HERMIT--PART III

LOOKS LIKE MY ISLAND BUT IT IS NOT

This story I posted on my other blog 

in June 2008
Here is Part III of III  

(Posted this for the Peeps who
are new here during the past year).

STEVE THE "HERMIT"
STAR DATE 1966
PART THREE, FINAL EPISODE

In order to keep away the mosquitos during my stay on 'my island', I had arranged to have the Marco Island spray plane fly the eight or so miles south, to spray me every day. It only cost two quarts of Bacardi Rum, for Martin, the pilot, to agree to this--(see, I even do my bartering with booze!).

Each day, about 8 AM, the old Air Force C-47 made several passes so low, as to raise beach sand everywhere. Martin--a pilot here from Cuba-- sprayed that wonderful stuff onto everything. I'd open my mouth to maybe catch some of it. A few months after, that Martin died in a fiery crash, driving that same aircraft. The Mackle Brothers, developers of Marco Island, paid lots of bucks for my comfort.

The above paragraph sets up this next bit, the SADDEST DAY OF MY WHOLE LIFE. I can cry even now, remembering the horror of it all. Any true, 'real' alcoholic might identify with me, and KNOW me, know my ache, my hurt, my anguish, by reading this short story:

Two of my friends, both pilots, flew their two small Cessna 270 planes down to entertain me with their aerobatics about three days before I was to vacate the island. I had run out of ALL alcohol (and cigarettes!), was still walking in pain, and figured they would magically, automatically 'know' my sorry predicament.

The two planes flew SO low, that I could see my wife and daughter in one of them--so then I was CERTAIN that my lack of supplies would be alleviated, since we always had a 'working telepathy'. I stood in one spot, waiting for the drop of my C.A.R.E. package...My wife was close to the window, I figured that within minutes I'd be OK again, with a liter of vodka in my hand--my world would then be O-KAY!



Fifteen long minutes later, when I finally thought maybe they were playing that 'waiting' game, they flew away--out of my life--forever? Who would know? I knew true HATRED that day! POOR ME--and I MEAN THAT, even now. (Ha! I just now peeled off a long-buried, long-hidden, powerful resentment. And I'll take care of it right away!)...........

My utterly total self-centeredness assumed that everyone was thinking always about me, ME. And that somehow they would 'deliver' me from my predicament. 

I did not even then realize how close to death I WAS, being such a daily heavy drinker suddenly cut off completely from my supply. This was NOT mental now, but physical. My craving knew no end, only progressed by the hour. I was consumed with desire, would have easily killed for a few tastes of liquor, some alcohol in my body.

SO began the Unhappiest day of my whole life--no booze, no smokes, and that equaled NO NOTHING. I did not pray, for fear that I would curse God Himself for this calamity. (They could have at LEAST dropped some Bandages -grin-) Now...think about this--HOW would these planes flying overhead--5 feet off the beach, drop bottles of booze? Doesn't glass break at 115 miles per hour? (Sigh!)

On one slow, painful 2-hour limp around the island I found a sand-buried Jack Daniels (Black Label!) bottle, and it was about half (empty, or full?). Immediately, I pulled off the cap and proceeded to guzzle--UGHHHHHHH! THHHHHPT! OMG, oh shit...someone had used it for their specimen, it was all piss. I washed my mouth out with salty sea water, and even drank a little of the brine. I can tell you that God was not taking care of ME that day. (Or maybe He WAS?)

I cried often during the remaining really cool sea-breeze nights, and sun-blistering days. The world as I knew it had ended. Friends and family had forsaken me, I blamed EVERYONE ELSE for my predicament. My mantra: WOE IS ME! REALLY! 

I was ready to DO it, but was chicken-shit to end my life, because I could then never drink again--dead! Also because --get this--my FEET hurt too much! I'm living today, because God allowed me to 'cavort' barefoot back-and-forth--unknowingly--through an under-water oyster bar, and spend the next eight days with bloody, infected feet!.

And yet, I spent the next EIGHT YEARS perfecting my drinking habit. I became a 'functioning' drunk. For that, I needed a daily, hefty amount of maintenance alcohol. God, since then, has allowed me to learn and use the Twelve Steps He gave us, and to stay sober since March 18, 1974. I never looked back as far as drinking again--for me. It just has not happened. Expressing my gratitude to God, and you AA people, and now you blog peeps, is what I live for today.

Oh yes, the fishing guide DID arrive as scheduled to pick me up. We enjoyed an EXTREMELY quiet ride back to civilization.

Steve E. (A Hermit--NOT!)

Oh, Peeps, TODAY
Let's Be THANKFUL
Let's be SOBER
Let's be HAPPY
Let's be at PEACE
Let's FORGIVE
Let's LOVE

Tomorrow, the story of how my obsession
to be a HERMIT began, in 1962...That
WILL be the final in this See-rees of posts.
Please join me, Friday night or Saturday.