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.