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JOINT BASE CHARLESTON, S.C. – I woke up. There was a half-drunk bottle of vodka sitting right there on the desk, just an arm’s reach away, and I already know. Littered around the floor is a various assortment of snack wrappers, my pants and somehow my wallet, phone and keys are nicely laid out next to it all. At least this time, I made back to the comfort of my own dorm room.
“I better get up and take some Tylenol or something before this headache kicks in,” I said. “Let me take care of myself before I have to answer for whatever it is I’m sure I’ve done.”
I swing my feet onto the floor and get up, or at least I tried. The moment I stand and put pressure onto it, my left ankle gives out and I fall to the ground. I try again, same result. There’s no doubting it, my ankle is sprained. I drag myself the short width of my dorm room and heave myself up with the aid of my small kitchenette counter and take a look at myself in the mirror.
I look into the visage and there on the face of a down-trotted man is a giant cut. It’s about six inches long, but when it’s on your face it might as well be a mile; there’s no hiding it.
That’s when the pain started.
Stumbling around, I grab ahold of my phone and turn it on. On it is two texts from an unknown number. The first one says “Hey, man text me when you wake up to make sure everything is okay, you had a pretty wild night.”
Do I even want to know? Security Forces isn’t at my door. My first sergeant isn’t calling me. Maybe I could just act like none of this happened and I can chalk it up to one crazy night. Then I read the second text, this one couldn’t be ignored – I would have to answer for this.
The second text read plainly, “I found you passed outside my door, I found all your stuff and brought you back to your room.”
I thought to myself, ‘Why do I do this?’
There isn’t a reason to do this to myself. How many men throughout all of time have gotten their hearts broken and resorted to finding the cure in a bottle of liquor? How many men have lost exponentially more to alcohol than to whatever perceived loss they faced from losing a love.
As a brand-new Airman with just six months’ time on station, what had I achieved? Kind of impressive considering how much I’ve done, just not in any enviable aspect. In that short time, I have loved and lost, drank and forgot and swelled to a weight class that could only be described as “jolly.”
These answers would have to wait, for right now I have to find out what I did.
I shower, get dressed and limp my way out of my dorm room. The mid-day sun pounds its bright lights into my eyes, almost overwhelmingly at first. But at least it means it’s lunchtime, and I need plenty of food to soak up all the alcohol still left in my stomach.
I get to the dining facility and make my way into the line. At this point I’m just hoping there is something starchy or some carbs to help with the stomach pain.
As if almost by providence, someone joins the queue, someone who I would end up getting to know quite well.
“Hey man, how you feeling?” he said.
“Good,” I said. “I can’t complain.”
“You don’t remember me, do you?” he said. “I’m the guy that saved you last night.”
His face turned kind of sad, as if he were talking to me out of pity. He told me about everything that happened that night. I was in shock from the things he told me I did. None of it was terrible, just embarrassing. I can’t believe I had gotten myself to that level, and needed the aid of complete strangers to take care of me.
He filled in a lot of the blanks, made a lot of disconnected memories fit back together and gave me a clear picture of everything I did.
“I found you laying on the ground outside my dorm room,” he said. “You had locked yourself out trying to get snacks from the vending machine and just sat down not knowing what to do.”
“I couldn’t just leave you there, I know that it probably wouldn’t have ended well if I left you alone like that,” he continued. “Before I got help, I never had people look out for me when I got like that.”
He explained how he stood me up and we began walking to the temporary key kiosk that night, and that’s how I cut my face. A lone beer bottle laid on its side right at the top of the stairs, and almost like destiny my foot landed right on top of.
He tried to save me from falling, but he only helped to make sure I didn’t break my neck. My face scraped the side of the stairwell wall and my ankle rolled pretty good during the fall. I’m glad he was there for that. Who knows how worse it could have been if he hadn’t lessened the fall?
He recalled how he picked me back up to continue on our way, securing a new key for my room and making sure I was done drinking for the night. He made sure I was out like a light before he left the room.
At the end of his story his tone changed to a more uplifting, and hopeful one.
“All things aside, it was one funny night,” he said. “If you ever want some friends to hang out with whenever you get to feeling that you need to drink like that again, just let me know.”
That’s how I met U.S. Air Force Airman 1st Class Alexander Milicic.
He had similar struggles to the ones I had delt with. He had lost a girlfriend and resorted to heavy drinking to “help” him. It had gotten so bad, that he had to self-report into the on-base Alcohol and Drug Abuse Prevention and Treatment (ADAPT) center on base.
Since that night I’ve had someone who has my back. We have become really good friends, and hangout pretty much every night. The urge to drink slowly disappeared because through his friendship there didn’t seem to be a need for it.
“Why drink when you’re already having good times with some buddies?” Milicic said.
He taught me a lot of the coping skills ADAPT taught him to get over drinking. However, it was talking with someone which really helped me; it helped me escape the thoughts in my head by confronting them instead of running from them.
Milicic also taught me not to put myself in environments where I may be prone to drinking. The days of going to bars, or sadly sitting alone drinking alcohol in my room were over.
It’s been one year since that night. I am proud of how far I’ve come. And I’m truly grateful to have met my wingman who guided me through a dark time. I do have the occasional drink, but not like I used to. I refuse to allow myself to get to that point again.
Though I never self-enrolled into ADAPT, I would highly encourage those who face a similar struggle with alcohol to do so. ADAPT provides comprehensive services to active-duty individuals who are experiencing problems related to substance abuse or misuse.
If you or your wingman are struggling with addiction, please call ADAPT at 843-963-6852.
| Date Taken: | 12.19.2024 |
| Date Posted: | 12.19.2024 20:27 |
| Story ID: | 488045 |
| Location: | JOINT BASE CHARLESTON, SOUTH CAROLINA, US |
| Web Views: | 22 |
| Downloads: | 0 |
This work, Sobering Up: How my Wingman saved me, by A1C Christopher Lyons, identified by DVIDS, must comply with the restrictions shown on https://www.dvidshub.net/about/copyright.
