Did I Go Dumb Again? (2013 – 2018)

This wasn’t just a question I asked myself after a night of excessive drinking—it was a cycle I was trapped in.

The cycle went like this:

I’d drink to feel confident.

I’d perform to feel accepted.

I’d embarrass myself to feel loved.

Then I’d wake up the next day and ask, “Did I go dumb again?”

The answer was almost always yes.

The drinks, the parties, the validation—it was never really about the alcohol. It was about trying to survive the parts of me I didn’t want to face.

The cycle felt endless: fake confidence, temporary connection, regret, shame—repeat.

You’re stuck in a cycle right now. We all are.

Some cycles feel harmless—love, healing, growth—but others? Others will bury you.

The worst part? A cycle doesn’t have a clear starting point.

You don’t notice when it begins. It feels like fun. It feels like freedom.

You laugh. You drink. You swear you’re in control.

And a cycle doesn’t have an end point either—unless you create one.

But here’s the catch: by the time you realize you’re trapped, it’s already wrapped itself around you.

The habits, the lies, the same parties, the same regrets. New faces, same night. Different bottle, same mistake.

I lived that cycle for years. But it didn’t start with me.

This cycle has plagued my DNA for generations before me.

The addiction. The self-destruction. The silence.

It’s been passed down like an inheritance—but instead of wealth, it came with scars.

Most people never escape the cycle. Some don’t even know they’re in one.

But this?

This wasn’t just the cycle. This was the time I broke the cycle—and it nearly cost me my life.

The Mistake

Imagine being 19 when your first child is born. Your parents migrated to America while pregnant with you and your twin sister. When you’re in survival mode, you’re in basic instinct mode, and there are no times for emotions or feelings. That doesn’t mean you don’t feel things, it means you have to tuck your emotions. That’s what you learned while growing up – how to survive and tuck your emotions, and that its wrong to feel them. The way you know to handle your stress is with alcohol. Next thing you know you’re 18 and you knock up your girlfriend, but you’ve been through the toughest things you could go through in life so this is nothing more than another test of your manhood and morals. The right thing to do is to raise your child and you might feel like you’re ready for it. You spent your whole life being a man, but you didn’t spend any of it being a teacher. You knew you didn’t like the conditions of how you grew up so your only thought is to give your child a life you never had…but in order to do that you have to get out of your current situation – how have you gotten out of situations your whole life? The hard way, cold-hard emotions and beer for the days you needed to vent. By the time your son is born, you’ve built the habit of how to cope, the damage is done, and a generational cycle continues before you even had the opportunity to hear his first words. The mistake wasn’t the child born out of wedlock, the mistake was thinking you didn’t have the strength to break the cycle. You’ve always been strong, but now it’s up to me.

Woke Up Drunk

I was 19 when I moved into a fraternity house, the same fraternity I joined the year before. I didn’t know anything about fraternities when I joined, and to be honest by the time I moved in I knew it wasn’t for me. The social aspect here was on a level I wasn’t ready for – I spent most of my life pretending to be someone else to be accepted, and by the time I found friends who cared about me for who I really am…I didn’t have enough time to learn I was more of an introvert than what fraternity life calls for. After my first year of college, I wanted to drop out but I had no place to go – my parents both lived in small houses that didn’t have room for me and the apartment I was living in for my first year was now full. The fraternity took me in, and I had to adjust. That first night of living in the house we played FIFA and drank beers, and it was filling a void in me…brotherhood, belonging. We drank everyday for 30 days straight, and I woke up drunk each time, walking over to some friends who were just as drunk / hungover as I was – but we weren’t judging each other, we were laughing and bonding…THAT was my addiction, and I made the mistake of thinking alcohol was the reason.

Mr. Try Too Hard

As a young man, being labeled a try hard used to bother me, only because it was true. Yes, I try hard. I feel like only lazy people find that to be insulting, but a majority of people felt that way. I think when people say you are trying too hard, what they mean to say is you’re not being yourself – that is much more understandable. It still bothered me though, because I was doing this act for emotional survival and what bothered me was nobody seemingly cared enough to understand “why” I did it. My goal wasn’t to be liked, just to feel like I belonged somewhere. So when I got drunk, I did everything you could think of doing to embarrass myself:

Self hate jokes

Misogynistic jokes

Homophobic jokes

inappropriate jokes

Grinded up against inanimate objects

Started slap boxing

Consumed dangerous amounts of alcohol

Publically humiliated myself

Got an ass tattoo of Harambe

I did it all in the name of being accepted by people I loved, and it was seemingly working, until one day…

Liquid Courage

Alcohol was my disguise—my shield—the thing I used to pretend I was confident when deep down I wasn’t. But the thing about liquid courage is the courage isn’t real, the consequences are. That false confidence made me reckless, aggressive, disrespectful—all while thinking I was charming, funny, and untouchable. It worked for a while—people laughed, people cheered—but behind closed doors they talked, they distanced themselves, they lost respect for me. I told myself alcohol made me bold, but it just made me another lost, insecure person using a bottle to speak for me. It took everything from me before I realized the courage wasn’t real—but the damage was.

Either Way

I’m a man trapped in another man’s body. I am multi-layered. The front I put up was being this reckless guy, but if people just got past that front they would see I care deeply about people. If they cared enough to get to know that part of me, they would say where it comes from. What I had to accept is that, as much as I would like to believe I am trapped in this body…it’s still me. The front, the real, the origin, either way…it’s me.

Feeling Myself

There was a short window—right before the hangover, right before the bad decisions—when I would feel on top of the world. Alcohol gave me a fake sense of confidence—louder, bolder, untouchable—and for a brief moment, I believed the lie. I would look in the mirror and see someone desirable, someone charming, someone who finally belonged. But the truth always came after—in the form of regret, embarrassment, and the quiet moments when I didn’t like the person looking back at me. I wasn’t actually feeling myself—I was numbing myself—and every high was followed by a much lower low.

Body On Mine

Partying was never about the music—it was about validation. When someone was dancing with me, I didn’t feel lonely—I felt accepted. I convinced myself that intimacy was proof I was desirable, but really it was a distraction—because as soon as the party ended, the loneliness was still there. The touch, the attention, it all faded—and I was left with the same insecurities I tried to dance away. The more bodies I chased, the more empty I felt—because no amount of temporary closeness can fill the space you refuse to face within yourself.

Do Your Dance

My mom remarried when I was 7 years old, and at her wedding I danced a lot, I loved to dance and actually had rhythm. The wedding was being recorded, and a month or so later they played the wedding back and in front of a room full of people just started bashing me for the way I danced, and I decided never to do it again…until I started drinking. Alcohol unleashed all things at once, the good, bad and ugly. In my early years I was criticized for the way I did things…not for actually doing them, and I didn’t know I was carrying them with me. When I got comfortable enough, when I started feeling the liquid courage, I would do my dance and not care what other people thought of it. What I was unaware of, is I was dancing and spilling my trauma.

Nothing Without You

I would go on stretches of sobriety, and during those times I would be at these parties almost like paint on the wall—not invisible but just there. I wasn’t the life of the party—I was a placeholder. It showed me how little people noticed when I wasn’t drunk, and how much they noticed when I was. I started to believe I was nothing without alcohol—nothing without the persona—and the scariest part was…I didn’t even know who I was without it.

Right Now

There was a brief moment, maybe 30 minutes to an hour, where the charm would kick in. My jokes would land, my smile felt real, the confidence looked believable—and for that short window, I felt untouchable. But it was never real—it was temporary. Right now always turned into regret later—the texts I shouldn’t have sent, the words I shouldn’t have said, the people I lost—all because I believed the high of “right now” was worth the consequences tomorrow.

One More Drink

When the dance floor was packed, I used to stand on top of tables and yell the lyrics to whatever song was playing as a way to hype the crowd. It wasn’t about the music—it was about the attention. I believed “one more drink” would make me the life of the party—but it always ended with me being the embarrassment of the party. The problem is, one more drink always sounds like the cure—until it’s the cause.

Don’t Let Me Touch My Phone

I should’ve autocorrected “are you up?” or “you up?” to “have a good night” or something—anything that would’ve saved me from the regret of reading my own messages the next morning. My phone was never the problem—the problem was me, drunk, lonely, and trying to fill a void with the wrong people. I kept searching for connection in places that only left me more disconnected—and every morning, the evidence of my desperation stared back at me from my screen.

For a Night

Most men won’t say this so I will—most men get their validation from the type of women they are able to sleep with or date. Men don’t respect men with high body counts if the body count doesn’t meet a certain threshold of looks. I was raised by my mother for my formative years, so I thought this was stupid and thought you had to think the opposite of these guys to date a woman. I was wrong, or at least in my experience being a nice guy got me publicly humiliated. Rejection is fine, but it’s when you make a spectacle about it when you’re going to see a man get out of character. I was celibate from 2014 until 2016, not by choice. The first night that streak broke, I thought it would change how I felt about myself—it didn’t. It just reminded me how empty it feels when the only thing you share with someone is their body—not their heart, not their mind—just their body—for a night—and by morning, you’re lonelier than before.

Marco Eyes

Growing up my only redeemable quality was the color of my eyes. It wasn’t enough to keep people around, but it was the only thing about me that people couldn’t criticize me for when I was growing up. That is, until the drinking got out of control. My father was born with a severe slanted eyelid, to the point where he had to get surgery for it. The irony in life, since he was trapped in the same cycle I was trapped in…and when I got drunk my eyelid would do the same thing. My friends knew, once they saw my eye slant like that…something dumb was about to happen. And while most of the dumb shit I did was funny to them, it was embarrassing for me. It got to the point where people would take pictures of me in that state and post them online, and because I didn’t want to upset them I rolled with the punches and encouraged them to post it. I convinced myself that public humiliation was a form of love, and I didn’t want to reject love.

AMF

Being blacked out drunk is the closest thing to being a zombie, and it’s frightening. You’re awake, but you’re not there—you’re breathing, but your mind is gone. I’d wake up to texts and videos of things I didn’t remember, and for a long time I thought that was normal. It’s not—it’s dangerous. I lost time, memories, moments—pieces of my life erased—and the only proof they happened were the apologies I owed and the embarrassment I carried.

Take You Down

July 6th, 2018 was a glitch in the matrix, a sign from God, that the cycle needed to end. I couldn’t see a way out because I had nothing – no car, no job, no money, a dead dream, a dying relationship, no more brotherhood, friends who were growing up without me, a dying family dynamic. There was nothing for me to look forward to in my life except for when I got drunk; on July 6th, even getting drunk lost its appeal to me, so I chose to end the cycle by ending my life. I think it worked, because my life has never been the same since I woke up. 

Did I Go Dumb?

I love my sleep – if I don’t feel rested I will compromise whatever I have going on to get more sleep. Back in my drinking days that was no different, even if it meant skipping class. This also meant I would wake up later than my friends, and I would hear them down the hall in someone’s room. I would walk in and there would be laughter. “There he is!” And each time it prompted me to ask “did I do anything stupid last night?” The answer was almost always yes, then I checked my phone to see what thirsty text my drunk, lonely ass sent to a person I just met that night. The more weekends went by, the more the laughter turned into silence…and the answer to my question would turn from a joke to “you have to go apologize.” Then it would turn into surprise interventions in the study room, telling me I need to stop drinking. I would quit, then try pacing myself, then cave in all over again because one person would say “I miss drinking with you, cmon get blacked out with me!” And I took the bait. That was the cycle, and the last dumb thing I ever did was survive my own suicide.

I’m Good

July 7th, 2018 should be my new birthday. Since that day, I feel a sense of rebirth. It’s crazy because every year leading up to the 4th of July is my favorite part of the year – there is always something that happens that changes my perspective and helps me grow. Here I am, 7 years later, and I can’t even recognize that person I used to be. His motivations and mine are not the same. I see the world clearly, and I am able to see how we are all more alike than we are different. I did what I did to be accepted by people I loved, not by strangers – I was outcasted for that behavior, and the irony is when I look back on that time in my life…most of them were doing the same. Behind closed doors most people enjoyed my fake persona, but around popular men or beautiful women they were trying to impress…That’s when they couldn’t associate themselves with me. We were both doing the same thing for the same reason, the biggest difference is I wanted life long friendships and you wanted to look cool. It used to bother me, but now I don’t care. I want everybody to win and reach whatever goals they set for themselves. I don’t need validation or acceptance anymore. I don’t need brotherhood or belonging anymore. I have everything I need, and I’m chasing everything I want. I’m 7 years sober. I’m married to the love of my life. I’m taking care of my family. I’m reunited with my family. I’m reunited with God. I’m me, and I’m good.

The Mirror

But that doesn’t mean life doesn’t have its challenges. It will always have challenges, and mine came from a human mirror. For a very, very long time I felt resentment from my brotherhood for not reaching out to me, removing me from pictures, unfollowing me, not showing support – I didn’t understand, especially because I never did anything evil. That was, until I had to deal with someone I love in the same cycle – they have multiple personas they use to escape the truth and avoid accountability, sound familiar? Every decision they make affects their family and personal reputation, and it makes other people not want to approach them, sound familiar? I tried my best to help, over and over, but they kept digging themselves a hole, sound familiar? It got to a point where this person said the worst thing I’ve ever read to me & my wife, and I said enough is enough. I cut this person out of my life, and suddenly I understood why people didn’t want to be associated with me. If I was half of the mess this person is, I get it. I had to hit rock bottom to get better, so the difference between me & the people who cut me out of their lives is I look forward to the day this person gets better, and I pray for that day to come. I won’t be bitter like some of my old friends are. 

My Love

My first year sober was the hardest year, and it turned me into a cold person. I sat in silence most weekends, and I turned to being a player to cope with my emotions. I lied and led people on. In the madness I learned what love truly was. It wasn’t about control, or attention, or possession—it was about honesty, patience, and presence. Love isn’t what you take from people—it’s what you give them when you’re finally whole. I didn’t find real love until I stopped breaking myself down for acceptance—and learned how to build myself up for peace.