All That You Leave Behind: A Memoir(36)

I eventually passed out, then woke up at noon to shooting head pains. I searched my bed for my phone to take stock of the previous night’s damage. It was nowhere to be found. I looked at the empty beer cans and slowly realized what I had done the night before. A shiver of embarrassment worked its way down my spine. What did I do at the party? My memory of the night appeared to me in quick flashes, but the flashes were troubling. I needed to get in touch with Kathleen. While we saw wildness in each other, she would no doubt reassure me (as she had in the past) that my behavior hadn’t been so bad. I tracked her down in a nearby café where she was having brunch with her boyfriend like a civilized adult. She had my phone. I was limping for some godforsaken reason, and when she saw me she immediately looked concerned. “Hey, you okay?”

I nodded my head as nonchalantly as I could, but I knew I was at some sort of breaking point. It wasn’t that something horrific had happened; it was the simple and irrefutable fact that I could not control or moderate my drinking. I’d set a boundary for myself and once again had blown past it. I needed to try something different.

I crawled toward the subway. The shining sun mocked the deep regret that was setting in. I needed to tune out. I frantically searched for my headphones and discovered that the drunk version of me had jammed them into my borrowed iPad. Somehow I had broken my headphones and only had the jack inside. Ugh, what an idiot. My phone was dead, the iPad was toast, and I was alone with my thoughts—the thing I used alcohol to get away from. I felt like such a cliché, a bored mid-twenties adult who had succumbed to my genes. No amount of smarts, or history for that matter, had taught me anything different.

As I sat on the subway ride home, I knew for certain that my drinking was way beyond the range of normal. My skin was cracked and dehydrated; I didn’t know what to do next. The answer, however, was obvious to my dad.

“You need to give it a break.”

“For a week?” I countered.

“More like a month.”

“I can try.”

A month away from white wine seemed like a ridiculous amount of time to me, but definitely more doable than forever. What I didn’t realize at the time was that my dad, a member of AA, was twelve-stepping me, showing me a way out of alcoholism, one day at a time.

I went home and dumped out the half-finished bottle of wine I had in the fridge, along with the unopened bottle of champagne I was saving for a special occasion. I felt like throwing up while I did this, watching the liquid and dollars wash down the drain. I ordered the generic pad Thai from the restaurant down the street and hunkered under the covers.

Weeks later, a mutual friend of the engaged couple posted about the cute invite she had received for the wedding. I had already checked my mailbox for the day: nada. It was days later when I realized I was waiting for something that would never arrive. I emailed Will to finally apologize for the behavior and wreckage I knew I had caused. I received a blistering response, calling me out and saying it was time to take a break from the friendship. I completely understood, but I deleted it immediately, unable to withstand having the email even exist in my inbox. He knew the truth, and I knew it, too. I needed to try a program of recovery.





20


    Ninety Days





It had been ninety days since I got that email from Will, and something sort of magical had happened since receiving it. I had not had a single drink. I had become sober.

My life became routinized. I attended AA and therapy regularly, feverishly worked on my HBO project, and in my off hours hung out with my boyfriend’s dog, Gary. After years of battling daily headaches, I had forgotten what it felt like not to be even slightly hungover. I felt like a superhero.

As a matter of AA tradition, I invited my dad, who was also sober at the time, to my ninety-day celebration meeting. It fell on the same day as my stepmom’s birthday. I knew we would be having a big party for her the following weekend, one replete with a mariachi band and a delish taco truck. I definitely wanted him to attend this significant event in my life, and as childlike as it may have been, I wanted him to pick me. I signaled as much to him in a passive-aggressive exchange.


To: David Carr

From: Erin Lee Carr

Date: 06/04/2014

Subject: Better on email





Dad, thanks for calling me. I am feeling uncomfortable with saying this on the phone so email felt like a better bet, we can follow up and chat tonight but I wanted you to hear me out.

I am sure it was a hard phone call to make but it was a hard phone call to receive. I’m also sure it sucks being put in the middle but I just wish this had been handled better. I called last week and said that it would be significant if you could come to my 90 day meeting. You know as well as I do, its a big deal and one that I have fought hard for. While I totally understand why Jill’s birthday and 50 is a big deal, you guys are having a big party on Saturday to celebrate it. I know rationally that my sobriety does not take precedence over anyone else’s life but my own but this is something that makes me sad. Jill is going to have GG and Grammy Diane tomorrow, I will have no one as it is a closed meeting.

That said, I think it would be better if you respected Jill’s wishes for tomorrow but we can chat about it.



As was his fashion, he considered this for a whole thirteen minutes before typing back his response.