Bad Liver and a Broken Heart

This is a story about a man who lost himself; a person that went from the top of a mountain and crashed into the hard ground, losing himself, his friends, his family and damn near his life in the process. I can do the telling of the story justice – because the story is mine

I was a self-assured, cocky, arrogant, full of piss and vinegar teenager. I played in rock bands and lived life to the fullest. I never focused on anything long term. There was only the moment – the right here and now. It was what I lived in and for. I carried that same attitude into the military.

I spent years traveling through war torn parts of the globe, writing and covering the jobs being done by soldiers, sailors, airmen and marines the World over. We slept in tents on front lines of battle, we flew in fighter jets over hostile skies, we ran headstrong to take a valley in Kosovo. We lived in the moment. That was all that was promised.

But with that kind of living and pressure came another kind of living. Hard partying and even harder drinking. Alcohol flowed like wells of water trickling down rocks – making those moments we survived slide further into the recesses of our minds. It’s easier to drink it away than think it away.

I got out of the military and got married. I had kids. But the lifestyle died hard. I’d drink to quiet my thoughts. I’d drink to calm my nerves. I’d drink to try and forget. And then at my saddest I’d drink to drink – or drink to not feel yesterday’s drinking.

Days blurred into weeks and into months. My beard grew long while my soul slowly died. I got heavier on the outside. My skin turned yellow. I’d drink for 70 hours straight. I’d make myself throw up so I could drink more.

I lost my job. My family left. I just drank that all away also. I lied in bed willing myself to death. And then one day something clicked. I decided not to die. I decided to try one more time to make my life something worth living – something of value.

I decided to be a father; to be a friend. I decided to do the things I hadn’t and face the demons I’d been running from. I won’t tell you that it has been an easy battle. I won’t even tell you that I’ve won yet. But I fight. And I live. One moment at a time.

I was talking with one of my oldest friends the other night about aging. We see friends from high school lose their lives to drugs or alcohol. It scares us. We sat and pondered over how one decision means the difference between living and dying. If not for our will to fight we’d be right there with them. It’s frightening, humbling and humiliating.

It seems like just yesterday we were only young men getting ready to become adults. We’d sneak off to drink a few beers; smoke a little pot. Now those very same frinds are dying to those very substances. It could have been us. Maybe it should have been.

But that’s not ours to decide. All we can do is fight on. I wish I knew then what I know now. I’d have taken better care of myself. I have children looking up to me, a family relying on me. I’m learning to be an adult and be responsible. But I’m paying for all that hard living. I don’t know how much time I may have on this Earth. I have pancreatitis. I had Hepatitis. My liver is a mess. I’ve got Bi-Polar disorder and I struggle with post traumatic stress.

But all those moments made me who I am today. I wouldn’t trade them. From the mud soaked grounds of Bosnia to a stage in a fraternity house on the campus of the University of Texas, I am defined by my experiences. Maybe this will be my last moment. Maybe it won’t come for another 40 years. But I know whenever it does I won’t be saddled with regret. And I’ll make the most of it.

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