Through everything, I have learned that having love in your life is the one thing that brings true happiness to your soul and fills you to a point of contentment. This can be found through family, friends, a girl or boyfriend, a child, or God. Through all my partying I found it easy to find many of the wrong girls. Truth be told, some of them might have actually been good for me; had I straightened myself out.
Perhaps I would have been able to share in the love that they had for me and the love that my heart wanted, but my mind continually sabotaged me with actions that no woman would put up with. Combine that with the fact that I would go after women that in most cases had a 99% chance of not working out- that is the summary of almost every relationship I had ever been in (other than a few in high school before the heavy drinking started).
I digress…back to the importation of the Playboy Model. Even though I was drinking almost every day it did not kill the feeling of solitude that I had inside my heart. I desired companionship with someone that could possibly love me more than anything. However, this was hidden by an emotionless and cold exterior. While working with the communication company, I had made contact via Facebook with one of the girls that had been in my church choir many years before. The conversations between Stephanie and I started off playful and of course I told her that I remembered her, which was a lie. (Great idea to start off relationships on lies….they always workout great). All I knew is that through the pictures she had on Facebook and the ones she emailed me, she had grown into a gorgeous woman with a sexy aura.
Being that I was quite shallow and looks were the number one priority for me, when she said she had done some modeling in Playboy, I decided that I had to have her, if only for a little while. So I began the game playing. Little did I know she was doing the same thing to me. I had broken her heart when she was 15 and she wanted to show me what I had missed out on. The plan was for her to come to Costa Rica, but this would require some work on my end. The job I currently had was enough to get by and keep me drunk, but the $800 a month salary I was making would not be enough for this materialistic princess, especially if I was going to get her to stay for an extended period of time. I also needed to move out of the house with the gay guy that masturbated in public places when he got high. In a matter of weeks, I had to improve my residence, increase the amount of money I was making, and generate a little bit of savings to present the façade of a decent social status, as opposed to the drunken, vagrant life I was currently living.
Stephanie had decided to leave her children with her ex-husband and travel to Costa Rica. (Yes I know this should have been a red flag that she was not a great person if she was willing to leave her kids in order to go on this excursion to Costa Rica) The plan was for her to come down in approximately 6 weeks. I needed to start saving money fast! I had put a little bit away, it just wasn’t enough. Within a month of actually trying at work, I had bought her a plane ticket and put a deposit down on a 2 bedroom house to rent on the other side of Atenas. I was to move into the house the day she arrived. I was eating Ramen most nights in order to save money and was drinking the cheapest alcohol I could find to kill the hunger I had from not eating very much.
The day of arrival had come! To celebrate (and to kill my nerves) I drank the entire night before. I woke up late and in a state between being hung over and still drunk. I hurried to get ready to go pick her up. I threw a couple of small bottles of vodka in my bag and grabbed the taxi to the airport. I must have been a sight to see as I noticed later; half my face was shaved, I reeked of alcohol and my eyes were that of a stereotypical alcoholic; bloodshot and half closed.
She, on the other hand, looked beautiful when she got off the plane. I appeared to be my most charismatic self, but as most guys know, we are idiots when we have alcohol in our systems. It makes us the most charming and intelligent people on the planet according to our brains, but in fact we look like moronic clowns. My grand plan was to start drinking with Stephanie on the way back home. On the short 45 minute ride from the airport to Atenas we managed to drink about 8 shots each. Since we were not going to be able to move into the new house until the next day (due to the cleaning schedule), we were going to stay one night in the bed and breakfast which was located on the property.
We dropped off our belongings at the B&B and headed to the nearest bar. It opened at 11 am and if we timed it right, after a walk through the town to see a few sites, we could start drinking right at opening. By noon we were both 3 sheets to the wind so we headed back to the B&B and had animal sex for about an hour until we passed out. That was the only thing that we connected on and this one day was our honeymoon period. It went downhill from there.
Upon moving into our house, we started partying like rock stars and fighting every day when we both were coming down. I was slapped hard in the face more than once for something I would do, and honestly, I probably deserved it. After 1 more week at the telecommunications place, I had an interview with a company that was going to do lead generation. The base salary was $1,500 a month and I knew I could hit max commission and make $2,500 a month. The job however was about 45 minutes away and I had to leave at 4:30 am every day as I walked the 2 miles to the bus stop to save money to make sure Stephanie was happy (which she never was).
I would run from work as we finished the day at 4 pm; if I hurried I would get the 4:30 bus and arrive back in Atenas at 5:30. If I missed that bus it would be more like 6:15 when I arrived home. It actually did not matter which bus I got on due to the fact that I was always bitched at when I got home about how there was nothing to do in Atenas and that I left her alone all day, yadda, yadda, yadda. It got to a point where I would pick up a pacha, about 365 ml or a third of a full bottle of vodka before I went home and have at least 6 shots in my belly before walking through the door.
The job was providing us enough money to get by; however, Stephanie wanted to return to see her kids. So, after 2 weeks into her stay I was buying yet another ticket to and from the USA. She was headed to Tahoe for a week to see her kids and then would be back. On her first trip down, I had sent Stephanie a copy of a bud ticket which showed that she was leaving the country within 90 days….a requirement for entry into Costa Rica. She was never asked for this on the previous trip.
I was again going to buy her an exit bus ticket and send her a copy before this flight down and she decline saying that it was not necessary. At 9 pm the night she was supposed to come down I received the call that she was being grounded in Denver and that I needed to buy another ticket right away. I was unable to get her the exit plane ticket until about 10:30 pm do to difficulties, which unfortunately was after the last flight had left for Costa Rica. To make a long story short she arrived the next day super pissed and super tired, and remained that way the rest of her stay in Costa Rica.
We spent another month at each other’s throats in a very toxic relationship. There was yelling almost every single night. She would complain about how Costa Rica made her bloated , I drank too much, and she thought we should move back to the USA together. To add icing on the cake, the reward for the most leads at work each week was your choice of a bottle of some sort of alcohol. I won 5 out of 6 weeks, and 5 out of 6 weekends were spent passed out at 3 pm each day. Although I was a drunk, I was terrific at my job. This was not a good thing as it made me think I could continue this lifestyle and still be successful.
After 2 more months of fighting and great make up sex, Stephanie was leaving Costa Rica. The plan was for me to work my butt off and save money for a couple of months and then meet her in Tahoe, after which we would go to Seattle and be with her kids. We had one last weekend bash together and then went to the airport. I knew as she walked through the baggage check that this would be the last time I ever saw her. I had a mixture of sadness and relief running through my body. Even though in my mind said forget her and never see her again, my heart was telling me to stick with the plan and it’s need for love made me ignore common sense…….it was time to exit Costa Rica.
Little did I know that as I was about to reach the surface for air to escape Costa Rica, God would grab me and pull me right back under. My will to fight and survive would now be tested at the highest level. Did I want to live?
Next Up – The Exit Plan’s Hospital Detour