Go Home
He was in the waiting room lightly chatting. Even from a distance, the distinct odor
confirmed what the nurse had written.
He wanted to break free from his addiction.
Here in the middle of Kathmandu, this European presented
with an AA sponsor. Laughing
nervously, he wanted her to come back with us (even though they had just met). He called her “my lifesaver” as we
entered the exam room.
Shutting the door, the questions began and a story
evolved. An intelligent man, a
professor and physicist, he knew how to “handle” his alcohol. Drinking since the age of 15, he’d
detoxed himself several times over the years. Hiding his alcoholism, he managed to get by until now. But he knew the addiction was viral. He felt its strengthening power
inundating his consciousness. Two
and a half months plastered. And
what was the final piece that brought him to the clinic?
P a i n.
He described the physical pain of his liver, kidneys and
other neurological issues. He was
troubled. He tried to abandon the
poisonous liquor, but started shaking this morning. Six hours later and six large Nepali bottles of alcohol, he
was now relaxed yet still quite lucid.
But what was underneath his drinking, and what was he doing
here in Nepal?
“Flying” he said.
What? Not sure
if the language barrier was an issue.
“Escaping” was his response. No he wasn’t in trouble with the law. And that was the end. He would say no more.
Flying. Escaping. Running Away. Ignoring Circumstances.
It’s true. Some
come to Nepal to escape real life, but the predicament is…this IS real life and
the problems pursue. This man…he was
experiencing this truth and he was breaking, falling apart piece by piece.
No insurance, few options remained. In the end, he decided to play the old
game of detoxing alone. Depending solely
on himself. Circle.
Merry-go-round. Wheel. I wonder if
the loop is getting smaller...squeezing into a tornado funnel that will
eventually come to an end. Will he
make it this time?
Once more I tried to speak words of wisdom into his chaotic
and despairing thoughts. “Let
others help you. Go home. Take the free help that is found in
your country”. A few half laughs
followed by a grunt, he muttered about the impossibility. Never. It just wasn’t an option. But the tears of desperation could not hide in his eyes. He wanted help. He knew he needed help, but his mind entrapped
him. Ensnared without a way
out. There was no exit off the
tornado cycle of his life.
Go home. GO
HOME. Such a straightforward
answer to a despairing problem.
Buy a ticket and go home.
But the high fortress barrier that surrounded his mind encrypted this
outside perspective.
Pointless.
Hopeless.
Pride.
Fear.
Stubborn.
Blind.
Weak.
NO!
This man needs help.
His intelligence and strength are destroying him. These conniving traits keep him barely
surviving…yet helpful enough for him to manage.
Overflowing tears, he hugged me like a helpless boy. “Thank you for your compassion”
and then he vanished.
Almost convinced of his truth, helpless I stood. Frustrated at money and feeling his
futile situation, his perspective was saturating. Will he survive this time? Will this disease kill him? Go home came the whisper from within.
Wait.
He does have hope.
There IS an option, another choice for him. Go home. The
futility of the situation can dissolve.
Go home dear man. Receive
the help. Get the healing. Don’t stay in the chains of
alcohol. The rhythm inside continues. Go home. Please go home.
posted by redannie5 and her sister @ 08:59
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