one of these spaced-out occasions turned into a couple-day spree. But the way I looked at it, it really wasn’t a back-to- back, because I hadn’t gone to sleep. That was my alcologic. I’d also think that if I said I was going out for a “light night” of drinking, I’d keep it under control. The way I would ask a drinking buddy to go out for one of these episodes would be, “Let’s go out for a light night, you know, just a couple of beers.” Usually it wasn’t a couple of beers; usually things got out of hand. I wouldn’t see my buddy for a long stretch of time. I wasn’t a blackout drinker, I usually remembered everything that happened, but I’d wonder if I had said or done something to offend him. When I finally did see him, I’d ask if there was anything I needed to apologize for, and the response I usually got was something like “Oh no. I’ve been recovering from that ‘light night’ we had. Please don’t call me if you really want to go out drinking!”
I had been drinking since the age of fifteen, and not once in my thirty-three-year drinking career did I ever feel I had a drinking problem. I thought I drank normally. In fact, I thought I was a hell of a good drinker. One of the guys I worked with used to joke, “I’ll put our staff up against any staff in the league in a drinking contest and I have no doubt that we will win.” This would always get a big laugh because I was the only one on the staff that drank. I have to admit I took pride in my drinking ability.
My drinking wasn’t all fun and games. The late hours and not coming home at all really upset my wife, Sofia. She’d tell me that my drinking was not normal, that I needed to get some help. I didn’t believe that was the case. I thought she was just saying things that wives say to husbands to keep them around the house more. It never registered that it might be true. I don’t know how she tolerated me.
I also had some run-ins with the law. I was pulled over several times. On one occasion I was taken down to the police station where I blew into their Breathalyzer and passed. I had just had a few, so I was pretty confident that I’d be okay. The next time I was stopped, I had had a lot more than a few, but I decided that I didn’t need to blow because I was stopped under false pretenses. It was 2 a.m. and I saw the police lights flashing ahead, where they’d stopped several motorists. I slowed down and cautiously drove through the area when all of a sudden I was pulled over too. I asked the officer why he’d pulled me over and he said, “You were speeding.” I thought that was ridiculous, and I felt I hadn’t broken the law, so there was no reason for me to blow. He said, “If you don’t, you’ll spend the night in jail.” Part of me felt this was an injustice and the other part of me felt I probably wouldn’t pass the Breathalyzer . . . so I spent a night in jail.
The media got wind of it and were waiting for me when I was released. The networks broke into the afternoon programming to show me coming out of jail. It was on the front page of the newspaper. I was very embarrassed and humiliated. When I got home, I gave Sofia and my two teenage daughters my side of story, again emphasizing how I was wronged. But when my son came home from elementary school and I saw the sad look in his eyes, I broke down. I could imagine what his classmates were saying about me and how that made him feel. I got down on my knees to hug him and I promised I’d never embarrass him like that again. I never was more sincere about something in my life.
Well, the videotape of my arrest was reviewed by the district attorney and he couldn’t find anything in my behavior or speech that would prove that I was over the legal limit. The charges were dropped. For about a month, I was very careful not to drink and drive—but not long after, I was back to driving after I’d had several drinks. It didn’t occur to me to think about the possibility of not drinking anymore.
Two years later, on a day when I had not had a drink for a couple days, I passed out while driving my car and I wound up on the median of a road. I was taken to a hospital where they ran tests, but they couldn’t find anything that would explain what happened. A team of doctors conferred and suggested that I should change my lifestyle. My drinking reputation was well known. I said, “I haven’t had a drink in a couple days!” I felt insulted that they’d even suggest that possibility.
My close friend Robert came to see me. He was like a brother to me and I knew he loved me. He told me that the gossip around town was that I was drunk when I had the accident. He also told me that one of the doctors that examined me, who he was close to, was extremely concerned about my health. Robert said, “Rudy, go ahead and do the rehab thing and get healthy. I care about you, and you know I’d never recommend anything that wouldn’t be good for you.”
I was really upset. I couldn’t believe that people were spreading untrue rumors about me and that the doctors didn’t believe me—but I reluctantly decided to go to rehab. I wasn’t going to quit drinking forever. Why would I do that? I didn’t have a drinking problem, so quitting was out of the question. The main reason I was going was to shut up these people who were nagging me about my lifestyle. I really didn’t know what rehab was all about. My impression was it was sort of like a health spa. I wouldn’t drink alcohol for a while and get healthy, and then I’d drink like those strange people who can leave a half a bottle on the table.
I went to a treatment center in Tucson, Arizona. For the first couple days I had no idea what was going on there. When they were talking about the “Big Book” I thought they were talking about the Bible. I didn’t notice the steps to recovery that were printed on posters that hung in every room at the center. They were there, but I did not see them. I was very nervous and uncomfortable and constantly having to deal with the voice inside my head telling me how terrible I was for winding up here, so I had a hard time concentrating on anything.
They put me on some medications for the first couple of days that helped calm me and slow my mind down, and I was able to grasp some of the things they were explaining in the various lectures that the staff gave. I began to get a whole different picture about alcoholism. When they talked about the feeling of not being good enough and feeling not a part of and different from other people, I was shocked. I thought that those feelings only applied to me and that everyone else felt okay. One of the biggest reasons that I drank was to get rid of these feelings. As far back as I can remember, I have always had this menacing voice inside my head that was constantly criticizing me and comparing me to other people, with me always coming out on the short end. I believed this voice and had very low self-esteem. I lived in constant fear that people would find out that I wasn’t the person I was portraying. When I wasn’t drinking and I encountered people who I felt could see through my facade, which was just about eve
ryone, I was a bundle of nerves and anxiety. When I drank alcohol, something amazing happened. Instead of the voice telling me negative and degrading things, it changed to a voice that said things like “Man, you are so suave” and “You sure are smart” and “You are a fantastic dancer.” When alcohol was in my system, it changed me from Howdy Doody into James Dean. I believed I had found the magic elixir. Alcohol was my best friend. It could mask the way I was really feeling about myself.
It worked for me for a long time. As the years, then decades passed, the benefits diminished. The euphoria I felt in the first several years rarely reappeared; it became more like a boring numbness. It wasn’t much fun, but it was still better than listening to the demeaning voice. After years of drinking alcohol, which is a depressant, I became a depressed person. Now, at this treatment center, I was hearing that if I applied myself to this program, I could find a solution to my problem. They said I could become happy, joyous, and free. I wanted it. I couldn’t believe that I had changed my mind and now wanted to stop drinking.
They slowly decreased the dosage of medication they were giving me, and it had an effect on me. I could not fall asleep. As I lay in bed hoping to drift off, the voice in my head was having a field day. After not sleeping one second for two nights, I tried again a third night, and I almost fell asleep. My body was exhausted, but the voice was getting louder and meaner. When I did drift off, it jarred me awake, saying, “I’m not finished with you, you piece of crap. Look what you’ve done with your life!”
I went to the nurse on night duty and told her my problem. She gave me an audiotape player that played wind chimes. It was supposed to soothe and relax me, but I was so on edge the tinkling sounds of the chimes sounded like thunder. I turned it off and tried to sleep in silence, but I could actually hear my teeth. When they touched, it sounded like metal doors slamming. I was in agony.
I went back to the nurse and asked her if I could call my doctor back in Houston. It was 3 a.m. when he picked up the phone. I told him I truly wanted to get sober but I couldn’t sleep, could he please ask them to give me some sleeping medication so I could get some rest so I could apply myself to this program? They gave me a Benadryl. I couldn’t believe it. Benadryl never had any effect on me. It was like taking an M&M.
Another sleepless night. I was so fatigued I could barely walk. The other patients at the center would ask me if I slept and I would just shake my head no. My mind was so confused, if you asked me my name, I am not sure I could give you the correct answer. I had a hard time putting a sentence together. I was really embarrassed about my mental and physical state. I am six foot eight, a big man, and I was trying to isolate and stay away from the others at the center, which was impossible because it was such a small place.
After I didn’t sleep for a fourth night, at six in the morning I was waiting for the director of the rehab. I told him what a great place he had, that I wanted to get sober, but that I hadn’t slept in four nights. I asked him for some sleeping medication. To my utter disappointment, he told me that wasn’t possible. He said that when he went through treatment, he did not sleep for seven nights. He told me that I was suffering from a spiritual malady, and what would really help me was getting a connection with God. I had no idea of what he was talking about. What did God have to do with me sleeping and getting sober? I had no knowledge of the steps of recovery yet. He told me he was giving a lecture on spirituality that morning and I needed to be there. I left his office completely defeated.
I dragged myself back to my room and lay in the bed staring at the Serenity Prayer on the wall. I repeated it twenty times, but it did nothing for me because I didn’t understand it. My mind was racing. The voice told me, “Let’s get out of here. There is a bar about a mile away. Get some alcohol and drink yourself to sleep.” The treatment center was located in the desert and there were rattlesnakes, coyotes, tarantulas, and scorpions out there. I was a city boy, and that idea did not sound too good. Then the voice said, “See that window over there? If you jump through it and hurt yourself, they will come and medicate you.” I couldn’t believe the thoughts I was having. Was I losing my sanity? A wave of desperation went through my body, I collapsed into a heap on the floor of my room. I cried out, “Hell isn’t someplace you go after you die. This is hell!”
Because I did not know what else to do, I took the director’s advice and desperately pleaded with God. “I cannot do it any longer. I give up. Please help me.” Suddenly something happened. The giant boulder I was carrying around rolled off my shoulders. The heavy burden was gone. I could physically feel it. My tired legs felt light. My mind stopped racing and I began to feel calm. All the worries and troubles that I had felt the past four days drifted away. They were no longer mine, I had turned them over to God. I did not realize it at the time, but I had done my first Third Step. My fatigue was gone. I went through all the activities of that day with a rejuvenated attitude, then willingly interacted with the other patients after our classes. That night as I retired to my bed, I reviewed the events of the day and was amazed at the drastic changes I felt, both physically and mentally, when I surrendered to God. I was so grateful, and I slept.
I felt I was very fortunate to have such a profound experience with my first surrender. When I got out of the rehab and integrated into the recovery community, I found that was not the case with most of the recovering alcoholics that I was getting to know. Their spiritual experience was more of the gradual, educational type. When I was asked to share in recovery support groups, I would often tell this story with great pride because it was so dramatic. There was a problem: I was only talking about the surrender I once made, but in reality I had gradually picked up the reins again and was trying to run the show. The program I was running, Rudy’s program, was one recovery meeting a week, a session with a therapist, and church on Sunday. The meeting was not even a real meeting—it was set up by some caring alcoholics who knew I was worried about losing my anonymity in regular meetings.
After half a year the therapist told me he couldn’t reach me so he turned me over to his assistant, who urged me to go to regular meetings. I wasn’t drinking, and I didn’t see why I had to rush into these things. After running my half- assed program for eleven months, I got the revelation that I had this alcohol problem figured out, there was no way in the world I would ever drink again. A week later, for no reason at all, after ordering fruit juice all day, at three in the morning, I ordered a beer. I was a month away from my one year chip and I drank. The next day I was filled with remorse. I couldn’t believe what was happening. I went running to the therapist. She told me I had to get rid of my terminal uniqueness and do the program like everyone else. She introduced me to a young alcoholic who took me to my first real recovery meeting.
I’ve learned that I have to repeatedly surrender, sometimes several times a day. My concept of God has drastically changed from one that is critical and punishing to one that loves me to the limit even when I am doing wrong. How much I want to experience His love is up to me. His love is always there. I’m the one who puts up the obstacles, and by surrendering they are taken away.
Richard Lewis
Richard Lewis has been sober fourteen years and is one of the stars of the HBO series Curb Your Enthusiasm. He’s currently on the endless Misery Loves Company tour, and he’s also the author of The Other Great Depression: How I’m Overcoming, on a Daily Basis, At Least a Million Addictions and Dysfunctions and Finding a Spiritual (Sometimes) Life. I met Richard on the set of Drunks, a movie I tried to put together as a producer. (The movie ended up being made without me, but the director was kind enough to offer me a role as a bartender.) Since then, Richard and I have remained friends and compadres, trudging this road of happy destiny. The subtitle of his book tells you a lot about Richard’s intensity and energy, and reading this story, you get an even better sense of what he’s like to be around. He’s a great example of someone who relishes his creativity and his insanity, even in sobriety. For the interview, he as
ked me to meet him at one of his old Hollywood hangouts.
I
wanted to come to the Four Seasons because I used to drink here so much. I used to drink everywhere so much, but I used to go to all the hotels and drink, and all the guys who were there then are still there.
So, what I did after I sobered up, I came back to all my old haunts and I ordered like seven or eight Diet Cokes and lined them up like shots. I wanted to prove to everybody that I was sober. I needed to do that because I was carried out of a lot of places. I’d come out of the bathroom looking like a mental case and they’d say, “Listen, drive carefully.”
I’ve been sober fourteen years now, and it’s been a pleasure to come back to the places where I was unconscious, thinking I was doing a lot of great work. Talk about the epiphany . . . you go onstage and you think, “Gee, I’ve been working for five days on this concept,” and you remember one line. All of a sudden you work three hours sober and you just tear the roof off because you remember a hundred and fifty thousand things because you’re clear-headed. I did so much more work in an hour sober than I did in five days when I was drunk preparing. I was killing myself. I thought I was relaxed.
Moments of Clarity Page 26