While I'm Sober...

So I might be a high-functioning alcoholic. I say this seriously; with serious sincerity and concern, but also with serious denial.

I came across the term HFA when I was with a therapist talking about work drama. I'd see my therapist every week and I would also talk about what I might have done the night before or during the weekend. I have a very social lifestyle and a lot of it revolves around dinner parties, restaurants, bars, and at the time, night clubs, too. Having done some social work at a local AIDS organization, I'm familiar with speaking to clients and listening to them opening doors to chapters of their lives. I could see how my therapist might have thought I was unlocking a door of conversation and waiting for her to enter this long chapter of my imbibing ways.

When she asked about how much alcohol I consumed, I'd tell her. If I couldn't be honest with my therapist, why bother going to see her?

"Last night I had about eleven Jack and Gingers?" Her eyes widen.
"The night before maybe five martinis?" Her look turns to speculation. I continue the recollection of the previous days like there was nothing strange or unusual.

I think she might have been shocked I could have so much alcohol without collapsing into an "A-Hole" (get your minds out of the gutter; that would be an "Alcoholic Hole" of dementia...). She recommended I read a book by an author from Massachusetts who wrote about high-functioning alcoholics. I read it.

I'm a skinny Asian. we're not supposed to be able to hold our alcohol. Somehow I can. My friends are often shocked or impressed since now I like to drink bourbon neat. Why add mixers? Mixers are additional sugars my body doesn't need. Some of my friends might say mixers are cheating. My other friends would say those aren't friends.

So where did this all start? I remember my dad was the first person to cause my oldest brother's first hangover. My brother, Tien was around ten at the time.

Apparently my dad was once taken advantage of when he was younger. Colleagues took him out one night and got him drunk and persuaded him to sign some sort of document. Being the caring father, he did not wish this on any of his sons "ever" and was determined to make sure we had a high tolerance for alcohol. I guess to him the sooner we started the better. So one night when my parents were hosting a dinner party, my dad thought it would be fine for Tien to try some wine since he was being "supervised."

Drinking at my house was normal. My parents always ended the night with a glass of wine, a beer, or a Johnny Walker. Why then did I start sneaking into the liquor cabinet, take a shot of the scotch and point fingers at my folks?

"Son, my Johnny Black is almost gone!" my dad would say.

"I guess mum's been drinking it," I would respond. My dad thought that must have been it and without question pour himself a glass on the rocks. Little did he know my mum had asked the same thing and I blamed it on my pop.

The drinking age in Hong Kong was 18 at the time. All my white friends got into bars since they tend to look older. Asians are cursed with the baby face syndrome. Luckily for me, my friend, Billy Allen, had a mum who owned a restaurant in Hong Kong's Central district, The Go Down. We'd always go in without a problem and we'd start the booze train.

At 16, my drink of choice was the Vodka Tonic. It was so sophisticated. I remembered I must have had at least 5 with shots one night, took a taxi home at the end of the night and ran to the toilet where I started my first attempt at projectile vomitting into the loo. My dear, loving mother came to my rescue and rubbed my back with no judgement. She had the grace of an angel. She brought me some tea and told me she was heating something for me to eat. When I came out of the shower she was waiting for me at the table with a concerned frown on her beautiful face.

"Son, are you okay? Did you drink too much with your friends? What on earth were you drinking to get you so sick? Did you have a few beers?" she asked earnestly with concern.

I almost choked on my instant noodles. Boy she would have probably been horrified if she really knew how much I had to drink. I let her believe it was because of a "few beers" I was so sick and she just kissed me on the forehead and told me to be careful for the future.

My mum had no concern to worry about me. I had great grades and my teachers always gave me an excellent report card. I saw the headmaster each year because of good grades. My friends would often roll their eyes because for the most part, I was always teacher's pet.

By the time I got to University, alcohol lead me to try pot, acid, mushrooms, and eventually, after I graduated, coke. I graduated University Magna Cum Laude. I never arrived at work late. Yet, at one of my jobs I found myself cutting lines of coke in the bathroom.

"Ch'ien, can you please get that memo typed and ready for our meeting at two?" my boss would ask.
"It's done!" I'd say like a proud lab panting with my tongue out. Then I'd run down the corridor to the bathroom for another "pee."

It was around that time I knew I had a problem. There was nothing in my bag but a mirror and a blade. I was lucky then. I decided to stop and I did. I wish I could have that will power with alcohol. Some of my friends weren't so lucky.

Right around this time when a friend and I were on a good kick, we were out at Buzz in the Theater District before it closed down because of Boston's Chrystal Meth problem. We were invited to an after party and the hosts were hot so we leaped onto the invitation. When we got to the place of residence in the Back Bay area, we were thrilled to see everyone was gorgeous. The only problem was, EVERYONE was doing coke, smoking a blunt, or some kind of drug. In one bedroom there was already an orgy heavy on its way of exploding into a multitude of orgasms.

My friend Mark and I looked at each other. We said we'd be good and stick to booze. We chatted with the dope heads and refused any sexual advances. We weren't prudes. It's just that having sex with someone all drugged up isn't as fun when you're sober, nor responsible when it was all bare-back. By the time the sun came up, most of the the guests had literally come and gone. Somehow, Mark and I found ourselves to be slightly sober and unsatisfied. We were room mates at the time and we decided to ditch the party and call it a night, uh, or morning.

"I can't believe we didn't do anything last night," he said.
I nodded my head and put my hands in my jean pockets. There was room in there now that we didn't need the pockets to hold cigarettes.
"I think I'm going to call my mother now," Mark continued.
"What? What the Hell are you going to say to her at 645 in the morning?" I said.
"I don't know. Maybe I'll tell her I know I've quit smoking."
"How do you know you've really quit smoking?" I mocked.
"Ch'ien, I think you pretty much know you've quit smoking if you can go to a cocaine sex party and you didn't have one cigarette."
I had no argument to what he just said.

Now that I enter a couple triathlons here and there and teach Spinning and indoor cycling at local gyms I really stay away from drugs. I still drink like a fish when I am not seriously training and maybe on very special occasions I might do something a little naughty. It's hard having friends from the UK and the US. On the States side, there's a big stigma and taboo placed on drinking. However, in the UK, my friends there can easily say "let's go out and get pissed till we black out!" without anyone even blinking an eye. "Yeah!" And by the way, I'll have a smoke when I like. In the wise words of Joy Behar: So what? Who cares?