Breaking the seal

Breaking the seal can have so many implications. Most college kids or beer drinkers probably know it as that first piss you take after you have been drinking for a while. And breaking the seal does not mean a good thing. It means the first of many trips to the bathroom to relieve your bladder of the onslaught of beer you're dumping on it. What some may not know is the reason why this happens. When we drink beer, we drink one after another. Your body does what it does with it and dumps it into your bladder. You don't feel the need to pee until you have overextended and stretched your bladder. When you finally DO break the seal, you don't empty your bladder all the way, thereby causing it to fill up quicker than usual.

I first broke the seal at 14 years old. Me, Ray, and a bunch of friends who were Base Brats sat at Ray's house one summers day while parents were off working with a case of Michelob and a 5th of Bacardi Rum. We sat and drank and played games, acting like we were adults, the oldest of us 16? It got to the point that the Bacardi numbed my mouth so much, I could take a sip of it and drink down a whole Michelob, which I was having a hard time drinking because of the carbonation. I am unsure how much I drank out of all of it, but I do remember being outside and stumbling around. I had to go home for dinner not too long later and have no idea how my mom didn't smell it on me. After dinner I promptly went into the bathroom and threw up my pizza and salad. I cleaned up what I thought was good, but forgot the underside of the rim. My mom asked who got sick, but my brother and I just denied it. I didn't wanna fess up to it obviously because that would bring questions as to why.

From that point on we drank as often as we could. It was the "cool" thing to do. From the jar of moonshine in Ray's dads liquor cabinet, to the cases of beer Mike stole from his dads Christmas party that we hid in the snow (frozen Budweiser is NOT good). I feel bad for the parents when they went to make a drink from the bottles we kept refilling with water! Of course, that only worked with the clear booze, so never really had whiskey. Mostly rum, vodka and beer. Beer was an easy commodity it seemed. Someone always had an older brother or sister, fake ID, or even a store that would sell to you just because you had the money. Get it and go before anyone asked questions. It seemed that it was a goal for most of us to see when and where we were gonna party and who was gonna get shitfaced. I remember my friend Matt got a case of Michelob from someone one night and we drove around. I drank all 24 beers in about 4 hours. The old me would brag about that and high five. My friend Brian and I our Senior Year would treat ourselves on payday weekends. We would buy a 6 pack of Corona as our good beer to get a buzz with and then drink a 12 pack of Schaefer each. So, 18 beers each. If it wasn't a payday weekend, then usually just the Schaefer was had. I continued this tradition of drinking to get fucked up for a long time after. So much so, it was a hindrance to my life, and I never paid any attention to it. I ruined parties, birthdays, holidays, you name it, I did it. Whether it was talking shit, throwing up, passing out, whatever. I actually set a womans hair on fire at a party once, just because.

I recognized and admitted to being an alcoholic a few years back. But the problems started way, way back. I was a new Marine and living in California. I got a DUI 2 days before Xmas at 20 years old. 4 months later I got busted walking home with beer, still at 20 years old. I got sent to alcohol classes, where I was to attend AA meetings. All I had to do was show up and listen. Pretty scary stories going on. I also had to sit through group therapy and classes every week. Because I used to work for the Major who assigned me the classes and he just wanted me to have info as I was, "An impressionable young Marine, trying to find my way", I only had to go to 3 months worth of classes vice 12. During that 3 months, I learned to dislike group sessions. We were allowed to speak to a higher ranking Marine in any manner we liked and call her by her first name. We were supposed to be open and honest about everything so we could cleanse the soul. I asked her one day if she drank, and she refused to answer. She told us all rules applied to everyone in the room, yet she refused to answer me. I really disliked this and thought it was unfair. I was told that anyone who thinks about a drink is an alcoholic, even if they have never had a drink. What sense does that make? I know, I screwed up and it was meant to help, but it seemed to be some good mixed in with a lot of BS to me. Especially since I was 20 and knew everything anyways.

And the military didn't help matters much. Just about every boss I had was a drunk. They promoted the base Club System by sponsoring Bosses Night or Right Arm night, where you take your boss or right hand and go for drinks. Of course, everyone was welcome. Go to dinner at someones house? Beers. Go to a going away picnic for someone? Beers. And what used to BURN the guys I worked with that were single? I was underage, living in base housing and could have all the beer and liquor I wanted, yet they were living in the barracks and weren't allowed any alcohol at ALL in the barracks. None. Zero. Nada. Their arguments weren't pointed at me, but I got some dirty looks from time to time.

After California, it didn't stop, it just got worse. I partied all the time in NC. It's a wonder I remained married. I guess I felt like I was missing out on the party life. Same thing in Washington State, yet we usually got together with other families. One birthday I drank a bottle of Mezcal and ate the worm. I don't remember eating the worm, but I guess I promptly threw up right after. I awoke the next morning on my couch. My wife was none too pleased as it was a Sunday and at midnight she thought she was in labor and couldn't wake me up. Good thing my daughter waited until Monday to come out. What a fucking jerk. I look at it now as I write and want to punch myself in the face. But that didn't stop it. I was the senior man on a color guard. We were requested to present the National Colors to the Maxio Facial Surgeons Convention in Seattle. I had done all the phone calls to set it up. The gentleman assured me they had stands to hold the flag once I marched it onto the stage. Once I got onstage, I realized the stand was way too small to handle our flags. Right up in front I heard one of the surgeons say, "I knew we should have had the Army do it...." I was pissed off to the max now, on top of embarrassed. When I got out of the room, the gentleman who was taking care of us set us up in the bar with an open tab. Jack and Cokes please, one every 5 minutes. And so it started. Once their speaker was done, we were invited to drink and eat upstairs at the buffet and open bar. We drank the bar out of Jack Daniels, AND, one of the bartenders was a former Marine in the unit I was in. So, the drinks were strong. I ended up in the passengers seat of the van somehow, after picking a couple of fights I guess, and threw up all over the door and my uniform. Real classy. Another stellar moment. And still there's more.

I went to Japan without my family. They went to SOMD while I went to Camp Kinser, Okinawa, Japan. I actually maintained better over there. I was assigned so many billets and stayed pretty busy getting ready for DI school, I didn't drink too crazy. Not hair and fire crazy anyways. In fact, I stayed in my room and drank 98% of the time. The other times were with my friend Malcolm for a pint of Guiness on a Sunday afternoon, or the requisite Bosses night, etc. Miller Lite was only 2 dollars a 6 pack, so that was usually my beer of choice.

I don't really want to go on with the stories anymore. I am sitting here thinking about the harm I have done to myself and to friends and family. I know what I have done. I pretend I have it under control. Just because I acknowledged it. But I know it's in me. The seal was broken a long time ago. I am not sure I want it resealed. To forget your past condemns you to repeat it, or something to that effect.