I'm a Secret Alcoholic

 

Photo by Kristina Flour on Unsplash

I'm an alcoholic. But I've never said those words out loud. I drink alone. I hide. I shame myself. I'm just like the mother I loathed and judged.

I was never a party animal, never a connoisseur, never a social drinker. The alcohol quieted my swelling tides of depression, anxiety, and insomnia. Soothing as a lullaby, it entranced me into lowering the defenses I'd built as the child of an alcoholic. Every time I threw it a treat, it grew a bit stronger, learned from my slips. Over time, that innocent thing which had given me comfort like a kitten morphed into a monster I had to wrestle for my life.

Today, I am two months sober. I've tried to get clean before, more times than I can count. I won't be guilty of using magical thinking this time. 

There are, however, two things that are different about this go-round. This time, I came within a blade's edge of killing myself. I could feel my body disintegrating rapidly day by day. This is also the first time I don't think I'll be able to fool myself into thinking I'm someone who can moderate. If I drink again, it is a gamble I will lose, and I will end up dead.

I know there are others like me. Are you one of them?







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