'Dryuary' a lifestyle choice for some, but quitting booze was a question of survival for Winnipeg musician

The month of January brings "Dryuary," or "Dry January" for many — an annual tradition of saying "no" to alcohol for the first 31 days of the year.

But while social media buzzes with the month-long choice to stay sober, for others it's full-time and permanent. And for Winnipeg musician Rusty Matyas, it's a matter of life and death.

Here, in his own words, is his story.

A warning: some of the details may be disturbing to readers.

In early December of 2017, I woke up, ran to the bathroom and vomited very red, very fresh blood — a lot of it — into the sink. I then sat on the toilet and evacuated more blood.  

I was dying and it felt like it. My liver was failing — the result of years of alcohol abuse. 

I ended up staying in hospital for five or six days, but I obviously didn't accept the severity of my situation, because only a few months later, I started drinking again.

I can't blame my wonderful career as a musician and producer on my descent into alcoholism, but it certainly helped. I don't always enjoy being onstage, and drinking helped to boost me up. It's also always available everywhere, all the time and on the road.

Of course, I was confident that I could handle it — but I couldn't.

I spiralled into severe depression, anxiety attacks and sudden blackouts. I would spend mornings feeling ashamed for what I was hiding from everyone, including my wife. 

I would feel alien in my own skin and unhinged in my mind — until I had a drink.

I avoided public places because I looked sick and I smelled like paint thinner.

My blood-alcohol level was always above the limit, and that was just to get to a place where I felt normal. 

I was embarrassed, humiliated, and utterly alone.

Battle with withdrawal

I tried to slow my drinking down. But within hours, withdrawal would set in.

This means you get the shakes (and oh, you will), but you can also hallucinate and become confused.  

Once, I ended up not really knowing who or where I was for almost two full days. At one point, I remember being in the bathtub drinking what I thought was tea, but it turned out to be a cotton facial pad soaking in warm water.

What I discovered later was that I had most likely experienced the delirium tremens, a.ka. "the DTs."

I wasn't making these decisions anymore — my poisoned brain and mind was.-Rusty Matyas

My wife's gas tank of support was starting to run dry, and I don't blame her. I don't know if I could watch the one I love destroy their own body and mind.

It seemed that the real me was concentrated into this avocado pit-sized nugget in the centre of my brain, and I was screaming at myself to stop.

But I wasn't making these decisions anymore — my poisoned brain and mind was.

A turning point

Finally, after much persuasion from my wife and family, I checked into the detox facility at Winnipeg's Health Sciences Centre. They took my belongings away and "locked" me up for several days. 

This was my turning point.

All I can do is be grateful I was given a second chance. I feel like a brand new person.- Rusty Matyas

I can't thank the staff there enough for the amazing, non-judgmental and compassionate care I received.

A warm bed, comforting voices, three meals a day, all the healthy snacks and fluids and drugs my body needed to recalibrate from being poisoned. I would dare to say it was even easy. 

There were a lot of tears, but I was in the safest place I could be. 

I regret so much of my past, but I can't change that it happened.

All I can do is be grateful I was given a second chance. I feel like a brand new person.

'We all think it can't happen to us'

I'm not attempting to garner any sort of recognition for this. I'm sharing my experience in hopes that people who read this, and who can relate to it, will find hope in it.

Addiction can be a silent killer, and we all think it can't happen to us.

We're trained to feel judgment toward someone's shortcomings if it involves drugs or alcohol.

This is fascinating to me, because the same person who may scoff at an alcoholic one minute, and the next will be laughing at the punchline on TV where someone "needs a drink" because their day was hard.

Compassionate health care saved my life, pure and simple.- Rusty Matyas

It's so normalized, and yet it's a poison.

Being an alcoholic can be a choice, yes, but it is until it's not.

At that point we need to stop judging people's shortcomings and lend a helping hand when we can. 

Compassionate health care saved my life, pure and simple. 

Thanks to that, I now get to be the best version of myself every day, and in doing so I get to show the people closest to me how much I love and respect them. 

I'm just so happy to be here now.

This column is part of  CBC's Opinion section. For more information about this section, please read this editor's blog and our FAQ.

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