Excavating a Past of Addiction

by Porter Jenkins

When soft hills still echoed back the sweet scent of spring, I dreamed of time for love, for adventure and magic to fill my life. But children are too preoccupied with dreams of adulthood to notice the magic around them. I was going to be pretty enough to woo any man, smart enough to turn some down, and fit enough to fight them off if needed. Time would be limited as I enjoyed friends, lovers, and family. Every moment so packed with adventure, I’d barely have a second to write it all down. That is what I dreamed of, what I thought my life would be. 

Adventurous souls are inclined to the military, and I was no exception. I joined the Navy and decided at once to adopt their code of ethics. It’s strange to adopt a moral code so young when morality is still a nebulous feeling. On my first ship, I worked tirelessly, trying to put my sailors first in contest with the unyielding demands of the ship. Maintenance, required to keep the old ships running, like cleaning Load Centers would take over 72 hours and prevent us from going home until it was finished. On weekends, and some weekdays, I would find my release in the beautiful land of alcohol. A rum and coke became my ticket to confidence, poetry, and friends. I began to embody the adult I thought I would be, filling every second with socialization. While the ship got ready to head out to sea, I found my adventure at bars in port. 

I began to show up later, work less, and stress the small things more. Caffeine became my hangover solution, and anxiety skyrocketed. The ship was finally ready to go out to sea, so I packed my seabag and prepared myself for weeks without alcohol by drinking as much as I could before we left. The first day without was the worst, sweats from stress and detox making my mind a haze and my ability to drive the ship doubtful. But it became better soon as the crew, myself included, got into our rhythm. Work, work-out, eat, sleep, watch, shower, repeat. Continuously repeat. 

At night, as I looked out at the ocean,  I found myself wishing for more time to see nature in its full beauty. The dark void of the sea gently parted for our ship to maneuver through, leaving a fantail wake to ripple out into oblivion. I hoped this moment of peace would last forever. But it never does. 

Drinking in foreign ports felt mandatory. Food, alcohol, and the beach with friends–what could go wrong? No one had told us the goal of drinking was not to puke your guts out. Anyone who knew the bars to go to and had a group to go with was popular among the crew. A few days in a daze before we were back underway, recounting the moments on top of the drunken mountain, fog hazing your view on all sides, floating outside your body enclosed in happiness. 

We got back to port, and the cycle got worse. Raise your heartbeat with caffeine so much that alcohol is the only thing that will lower it enough to let you sleep. I had moved on from my first ship and found the routine to maintain the air of a professional drinker. I’d stay at the bars until they closed down, amble back home, grab a few hours of sleep and then report to work by 6:30, fresh and ready to go. My father, a recovered alcoholic himself, was dying the long slow death that makes you fear the end of life. I avoided the issue and tried to focus on myself instead. Cut alcohol, cut caffeine, cold turkey. A body dependent on caffeine for dopamine does not do well when you cut it out completely. The crash into depression was swift and inescapable. I spent hours crying, hoping to die. I feared the time I had left on this Earth, knowing it would be consumed with inconsolable sadness. 

During the last weeks of my father’s life, I sat with my family, medicated and quiet. I simply existed as I waited for the moment to come when Dad would be transported to a better place. It felt like my entire existence was on pause while I waited, and I was thankful for that. I didn’t want to return to mindlessness, to instability, to failure. We waited. It happened. We went into his room, and his breathing had stopped. My family cried. I kept on waiting. 

I wish I could say I’m alcohol-free, caffeine-free, happy and enjoying each moment I’m alive. But I won’t be unfaithful to my genre. Alcohol and caffeine are greatly reduced and happiness has increased a bit. I’m no longer waiting to die. I’m living, bit by bit, word by word. I spend my time excavating the past through writing, hoping it’s time well-spent. 

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Porter Jenkins is a Naval Officer who enjoys sailing, writing and playing Rugby. She has been published in The Minison Project: Sonnet Collection Vol 4. Twitter: @PortJenkins.