In my last post, I described how I was stumbling at work, and that I was staying home alone and drinking instead of going out with friends. My friends had all outgrown their party phase, and the girls at work were all young and fresh and made me feel like an unaccomplished dinosaur.
My struggles were becoming apparent to my boss, who had no choice but to let me go. She said she’d thought I’d had a problem for a long time, and had tried to help.
It was true; she had offered a couple of times before to give me a leave of absence so I could go to rehab. I’d always laughed off her offers, saying that I was just like everybody else in the office and enjoyed the occasional glass of champagne at the events we organized.
Now she said I had missed too much work and was making clients upset. She had given me a chance after chance and couldn’t justify keeping me anymore if I wouldn’t take her up on her offer to get help. I was too proud to admit I had a problem and was embarrassed that I had let things go this far.
After getting fired, I cleared out my desk and drove straight to the nearest bar, where I proceeded to get wasted. I didn’t care what the bartender or anyone else thought as I downed shot after shot, in the morning on a weekday.
I don’t remember exactly what happened, but I know the bartender cut me off and tried to take my keys. I yelled at him, and I think he might have called the police. But by then I was long gone, speeding home on the highway after hours of drinking hard alcohol alone.