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I've been thinking about it for a few days. I think I can try to change, and it hasn't started affecting my job or marriage. I'm going to see if I can go the month of May without drinking and see if I can do it. I tend to binge drink, so perhaps I can avoid drinking all together.
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I promise you, the opinions I hold, and the things that I am going to write will NOT be popular, and in direct conflict with a lot of the "norm".
All that is, is "deal-making"...one of the "classic" traits of a drunk, errrr, alcoholic, so "they" say.....
Brother- You stated it's not affect your job and marriage. If it truly doesn't, and you're being honest with yourself, what's the "problem"?
Here's another part to this, and it lies with what you've been told. Did you know the CDC recently published some study results, and they consider you to be an alcoholic binge drinker if you consume 5 drinks in a single occasion?
Fucking really? That's 2 mixed drinks or 3 beers and 2 shots.
Tell a doctor you have more than a six-pack on a weekend, and you're a stumbling falling fucking down Drunk as far as they are concerned. Some government funded agency setting benchmark numbers doesn't impress me, not in the least, in fact
Fuck that noise.
I proudly self-medicate, and do so free of fucking guilt. My 201 is similar to yours, and I
embrace the anger of PTSD. It's the fallout of being 11B, and there's nothing that's going to change that. I'm not going to waste time fighting it. If protein gets out protein in my laundry, why can't I take the unusual position of allowing a depressant to nullify depression.
I've gone to group counseling, and found it full of space shuttle door gunners that heard a boom once, pogues that never left Kuwait
. IMHO, one on one counseling only works if you can find someone you're comfortable with, so good luck finding a former Combat Arms Vet turned shrink.
I instead choose the appropriate times and places to consume, and usually with a former Battle Buddy or two, but sometimes alone. I'm retired now, so work and a daily schedule to maintain isn't a problem. My wife and kids know to leave me be on those nights. That's it, let me be the fuck alone, I have some shit to work out of my system, and it'll be all good in the morning, but for me, I just need my space and the time to remember, and forget. Some time in the next 3 to 9 weeks, I'll do it again.
Here's the break point- I can have a glass of wine with dinner, and let it be. I can drink a couple of beers after doing some yardwork and not think twice about a third. I can also kill a 750ml of Gentleman Jack and an 18 pack of Coors Light, without touching a drop for another month.
To me, the handwringing and general pissing and moaning by medical "professionals" is just another ploy to suck in more dollars and the product of a society that's gone soft.
The men of my family all worked hard physical jobs, most went to war, and they certainly took the counsel of their peers over many beers, cigars, and few shots. These are the hairy-assed motherfuckers that fought and defended our freedoms. They never sipped an appletini, counted calories and wouldn't be caught dead "Tweeting" or "manscaping". They shot a deer every fall with the rifle they captured from some Nazi fuck, and bounced Grandchildren on their knee after building them a sandbox. In short, they had more than sufficient Intestinal Fortitude and knew how to solve a problem. PTSD was handled every 3rd Wednesday at the VFW, since cheap beer and other Vets is cathartic as it gets.
Now, I know there's going to be some, "But Matt...you don't understand! Y-Y-You're HEALTH! Those around you!" Yeah, pfft, OK, my health. I cozied up tight to dead twice in my military career, and have a bonus pile of near hits from Baghdad in '04/'05-08', not to mention the close calls through the last 20+ years. Any time I have left on this Earth, is gravy, a bonus. I'm not leaving this corpse unused, it's getting cooked, and the ashes are getting shot out of my Coehorn Mortar following a proper wake, No Shit. If I punch out at 44, or 94 I'm not going to miss out on a fine Maduro wrapped & filled greasy stick with a 4-finger neat glass of Johnny Walker Gold, nor will I pass on the therapeutic rewards I derive from being smashed to the gills lakeside, pouring Coors Light down my gullet while blasting 110 decibels of
Saliva/Your Disease.
I can boil all of this down to a statement made by one of my Brothers, CPT. P. Holt, US Army-
"They ask, Why? I'll tell ya why...Because we're NOT CUNTS."
YMMV, IMHO ect...