How Asking for Help Saved My Life
Whiskey Bent and Hell Bound - The day that I finally hit bottom
Dear Son,
It was December 15, 1993.
I woke up still drunk—but something was different.
This wasn’t like all the other mornings I’d stumbled into, hungover and full of lies—mostly to myself.
That day, I didn’t feel angry. I wasn’t sad. I wasn’t even scared.
I was just done.
Done with the pain, the pretending, the mess I called living.
And I sat there, slumped at my kitchen table, thinking:
Do I want to live—or not?
The truth? I didn’t have the guts to die.
So the question became:
If I’m going to live, then how?
I had no idea what to do. The longer I sat there, the more certain I became that I couldn’t get better. That I was broken beyond repair.
And then… the phone rang.
It was Ray.
An old drinking buddy I hadn’t heard from in years.
He said, “Hey man, how are you doing?”
I just muttered, “I’m fucked.” That’s all I could say without falling apart.
Ray didn’t skip a beat.
“Put on the coffee. I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”
And he showed up.
What I didn’t know then was that Ray had quit drinking five years earlier.
He told me later that he’d had a gut feeling to reach out.
This was the third time he’d tried calling me.
And this time—I answered.
He stayed the whole day.
By late afternoon, he had convinced me to check into detox.
There was a catch: I had to be sober for 24 hours before they’d admit me.
So Ray stuck around. Watched me. Made sure I didn’t cave.
And the next day, he drove me to the detox center himself.
That phone call saved my life.
I won’t share the details of what we talked about that day—some things are mine to keep.
But I will tell you this:
It was the beginning of my rebirth.
If I had a son, I’d want him to hear this…
Sometimes the moment that changes your life starts with three words:
“Put on coffee.”
Help doesn’t always arrive with flashing lights and dramatic speeches.
Sometimes it’s quiet. Sometimes it’s a friend who hasn’t called in years.
But when that lifeline shows up—you have to be humble enough to take it.
Years later, I taught myself how to use a computer. Just something to keep my mind busy in recovery.
It turned into a way to make an honest living.
It gave me purpose.
It gave me dignity.
And now, decades later, it’s given me this:
A way to reach you.
I once heard an old Native man in recovery say:
“When God’s got a plan for you, you can’t fuck it up.
Doesn’t matter how many fights you get in, or how many car wrecks you survive.
When God’s got a plan—you can’t fuck it up.”
So if you ever hit bottom son, and it feels like the end—
It’s not.
It’s the start of something else.
With love,
—Fred (GeezerWise)
📌 This letter was written by Fred Ferguson (GeezerWise). If it spoke to you, I’d love to hear back—just hit reply.
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—Fred [GeezerWise]