FIRST WEEK ALCOHOL FREE. HOW TO GET THROUGH WITHDRAWAL SYMPTOMS.

So you know you have a problem. Actually, a severe problem. You finally have admitted you are an alcoholic. You may even realize you are a late stage alcoholic. And it is time to quit. Good for you. For I do not concede that alcoholics, recovered or not, were ever swimming in that river in Egypt. No one is in denial of alcoholism. Everyone knows that if you are drinking a twelve pack a night or fifth of vodka, this behavior is not normal. And everyone knows they should cease that behavior for the future health consequences will be disastrous. Not to mention the terrible quality of life you are living in this addicted state.

I know, I was there. In 2007, I reached the peak in the quantity of hops, manufactured by trusty Germany when I worked there for the U.S. of Army. I was consuming twelve to fifteen beers a night. There was no time when I wasn’t working that I didn’t have a Weizen in my hand. The AA proponents who snarl at my thumbed nose to their program will declare: You were never a real alcoholic. Really? I’m 5’6”and weigh 155 pounds and was drinking twelve to fifteen a day. You do the math.

On the night of January 22^nd, 2009, I decided to quit. No last calls, no final adieus to my long-time friend, John Barleycorn. I looked in the mirror and saw a flushed and haggard face at forty years old. I realized that drinking this much was simply insane. A waste of life. I had everything. I was a successful physical therapist, which against all odds, I had managed to become. Was I really going to be a semblance of one of my own patients, lying in a hospital bed every other month with exacerbations of cirrhosis of the liver? At this epiphany I had about six or seven cans of J.B. in me and three left in the refrigerator. The significance was solidified in my mind in one moment. I wouldn’t finish off those last three tin soldiers. I made a contract of never again right there. I was done with it. Forever. I threw the last three into the trash.

Ok, I wasn’t an alcoholic anymore.

I knew what was coming from what I read and had been depicted in the fictional movies. I had seen Clean and Sober, When A Man Loves a Woman and Ironweed. Not to mention I had watched patients detox in the various hospitals I worked all over the country. Pleasantry was not the word that came to mind.

THE SMALL BOOK: HOW I BEAT ALCOHOLISM AND WHY ALCOHOLICS ANONYMOUS DOESN'T WORK

Now understand, if you are knee deep into alcoholism, I would advise to consult a physician for possible detox admit. What I did was dangerous. I wasn’t an early stage alcoholic, I was a late stage alcoholic. The withdrawal can kill you. It could have killed me. I understand why I went through the five day acute withdrawal phase alone. I was a medical home health provider and largely the only one in the farmlands of the central valley Turlock, California area at the time and knew all the doctors in the surrounding areas of where I lived. I could just see it. Did you hear about that therapist? He’s in the hospital. Alcoholic withdrawal. He’s apparently a lush. No, I had no idea either. Can you believe it?

So I decided against that. I’m not saying it was the smart thing to do, but that’s what I did. In retrospect, I probably should have gone a little north and checked in somewhere. But I understand a great many also don’t want to admit to a facility. They are worried about it being on record. Or they don’t have insurance coverage. So I’m not recommending going through acute withdrawal alone, especially if you are late stage, but if you are going to do it solo, here’s what to expect and how to get through this walk through the Inferno. And that’s what it is going to be. A five day stroll through Hell.

The initial stage of acute alcoholic withdrawal lasts five days and seems to be exactly on cue to the hundred and twenty hour mark. You have been drinking consistently and heavily for years, some of you for decades. And suddenly, you pull the barley plug. Your physiology will not be thrilled. It’s going to go into complete revolt. I have known only a few who said it wasn’t terribly horrific. But for most of us, it will be. I’m a pretty tough person. I’ve been in thirteen full contact events in Thai boxing. I’ve been on a long range radio reconnaissance team, whose members carried a hundred pound pack at times. The five day acute withdrawal from alcohol was the worst thing I have ever been through in my life. So again, consider checking in somewhere if you can. They will give you a bunch of AA advice, pamphlets, literature and try to direct you to the closest meetings. Obviously, the nature of my channel doesn’t recommend AA. I don’t recommend adopting their unhealthy philosophy for sure. But it may be a good place to hide until the second phase of withdrawal is over, which I’ll discuss in the next article.

But no matter what, you first have to get through the acute withdrawal. And this is for those who decide to do it alone, although you will find these methods helpful no matter where you decide to sit in front of Hell’s gate. 

I was fortunate in a way because I was an independent contractor in physical therapy in the home health genre. Which meant I could schedule my own patients. The night I quit was a Thursday night. I knew the symptoms of acute withdrawal would begin late Friday night. I never drank on the job at least and knew my body wouldn’t realize I quit the barley until that night when it didn’t get its usual refuel. By Saturday, the initial withdrawal would be in full force. And would rock my system until the acute withdrawal period ended. I had one patient scheduled Friday and two the following Monday. Monday would be bad. I just had to keep my act together for them for two sets of an hour.

Being an ex-military guy, I reverted to an old tactic that keeps all soldiers positive when in non-ideal times. You make a short timer list, usually days left before we finally are released from indentured servitude. So I made a short timer hours list. I put at the top of the page 120. And as the clock ticked, I would periodically slash the old number and write in the new one. 105, 99, 86 . . . all the way down to zero. It gives the mind a visible scale of progression to look at. The knowing you are winning in this initial stage.

I woke up that Friday morning feeling better than usual because I only had six or seven beers the night before. That sentence sounds ridiculous today. I only had six or seven . . . . But in those now long ago days that was a light night for me and is for any late stage alcoholic. I got up late. If you can manage to sleep, which you won’t a lot during those first nights, that’s just hours checked off. I drank coffee, had a small breakfast (alcoholics tend to pass on breakfast) then went out to the farmlands and saw my one patient. I came back to my apartment early afternoon.

When I came back and sat on the couch, a strangeness engulfed my being. Because usually I would hit the liquor store, come home with a twelve pack, click the music on and unleash the hounds. But that day it was early afternoon and I looked around and wondered what I was going to do? And I started to feel it by late afternoon. That edginess that is only squelched by good old J.B. I couldn’t comprehend a life without alcohol. I couldn’t even comprehend a week without it. And this is the first mental battle you will encounter. You cannot picture that you will never drink again. The liquid is as dominant in your life as oxygen itself. It is incomprehensible that it won’t be any longer. You think surely you will die of suffocation.

The way to get through this is like the AA proponents say. You take it day by day, actually at this point, it is hour by hour. I’m going to ask you to trust me here. From one who is standing on the other side of the fence in the green pasture. You will not feel this incomprehensibility of leaving alcohol forever for the rest of your life. If you stay strong, you will one day not comprehend ever going back to alcohol. You will look back, and it will be incomprehensible that you ever needed the alcohol like oxygen to live.

Late Friday night, day one, it was hitting in full force. The edginess was growing. I felt like I couldn’t sit still. And I had to fight that urge of knowing the false resolution was a five minute drive away at the liquor store. That’s what you have to fight and it is extremely difficult to fight it by yourself. Your mind has to be resolute.

By Saturday, day two, the acute withdrawal was in full force. Sharp pains attacked my liver and kidneys, like little knives that periodically twisted. Sweating with massive anxiety attacks. This is your real system once the mask is removed. You can’t sit and watch a television show or read a book. You’re up and down. You try to walk outside and immediately want to return. You just keep counting those hours off on your short timer sheet. If you burn a half hour watching T.V., then that’s another half hour gone. You just have to go through it, even though every minute feels like you’re in a straight jacket in an asylum. You endure it and let the clock hand turn to night to get through day two. That’s all you concentrate on—day two.

Sunday morning, during the early hours, is when I woke up to a half dream, half hallucination. It was a demon of a tall man, wearing a black trench coat and one of those 1930’s derby hats. I couldn’t see the eyes but felt the darkness in them. Was it an image of generational curse or just delirium? I’ll never know, but it was terrifying. I was crouched against the headboard. On top of soaked sheets. Apparently, I wasn’t the hard person I thought I was. I was trembling the rest of the night in a half sleep at times in absolute terror. I was sure I would have a heart attack or stroke any minute. The third night and following Sunday was the worst. It was a minute by minute conquest of time. But I held on to the fact that I was halfway through. Another forty-eight to sixty hours. I could do anything for forty-eight to sixty hours. I just kept checking off hour by hour on my list.

Now, I don’t recommend the long term smoking as well as caffeine and sugar intake that the AA’rs have fallen victim to. But in acute withdrawal? You use anything you can to reduce the symptoms. Medications are used in inpatient admit to detox, which is why I recommend that avenue if you can. If not, you use whatever you need: coffee, milkshakes etc. And drink a lot of water.

Monday, day four, the symptoms had started to abate. Early Monday morning was better than early Sunday morning. No more hallucinations of demons at my bedpost. But I was absolutely wrecked. I saw my two patients. It took every ounce of willpower to keep from screaming out of the first patient’s house. I waited an hour before seeing the second, sucking that coffee down. The fact that I was even out driving around was incredulous. I waited until after five to turn in my paperwork because I thought the office would be empty. As I knew I looked like hell run over by Lucifer’s spike wheeled truck. One nurse was there. It was obvious to her what was going on as I made no secret that I drank and a lot. She took my vitals which revealed a skyrocketed heart rate and blood pressure. It was bad enough that she tried to convince me to go to the emergency room. That’s why it isn’t smart to do this alone. But I was hanging on to one more day and hoping everything I had read was true.

And Tuesday, day five, it did end. The initial blast, that is. The initial horrific symptoms of withdrawal ended almost exactly at the hundred and twenty hour mark. I didn’t feel fantastic, but the entry into Hell had gone back to the center of the earth. I looked at my short timer list, which now read zero hours left. I made it. Phase one was over. I still couldn’t comprehend a life without alcohol, but I fully comprehended that I had now made five days without it. And the worst was over. The next phase would last until thirty to forty-five days from the last drop, according to what I read. The post-acute withdrawal phase. This is where the most intense cravings you will ever experience will hit and ride you mentally, like a ship in a typhoon. There are some physical symptoms, but largely the mental is the worst of it. But you have been released from the Inferno. And you made five days. Which means you can make another five.

As I stated, it is much wiser to check in somewhere if you can. They can give anti-anxiety medications and other meds for these horrific physical symptoms. What I did was not smart. I know why I did it and probably would have done the same thing if I had to do it over again. But that doesn’t make it the best path to follow. Again, I recommend consulting your doctor and doing this more safely than I did.

But no matter what you do, you will have to get through the acute withdrawal phase. It’s going to be bad no matter where you go. But you make that short timer list. And keep telling yourself it is temporary. Five days. It seems like an eternity as it unfolds. But even if it is only passing one slow minute at a time, those minutes have to pass and they will stack up to hours that can’t be stopped.

You will leave that phase of acute withdrawal behind, but you will not have left the trail to recovery. In the next article, I’m going to tell you how to get to the thirty to forty-five day mark. I’m even going to tell you why the safe haven of AA may be a good temporary solution—but not long term. And you should congratulate yourself for walking through the fire. And always remember what it felt like. For if you ever decide that drinking is a good idea again, all you have to do is remember the torment from that Inferno.  

To begin your reconstruction of Self check out: REINVENTION OF SELF: HOW TO CHANGE YOUR LIFE AND BEING FOREVER

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John Barleycorn: taken from Jack London's memoir of his alcoholism. John Barleycorn: First published, 1913