The Dark Night of the Soul (La Noche Oscura de la Alma) is the most famous poem by the 16th century Spaniard St. John of the Cross. It was written while he was in prison. I think the title alone is the best part of the poem, and an appropriate image for those struggling with alcoholism.

The alcoholic’s darkest time is the night. In the time of John of the Cross, it was common wisdom that “Every sin has its own misery.” For me, that misery always occurred around 4:30 AM when the alcohol was finally broken down and I was often left feeling physically, mentally, and spiritually broken. My eyes would pop open, just like those many characters in “Lost” (best show ever).

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Bb0QKgNNmCU

For the next hour or so, I would lay there, doing a mental inventory of everything I had to drink, all that transpired in the night, everything I did and said (at least those things I could remember). It was such a helpless, frustrating feeling because, at that moment, I hated alcohol. I felt dark and trapped, all from what amounts to a poison that I semi-voluntarily poured into myself, despite the fact that I really didn’t want to. The absurdity of it all was never lost on me.

There’s a helpful quote I read one time: “Nobody wakes up in the morning wishing they drank more the night before.”

Yet drinkers also fear spending the night without alcohol. Many drinkers get really stressed about the thought of going to bed completely sober. The fear of tremors or other withdrawal symptoms can be strong for heavy drinkers. For others, the thought of tossing and turning in a fitful insomnia is enough to motivate heavy drinking. There’s a post somewhere on this website from a desperate women whose husband would drink a pint of vodka immediately before bed. “Who the hell does that?,” she asked. It seems insane, but not to the one who fears the night.

Before entering healthcare, I had experienced only two “all nighters” in my entire life. Now, I’ve had over 1,200. Nighttime is when “the wages of sin” become apparent for the drinker. On any given night shift in the ER, a good portion of the patients are suffering from some alcohol related ailment. Cars slam into trees, breaking skulls and making brains bleed. College girls drink too much, throw up, pass out, and get brought to the ER by frantic, not-quite-as-drunk friends. Ulcers bleed. Drunk people get in fights and get shot. The night moves on. Chaplains talk to families. Mothers and wives and children scream and howl. A sickening, indescribable din of pain, broken dreams, and despair echoes in the halls. Homeless men come in, shaking violently from DTs, pissing on themselves, begging for some Ativan, anything to make it stop. Nobody listens. “You did this to yourself,” they’re told. A wife brings in a yellow, confused husband who keeps drinking despite his liver disease. A patient with pancreatitis screams bloody murder for more pain meds; her side feels like it’s being poked with a hot iron because she just couldn’t resist drinking last night, even though she knew the pain would come when the booze wore off. Nobody listens. “You did this to yourself,” she’s told. The sun starts to rise, birds start to chirp, and the night passes into “the mist and the march of time.”

After two months on TSM, I’m on the other side now. I have not gone to bed drunk since taking my first Naltrexone. I rarely even wake up any more. If I do, I think about how good I feel, I smile, I touch my wife, and fall right back to sleep. I have reclaimed the night and no longer fear it. Amen to that.

The Dark Night of the Soul (1578 by St. John of the Cross)
Upon a darkened night
The flame of love was burning in my breast
And by a lantern bright
I fled my house while all in quiet rest
Shrouded by the night
And by the secret stair I quickly fled
The veil concealed my eyes
While all within lay quiet as the dead.
O, night thou was my guide!
O, night more loving than the rising sun!
O, night that joined the Lover to the beloved one!
Transforming each of them into the other.
Upon that misty night
In secrecy beyond such mortal sight
Without a guide or light
Than that which burned as deeply in my heart.
That fire 'twas led me on
And shone more bright than of the midday sun
To where He waited still
It was a place where no one else could come.
Within my pounding heart
Which kept itself entirely for Him
He fell into His sleep
beneath the cedars all my love I gave.
From o'er the fortress walls
The wind would brush His hair against His brow
And with its smoother hand
caressed my every sense it would allow.
I lost my self to Him
And laid my face upon my Lover's breast
And care and grief grew dim
As in the morning's mist became the light.
There they dimmed amongst the lilies fair.

Wow, that was an awesome post!

Well Barry, I really liked your post, because it reflects how people can change from day into night and back again... It is true people can change in thinking and fear/negative feelings because it is dark and change their behavior with that.

I'm happy to hear how your path has gone untill now! And am still awaiting my own first delivery, but being a little anxious to see the first results makes me curious as well from hearing stories from others...