Sobriety Rocks

By Wyatt Holes

Join Wyatt on an extraordinary adventure. He will grab you by the hand and take you through the downward spiral of addiction. From a young teenager to a grown man trying to hold on to life by a thread. The thread breaks and Wyatt hits Rock Bottom. As Wyatt stood there thinking there was no hope nothing left but to die, an answer came from deep inside, a small still voice.

Wyatt had this Rock Star life he thought everybody was envious of, filled with laughter, friends, partying and fun until the fun stopped. Every bodys life moved forward but Wyatts was at a stand still. Even after achieving a college degree and a house of his own Wyatt was still empty inside. Ignoring all the concerns from family members, a moment of clarity came through the alcohol haze, and Wyatt stood at a crossroads. He had already been down one of the roads realizing he had to make a choice between life or death.

Confused by the chaos and questions in his head, hes out of control! What would life be without Alcohol? Is it Possible to stay Sober a Whole Week? Why cant he drink like every body else? What is wrong with him? Am I an Alcoholic? Hes sick of hurting everybody around him! Why does he keep doing this to himself?

Through life changing experiences Wyatt finds the answers he was looking for is whole life. This journey of Recovery is not easy but its worth it!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Nov 26, 2013
• ISBN: 9781493111534

Book preview

Copyright © 2013 by Wyatt Holes.

Library of Congress Control Number:     2013918493

ISBN:               Hardcover                           978-1-4931-1152-7

                         Softcover                             978-1-4931-1151-0

                         eBook                                  978-1-4931-1153-4

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

Rev. date: 12/30/2013

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H ere’s my story; buckle up, it’s going to be a hell of a ride. I was born in Grand Rapids, Michigan, on July 30, 1978. The name I was given is Wyatt James Holes. I grew up in the early years in a small town called Bradley, Michigan, famous now for the casino. As far back as I can remember, I did not like my life. I felt out of place for some reason. I can’t describe what made me feel that way; it was just always there. I can remember having dreams about flying just to take me away. I even believed I could fly and tried jumping off tall slides but ended up spraining my ankle a couple of times.

I never gave up on the dream of flying. One night my siblings and I were being watched by a babysitter, and I made a jump of a life time. I went to the top of our stairs, and with every nerve in my body I just ran and jumped. My head smacked the top of the doorway at the bottom of the stairs, and I landed on my back. I felt my forehead; there was blood gushing everywhere. I ran to the bathroom, locked myself in, and tried to stop the bleeding. I knew I was in some serious trouble when the babysitter saw the trail of blood and pleaded to let her in. Finally, I opened the door, and she kind of freaked. She washed the wound and had me hold a wet rag on my head, and then she was just hoping the blood would stop. Eventually it did, and to this day I still have the scar. I felt I succeeded, though, as I flew down without touching a step.

Still, I hurt inside big time. I could feel the pain of being me every day. I can say that I felt inadequate and would do anything just to fit in. I drifted toward the trouble makers and individuals that seemed to also hurt inside.

When I was in third grade, I was embarrassed by the teacher in front of the whole class. She wanted me to read off the board and I couldn’t read it because I couldn’t see it. Everybody laughed, and I was pissed. She had me move up seat by seat all the way to the front until I could see it. She called my parents and said I needed glasses. There goes being cool, I thought. I’m a dead man. My parents took me to get some glasses, and since they couldn’t afford the decent looking frames I ended up with glasses that covered my whole cheeks. Everybody laughed and called me four eyes for what seemed like forever, and I hated it. I was more upset at the teacher for exposing my secret.

To make matters worse, my family was on the lower scale of incomes, and I see now that everything they did was for us. We had a big family and there was plenty of mouths to feed; it was my older sister Jamie, me, and my younger siblings, Lynda, Beth and Tyler. My dad knew how to squeeze a penny like no other; he did much stuff in house including haircuts. Most of the time, we looked like Legos people. My dad had a great idea about a new hairstyle for me; he wanted me to sport a tail – it was just the way it sounds: awful. I was always after my dad’s approval so I said okay. The tail started from just above my neck and grew to about a foot. It was humiliating. My dad approved, but everyone else did not. They would grab ahold and say two down, two up, or zero. I made the mistake once of saying zero, and they would rip my hair around in a big circle. I came to realize two down hurt a lot less. I pleaded over and over with my dad, Please cut it off, and he finally did.

Grade school was much like that growing up. I had trouble realizing where I fit in. I had a couple of friends I would hang with. One in particular I thought was the coolest because his dad was a race car driver. We would hang out in the garage and just imagine being behind the wheel. I think mostly we were good friends because we both loved The Dukes of Hazard. All it took was to have one thing in common in order to be friends back then. Heading into the fourth grade we had to move from Bradley to Middleville. Because my grandparents could not afford the house they were staying at anymore, we moved in. I was devastated – I’d finally made a cool friend, and we had to move.

My first thought of Middleville was that it sucked bad; everybody seemed mean, right to the core. I remember just dreading getting up and going to school; every day seemed like a dark and cloudy day – that feeling just felt heavy and was always present. I didn’t mind being around home; I just loved riding my bike around, and never wanted to get off the thing. I do recall never really getting good grades in school. It wasn’t that I was not smart, I just didn’t care. My parents would be pretty upset, and I would just try a little bit harder but in the end just blew it off. I recall a time last semester of the school year when I might have been 13-14 years old, dad threatened I would be grounded to my room for the whole summer vacation if I did not bring my grades up to at least a C average. Well, I failed that deal with a D in reading. I was grounded to my room and couldn’t even come out for dinner. It felt like fucking prison. I would have to stay in my room and watch as my brother and sisters were outside riding bikes.

I was about three weeks into my prison sentence when I made a conscious thought about leaving this world. I was very depressed, and figured I’d seen enough. The best deal I could work out is that God made a mistake when he made me and would find favor in me if I took care of his mistake for him. I snuck out of my room went into the garage, found a hammer, three strong nails, some rope, and made my way back to my room without getting caught. I hammered the nails into the side of the windowsill and tied the rope to the nails. I hopped up onto my desk, tied the rope around my neck as tight as I dared, and jumped. I just hung there. I should be dead, I thought. Then I couldn’t breathe, my eyes started bulging and felt like they were going to pop straight out of my head. I fucking panicked. I had watched westerns before, and when they’d hang somebody — the people died instantly. Something’s definitely wrong, I thought, I can’t reach the floor, I can’t reach the desk. I tried to swing and reach the desk. Just my toes reached it, but not enough to pull up the rope cutting into my neck. Oh God, I don’t want to die, I thought, changing my mind. I want to live, God… please mmmm… can’t… The nails bent down, the rope slid off, and I went crashing to the ground gasping for air. Crying and shaking, I prayed and made a promise to God that I would never try to