The runaway, flaming garbage truck that was my life.

In the last two-and-a-half years I haven't felt like taking a drink more than a few times. I can't say that I've never wanted a drink, but I can say that I've always wanted sobriety more than I've wanted drunkenness. More so, I've always been willing to do whatever I think is necessary to keep me sober. In the beginning, those things were obvious. As my new friends told me "Kevin, you need to change your playgrounds, your playmates and your playthings." That held true for several months and I skipped a lot of birthdays, holiday parties and barbecues. Today I am incredibly grateful for my sobriety.

I spend a lot of time thinking about how many things had to happen just right for me to gain some traction in recovery. When I got sober I had just moved into a nice, quiet house. I had a car. I had health insurance and a job. My family was ready to help. Mostly, I had this brief period of time- the first time in my life- when I actually thought it was possible to stop drinking. For many, many years I hadn't known it was possible and, frankly, I didn't want to be sober anyways.

The first five years of my alcoholic drinking (from age 20-25) were really fun. Although I was a broke college student, I frequently ended up in stretch limousines with beautiful girls and expensive drugs going to exclusive clubs and hanging out in VIP lounges in Manhattan and Honolulu. I spent money like a guy who made four times my annual income. I was probably a lot of fun to be around too. I was funny, outgoing, intelligent and unafraid of the law. I talked myself out of all kinds of jams. I never seemed to pay a price for any of the outrageous capers I pulled. Hunter S. Thompson was (and still is) a great hero of mine.

At age 26 all of that changed. I still kept my spring break spirit, but physiologically and mentally my need for alcohol had changed. I had always suffered from pretty severe withdrawal symptoms, but now they were getting worse. I shook uncontrollably until I got a drink in me. I wouldn't experience any ease until I arrived at my favorite bar and got my ass in my favorite stool and ordered my favorite round (double shot of Jameson and a pint of Old Seattle Lager). I would lift the shot glass with two hands because if I held it with one then my shaking would spill it. I would sort of suck the first shot into my mouth and swallow hard and feel this tranquility settle down my arms and the shaking would stop. This looseness would relax into my limbs and I would begin to forget about who I was and how empty and vacant my life had become.

By 27 I had been arrested for my first DUI and admitted to the hospital twice. The first time was because I had a seizure during withdrawal. I made a brief attempt at recovery, but I hated Alcoholics Anonymous. The literature seemed antiquated and boring. The meetings were stodgy and weird. I thought all the members were a bunch of liars and hypocrites. Besides, I still thought there was a chance I would be getting back into one of those limousines again.

I hadn't yet lost my vagabond spirit. One night I was leaving a bachelor party at a gentleman's club and I had lost track of the other gentleman that were gently manning the club with me. I had spent $200 on...ummm.... well, never mind. I was stumbling home and I accidentally pissed myself. I laughed and thought to myself "man, this is the life." There I was: penniless, wearing a suit, covered in piss. I weighed 140 pounds, had a serious drinking problem, some drug issues and an absolute inability to be honest with myself. Aside from the occasional visit to my parents house outside of Seattle, in the year 2009 I never left Seattle. Specifically, I never left downtown Seattle. This occurred to me one day when I was in a car headed up to Everett. I realized it was the furthest out of the city I had been in over a year.

My addiction to alcohol had become physical. I needed it in order to not feel sick. My stomach was in constant disarray. Twice I had the beginnings of ulcers. My liver was beginning to show signs of scarring. Psychologically, drinking had become a need to quiet my own self-hatred. Sober, I hated Kevin Toth. Drunk, he was tolerable.

In the last months of drinking some even worse changes happened. For several years I had been plagued with blackouts. They began in my early twenties but by the time I was 27 they happened every time I drank. By the last year of drinking, it took only a couple of drinks before I blacked out. I would wake up someplace unusual without the faintest idea how I had gotten there. One morning I awoke covered in blood with a knee the size of a cantaloupe. All I could remember was falling down in front of oncoming traffic and bashing my knee on a curb.

These are the things I think about when a drink sounds good. These are the things I remember when an old friend who didn't know me in those last five years says "I miss the Kevin that drank." These are the stories that had me begging God for help. These are the reasons I celebrated when I got 30 days sober.

On the night my nephew was born, I was sitting in my squalid apartment snorting cocaine and drinking alone. I vomited all over myself and listened to the same songs on repeat as I frequently did. I knew that I wasn't going to know my nephew and that by the time he was old enough to understand that his uncle was a drunk it would too late for me to explain myself. I wrote him a letter that night. A letter that "explained" that I hadn't always been this way. It was super fucking depressing. I have it saved on some old laptop somewhere. Today I got to play with my nephew. During the last week that he's been visiting I've been thinking about how happy I am to know him. I'm so happy today.

There's a common misconception about addicts that is far more antiquated and outdated than any current treatment program out there. That misconception is that we're all morally corrupt people who can't adequately moderate or control their addiction. Well, yeah. If I could control or moderate my drinking I wouldn't be a fucking addict, would I? Who the hell would choose this?!? The truth that's known to millions of us is that moderation was no longer an option. We are incapable of controlling our substance use. When I get started, I'm a fucking maniac. I like hard liquor, strong fucking drugs, loud music and I like breaking laws. Which is exactly how my drinking ended. Drunk off my ass with Mad Rad at top volume while I skidded around a corner at high speed. A modern Duke of Hazard.

Since I've gotten sober I haven't ridden in any limousines, but I haven't ridden in any police cars either. Mostly, I'm surrounded by people who love me and support me in my journey and every now and then I'm lucky enough to get to help someone else with their drinking problem. My life isn't glamorous, but god I love it. I love you too. Thanks for reading my blog.