Last week, driving back from the city, I suddenly felt odd. Out of the blue, I felt inquieto, fidgety; In general, I just felt off.

My head felt a bit light, I clenched my jaw, and my hands developed a subtle, yet constant, tremor. Within minutes my chest began to ache, not an intense pain, more like a weight was placed upon me. I had a feeling, deep within my gut, I can’t explain it, but it seemed to control me. I became mildly confused, my thoughts bounced here, there, and everywhere, but seemed to make no real connection with my brain. I didn’t understand, as if all of my nuerons were firing blanks, I was blank.

I began to fear the worst. The feeling of blankness, heavy chest, an undeniable sense of imminent doom, classical symptoms of a heart attack. Que Chingados, this can’t be happening.
I turned on my blinker to change lanes and vaguely remembered reading somewhere in the event of a heart attack, one should attempt to cough, repeatedly, so I did. When I finally made it across all four lanes to the shoulder, I looked up, and realized where I was.

I was exactly in front of my old watering hole. Everything I was experiencing, the sense of doom, the heaviness in my chest, the mystery symptom controlling all others radiating from deep inside deep my gut, were not symptoms of a heart attack. They were symptoms of something much darker, much more dangerous; they were cravings, an alcoholic’s nightmare.

I don’t know how long I sat in my car: watching patrons go in and come out, wanting to be one of them, wailing with rage and shame and wishing it had been a heart attack for my chances of survival would have doubled, at the very least.

Last year, on September 6, to mark my second year of sobriety, I wrote. I needed to aknowledge my ugly truths; be honest with myself, with you, and with my ever present personal demons.

This year, I write in gratitude. I wanted to, I may have, in my own mind, even needed to drink that day, but I didn’t. I don’t know what, after so long, caused my episode, but I think I have a pretty good idea: I began to feel comfortable, too comfortable.

As my sober years passed, I no longer thought about my prior drinking problem. I didn’t remember all the damage I had done; Hell, every once in a while I even contemplated a drink, just one, afterall, I’ve proven for years now, I can control myself.

They say forgotten history is doomed to be repeated, I think I was forgetting. I was forgetting who I was then, who I am now, and most importantly the very thin line that divide us.

I know everyone who has a serious drinking problem can tell you the ‘ins and outs’ of alcoholism. For me, being a drunk was easy. Work, drink, passout. Wake up, repeat. What went on in between those few steps was always kind of fuzzy, but I learned to live with lost moments, they were all just part of the game. You can’t have one without the other, can’t have your cake and eat it too.

What you can’t, at least I couldn’t, learn to live with are lost loves, the loss of your children’s respect, the loss of your family unity. The loss of your marriage, your mind, your being. That in my mind, is why alcoholism on the other hand, actually having to admit it and remember all the nasty details, is a such a bitch, a never ending, daily, bare boned kick in the balls.

As I write this, I realize what happened was necessary, a little slap in the face to keep it real. Am I proud of not drinking that day? Damn straight. Do I feel I passed the test? Hell no, that my friend is the fine print at the end of the happy little- no longer drinking- beat my demons story. That’s the catch. You’ll never pass because the test never ends.

I am now three years sober, yet have just recently learned an invaluable lesson. I’ve learned just as the sun is sure to rise with every dawn, I am sure to rise, everyday, as an alcoholic with only one drink standing on that very fine line between being sober and being a drunk, again.

ONE DAY AT A TIME.