Sober Thoughts

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The following story comes from our friend James.

“Drink away your sorrows to experience temporary happiness even for a second.”

I always stand by this quote, believing that I can forget all my problems and suffering by drinking alcohol. I often experience emotional instability when there is alcohol. I can never tell whether I’m happy or anxious, knowing that things can worsen when I’m drunk. Instead of facing my problems, alcohol becomes my temporary solution, a get-away from the reality that I’m facing.

Alcohol has always been a stress reliever since I was 16 years old. As a teenager, I experienced the state in which many expect me to act decent and proper, especially since I have a good reputation and my siblings look up to me. My parents expect me to take care of my siblings’ future and be the one to provide for the family when they retire.

My family is not that rich, nor that poor. We are only capable of buying the basic needs for living every day, but we cannot deny that there are times when we experience poverty.

On the other hand, I was doing well in my Academics. Until, one time, our professors required us to pass a specific output, then a dance video, thesis concept, and performance tasks on four different subjects. I always thought of these kinds of stuff like a piece of cake, knowing my capabilities. However, I failed to deliver the said tasks completely, which greatly affected my grades and reputation as the group leader. I consider myself incompetent in prioritizing my studies, knowing that I have to carry other burdens aside from the bombarded outputs.

Adding to the situation, my younger sibling got diagnosed with a respiratory disorder. We barely have any food left on our tables just to secure his medication, and I can’t keep up with my academics.

I was lost. I got no one to blame but myself. I don’t care what will happen to my life anymore.

A week had gone by, and a group of friends invited me to their party. After what I’ve been through, I undoubtedly said yes, hoping to add some fun to my life.

It is where my alcohol addiction began.

We move to our friend’s house and plan to sleep there overnight. I have been introduced to drinking before. Although those kinds of drinks were just in small quantities, this time, it was different. We got brandies, gin, and tequilas all over the place, and it was the best time of my life. We started drinking at around 8 in the evening and finished by 4 in the morning. During those times, I expressed myself, and they were very attentive to me. It was nothing new for them because they had also experienced similar situations, that’s why they like to drink and party. Doing so helps them forget their problems, and to me, I started to feel the same thing. The heavyweight that my heart was feeling the whole time became lighter, and I was thankful that I let it all out.

We bid our farewell after our drinking session, and I head back home. As I walked home, I started to remember my problems, and the pain was greater than before. I cannot deny that maybe this is reality, and for some reason, even when I let it all out, it will still haunt me, making me regret every single decision that I’ve made.

I thought of a solution to forget my problems, even for just a moment, and alcohol became my answer. Every day after school, I would go out and buy some drinks, get wasted, and forget everything in my mind. I often cut my classes and hang out with my friends to get drunk, and slowly getting drunk becomes a part of my life. There is this indescribable feeling that whenever I cannot taste alcohol ever for a day, it makes me lose my mind, builds up aggression within me, and makes me do things that I was not capable of back then. Shouting, street fights, getting angry at someone just by getting looked at, disrespecting other people, and even trying to steal

to have a taste of that alcohol, but for once, I am glad that I was only addicted to alcohol and not smoking or drugs.

Alcoholic addiction has been a rough experience; many people are affected, including my family, schoolmates, and friends. To be in a current state in which alcohol revolves around your life is very frustrating and challenging. Still, I consistently disregard the consequences of my action and drink more and more alcohol. I did not think or

consider my health and how it will affect me in the future. Every night I was all out looking to buy myself a bottle of brandy and enjoy the time of my life like there was no tomorrow. I thought to myself that there was no going back. I cannot stand a day without alcohol, which is all that matters for me.

Months have gone by, and things are still the same, getting drunk every day, experiencing the same hangover, fighting those hangovers with even more drinking, and it seems like I was pretty out of hand on what I am doing. I care less at all about what surrounds me and whatever I do. I believe that everything will eventually be okay, and the world can revolve without me. No one would bother to change me at this point, knowing that I failed, and alcohol is my only saving grace.

Of course, my parents were very disappointed in me; it hurts them to see me in a state where my life is going nowhere. All the dreams and expectations they have made are now very far from reality. They have tried consulting me about my situation. Who wouldn’t want to see their child being a nobody in life? They want me to realize that it is not too late to change and become a better version of myself. But I was ignorant. All I hear are the same words that go through my ear every time I go home drunk, and after that, nothing eventually changes; alcohol always wins in my mind. My siblings, who looked up to me in the past, don’t want to go near me anymore. They are all afraid of what I will do to them whenever I get angry. The brother that they have looked up to and loved so much is now a monster in their eyes. They cannot understand the

situation knowing that they are young for it. Still, they have seen me becoming angry even on small things, which seems idiotic and terrifies them. One time my sick sibling was coughing too much, and my parents tried to contact me to buy the medicine while I was out, but I was too drunk that time to even try. As a result, they had no choice but to rush my sibling to the hospital and blame my actions for their suffering.

I deliberately ignored them and went on drinking again. Five days straight, I did not go home and just drank until I had no money left in my pocket.

After wasting myself up drinking, I came back home late at night. When I opened the door, I saw my mother crying. She told me that my youngest sibling was diagnosed with complications in his lungs, and he needs to get surgery as soon as possible, or the worst may happen to him. She asked me if I was listening if I still cared about our family and the future of my younger sibling. She said that if I do not care about my life, then at least consider my sibling’s life.

The tears in my mother’s eyes strike me deeply, knowing that I have been a burden to them and have not been the son they expect me to be. Even when I was drunk at that time, my tears suddenly flowed. I felt ashamed of myself and tried my best to comfort my mother. I contemplated what I had done over the past few months, all those selfish acts and the chaotic pursuits. I was a coward. I do not have the guts to face my problem, I tend to run away from them by drinking and drinking, but the thought of getting rid of the pain through drinking was just a mere illusion. Problems became more complicated, and things were not getting better. They had become worse and worse.

I have lesser friends than before. My grades were on the brink of failing, I’m a disappointment, and failure and my sibling’s life might end. The moment of realization hits me hard like a truck. It was a night full of tears and regrets. All the money that I have used for alcohol may have been helpful for our situation right now. Things should have been better if I had been productive like

I was in the past. Still, I was lost. I do not know how and where to start. I do not know what the first step was, but I was eager to change. I was keen to become better. I want our life to improve and help my sibling recover. I know that I cannot live a day without the taste of alcohol, but I will give it a try. I tried to tell my parents about it, although I was hesitant about taking alcohol entirely out of my life. I just wanted to ease their feeling, even with just simple words. I want to give them hope that I am ready to change my lifestyle and become the person they want me to be.

Day 1 was a rough start. My habit became unnecessary. Instead of going out of the house, I think of a job to generate money. I forced myself to stay in and do some chores. It feels so long since I’ve repaired the kitchen sink, cleaned some furniture, fixed my bedroom, and washed the sheets. I tried to forget about the alcohol.

It was tough to control such addiction, your mind felt like it was going to explode, and you were thinking of crazy thoughts. Being addicted is painful, not only physically but also mentally. The mental part is the most difficult to handle since you cannot determine when it will end or ever get out of your mind. My body is shivering the whole time as I smack my head to snap out of it. It was only day one, and it already felt like hell.

I tried to entertain myself by searching for things that I could sell. Maybe my old clothes, or shoes, so I’ll earn some cash. I posted a few online, but no one bothered to buy them.

During the night, I delivered some supplies to the hospital for my parents and siblings. I told my other two siblings to go home so they could rest peacefully, and I’d look out for them, but they were so afraid to follow.

I went back home by myself and planned to sleep, but the sensation of alcohol tempted me to get up and buy something to drink. It was an awful feeling that made me want to commit suicide.

I could not think straight or decide what to do since I could sleep peacefully over the past months because I was too drunk to care about my problems. But in such a moment, it was already 3 in the morning, my mind was awake, and my eyes were still wide open.

Finally, I closed my eyes, and in the eternal silence of air, I began to pray. I know anything could be overcome with the help of prayer and faith in God. I was a firm believer of the Lord before I started drinking, and I want to apply the idea of faith to my comfort. I know each one has their problem, but the problem will never be greater than God.

I was crying, seeking help and a chance of redemption to start a new life and remove this alcohol addiction haunting me. I fell asleep around five and woke up by 10. It was a short sleep, but it felt good because I did not feel any hangover for the first time in a long time. My head was feeling lighter than ever before.

It was a significant achievement, but it also bothers me if I can maintain it. Alcohol was the last thing in my mind when I slept and the first thing in my mind when I woke up. It feels like love, but in reality, it’s an addiction.

In the following days, I could still stop myself from going out and buying alcohol to make me drunk again. I sold some shoes and sent them to my parents for their food. I also tried to apply for a student loan to help with my sibling’s medication.

Five days had passed, and it was becoming more difficult for me to conquer what I felt. So I thought to myself, maybe if I try to taste it one more time, just to satisfy my thirst for alcohol, it will get out of my mind forever. Although I have second thoughts on what will lead to further addiction, there’s only one way to find out. I left our house and found something to drink at a local store. There I bought one bottle of Chivas Regal. On my way home, I saw a poster that seeks individuals to join community gatherings and rehabilitation to help their mental health,

and it was pretty interesting for me. Still, I ignored it and went straight to our house. I want to drink the bottle all by myself to think things through carefully. I poured it on a glass, and by taking the first sip from it, my heart was jumping from joy, but my mind was all like, “No, no, stop it.” I took a few more shots, then after it was half done, I slowly put my glass on the table and began to think. Will I continue with this life where there will be no alcohol, and this will be my last shot, now that I am satisfied with a few drinks that I had taken, or would I go back to drinking since it feels like heaven for every single sip. Suddenly, my parents and siblings got home and were shocked to see me drinking again. My younger sibling, who just finished his surgery, tend to avoid me, and my parents sway their head in disappointment.

I know they might be thinking here he goes again, with his old habit, drinking that bottle until he gets drunk, wasted, and starts to be in a rage, but I broke the silence. Ma, Pa, this will be my last shot. I raised my glass to them and took the shot. I then stood up still, smiled at them, and said, “From now on. I will be entering the community gathering and rehabilitation for mental health located just two streets from here. I know that you guys are disappointed in what I’ve become, and I realized this addiction is hard to deal with, but I am persistent to change and be better.”

The mental health rehabilitation was beneficial for me since it opened up my mind and allowed the presence of our Lord to become stronger. The The concept of alcohol is one factor that affects the mental health of many individuals these days. It has also been the reason that deprived these individuals of improving themselves. Alcohol addiction and abuse cannot be controlled easily, but they can be lessened and stopped by

following processes that can significantly enhance their lifestyle.

Alcoholism is an illness that can be managed but not controlled. Most importantly, what saved me was my faith. As it became the essence of my existence, I affirm that it has given me a chance to start a new life. God has a way of doing things, and the more He put us through, the

higher He will lift us, as long as we do not deny him and follow his guidance. We may not be able to see what He truly wants to happen, but in doing things, always remember to choose it carefully think it through.

A good decision will lead to a fortunate turn of events, and a wrong decision will lead to a catastrophic turn of events. But, we cannot deny that there are things that we unconditionally do which is terrible, but as long as we repent and ask for forgiveness, ask for peace of mind and guidance, in which whatever trials and problems faced, you will tend to understand and make it through the situation.

I have been lucky and blessed that despite being addicted to alcohol, I was able to redeem myself through the kindness and will of God and with the help of my family and community.

It was difficult initially, but for almost two years now, I have been controlling myself from drinking, and my perception has changed from being a drunkard to being someone who has a dream for a better future.

In the end, I conquered my addiction and became the person I was

destined to be. Now I am back at school, and I am trying my best to step up my game, graduate, and be someone in the future.

Ending this, I would like to share the most important lesson I learned from this experience “Mistakes can be made, but it is never too late to change. Addiction might be tempting to go along with, but being addicted to alcohol is like losing your life without a cause.”

For Pete I Quit Drinking

Written by Mike Jacobsen.

Hey, I am Malynne. I am a mother of one. I have really amazing son (I would not like to give his name) so let’s call him Pete for now. Pete means the world to me and I would protect him with my life. Pete is the reason I am out of alcohol for good, I mean he is the reason i find joy living each day. Sadly, Pete will grow without a father for now but i always promise myself I would do all I can. So, this is how Pete is such an angel for me.

I am 24 years but shy of roughly of two months I would be turning 25. Pete is a year and half. So, I was a drunkard like I was seriously into alcohol. This was during my first year in university. My dad was a drunkard and would come home wasted then call his favorite daughter (me). We would talk till past my bedtime then he would give some nice change for school the nice. I must say I liked the drunk version of him because he was not violent at all as he was when he was sober. He was strict upright and decisive mostly when he was drunk but would lessen once when drunk. So, to me alcohol looked indulging fun activity. Fast forward to my high school we used to have debates amongst us and people would argue marijuana was a better drug than alcohol and that alcohol was just a destroyer and all. Funny thing is always defended alcohol. But come on! they are all drugs; they are all bad. So, I always defended alcohol because I was accustomed to thinking my Dad was always happy when drunk that’s why he wasn’t harsh. I had a soft spot for alcohol but to that point I hadn’t taken it.

So, first year in college was the worm hole. I am introverted by nature so my first weeks was not pleasant at all. so, I had to find something to get me busy during weekend. see, I was shy to go to the club so I would buy alcohol from liquor store then go to my unit then drink what I could. First time I was really responsible. I just vibe to some Blues as I drunk the bitterness. The first time wasn’t pleasant but I just wanted to reach where my dad was at most times, I saw him. So, hours later I am drank singing my heart out. I Was really happy. So, it was this week I buy. Then two weeks I do the same. In two months, it’s known it’s now a thing. The first weeks I felt dehydrated and hangovers after the ordeal but with weeks I knew how to maneuver such symptoms. I was now a “guru”. I had managed to get a hang of my new “friend”.

I was lowkey a drunkard. Months in started knowing people because we would meet at the liquor store severally. So, one day I got an invite to club. That was really nice, I prepped the whole occasion for days. So, we went and I drunk my all. I told myself “anyways am not paying anything”. Next am at the guys house a sleep. Apparently, I passed out and was taken there. So generous I thought. Now we are friends, we hang out at times but it’s nothing solid like a relationship we are just drink buddies. Moments later we are now a group. Hes an introverted guy so I get introduced to his friends then we later would several times in campus or in the clubs’ spots and boom we are friends now.

So now I have crew. We rock the world. We partied all weekends out. Fun fact is that alcohol never affected my studies. My grades were not as good but I felt I was just doing good. So, me and this guy is getting serious. But we were still afraid of getting in a relationship owing that we were both party goers and it was a norm such people don’t date. To some point I felt empty around this man. Apart from alcohol we had no link. Remember we are months into this addict life. I look like an addict now it was really evident. I had very shaky arms. I could barely reach a month without an injury because I tripped. My lips were all burnt and I could no longer recognize myself. So, after the first year I went home. My mum was in shock seeing how I looked. She might have known what was happening but she looked away and suggested we get to a doctor. The doctor said my body mass index was not check and I should supplement my food and all. He also handed some drug related pamphlet (I never read). So, we are back home and mum is insisting I tell her the truth because clearly, I was not good. My Dad this time was away. I learnt the He was really sick at some point and was undergoing liver treatment on another where my uncle (His brother) resides.

Now I am realizing alcohol is not good as I thought. honestly my life was not messed up per say but it was inches away to that point. Second year starts and am back. I have been on supplements so now I look better. My circle never changed so in a few weeks we are back to that dark era. Now I am craving for alcohol every day. I drink any day I have some time. My “boyfriend” calls it ends with me somewhere in the first month of the semester. I had my own money I could afford cheap liquor so now I am drinking my emotions away. If I get emotional, there I am killing away the emotions with a few shots. The emotional turmoil was really on me. It did not hurt me that he was gone but the providence I got from I could manage on me. I sunk really hard.

When you sink it is basic knowledge that you will need to pull yourself to the status you were. Now I am trying to get back to drink outs and party life. All the time I don’t know the problem was not on the status but my drinking problem was the issue. Now I choose the gold digger life. I would get to club and hangout with anybody as long as he gets to handle my bill. The truth is when someone offers you something cheap or free there is always a catch. Some people would ask for sexual favor but I would turn them down or find a way to dodge them. One time I don’t know what happened but was in some really wild euphoria while hanging out with some guy. I was drunk but conscious that time. When I woke up, I was lying naked in a motel room. I was not sure why I was naked and who brought me there so I wore clothes and went out to ask who brought me in. The lady at the counters says she saw me smiling all the time while booked a room with this guy.

I did not know I was raped at the time. At that time, I felt as if I had abdominal pains because of how I had I slept. I thought I had met I nice guy like my boyfriend. Two weeks later I start feeling nauseated and sickly. Doctor was like “congratulations you are expectant”. Hell no!!I was in no position to afford to be pregnant. He gave me some instructions of what to do and all that pertains pregnancies. All this time I am in awe. I didn’t know what to say. Yes, I might have been violated, but that was two weeks ago! How detached from my body is my nerves? I was really dead inside.

Now I leave the hospital stressed. I need to look for that guy but I can’t really recall who he was. We never exchanged numbers so you might guess how in futile my mission seems to be. A week into searching nothing came up. People would tell me hoes are not victims in such scenario and that the pregnancy was just collateral damage. So, I quit. Went home to my mother. My dad was back.

They really supported me. problem was that this alcohol was going to kill my baby and that wasn’t a joke. I craved for it each time but I would just tell myself I am doing this for my baby. My mother was really excited because I was the only child in the family and I knew she wished to have to raise someone again. Truth Is I never turned out the daughter she wanted which I am sorry. My dad was still in alcohol even after all the medication. It was dawning me alcohol was a real struggle and that people seem happy but in real sense it a tough to break out.

I had withdrawal symptoms. I even had veins come out of my head every time those sessions would start. I was just there with elevated fevers, shaking like some leaf and constantly weak. Good thing I never gave up I would just think about my baby. I knew I would be broken beyond repair if anything happens to him because of my alcoholism. My mother was really supportive at the time. she even rented an apartment for me so that I stay away from my Dads influence. To six months baby is fine. I have no symptoms. We have a pregnant mother’s group which meets twice a week. I have real friends whom we can talk about life and other real discussions. That’s when I realized I have been blinded by this alcohol for some time. Having a good life is not about having the best parties but it is about interactions you make at the time.

My baby is born. Hes a boy! I am happy. I don’t crave alcohol no more It is just me and my son. My mother is completely happy. She will have company when I go back to school. I chose to forget the father because I never counted him as part of my new life anymore.

Fast forward to now. My dad is in rehabilitation. apparently, he made that decision himself. He was really sorry for what happened to me because he would blame himself for it. The guilt was unbearable so he calls it ends with it. He did not want rehabilitation at the first place but it became very hard to manage his condition by himself so he joined some center. I wasn’t happy that he was blaming himself but I was glad he had realized that alcohol was not as good as he had thought. I know he would be a good man after rehabilitation because he chose to go there himself and he also chose to change.

So now am back to school, I am on my third year here. I am back to getting better grades. I now have real friends to study with. To go to charity with. To shop with. I am also part of the mother’s group in the campus. some mothers are single others live with their spouses but it their stories boil down to that their children anchor their lives altogether. Most of them were not raped as I was but we all shared same responsibility. I hope to share my story someday but for now I have no carriage to except for writing it down. Alcohol is not good. It drains life out of you with each sip you take. It has really dire consequences to your health in general. I always tell my friends don’t make alcohol an escaped not even any drug. Focus on real relationships with people when you are sober and nothing is clouding your decision making. Because of Pete I quit .

Absolution from Alcoholism

Written by Reader.

I grew up in a household that discouraged drinking. That same household, however, was a strict, religious environment located in the Bible Belt of the deep south. Me, being a brow-skinned little girl in the rural south, had to deal with many challenges no child should ever face. I had to face down racism, colorism, sexism, isolation, dysfunctional family dynamics, and a cultlike religious community rife with pedophilia. As the traumas piled up, I had become all but completely withdrawn by age 14. Binge-eating comfort food became my sole source of relief. Throughout my later teen years, I tried many healthy ways to heal myself, such as yoga and spirituality. I heavily relied on spirituality to keep me mentally stable, and, by 18, had become completely content with my mission to remove myself from my dysfunctional environment. Due to my parents’ need for control, unfortunately, I was still very much emotionally and financially infantilized, and by age 20, I had begun to abuse marijuana to soothe my anxieties. Around this time, I’d had a handful of friends who liked to get drunk at parties. At first, I was more of a social drinker, and mostly preferred to be sober at events. Then, one time I got drunk at a condo party and haphazardly filmed the whole thing. People were offering me drinks and I was on the floor, high and drunk out of my mind, scrambling away from them. At the time, I thought it was pretty funny that I was sober enough to refuse drinks that were pressured onto me. In retrospect, I had not practiced restraint at all. I was an absolute mess for a while, and it was fun. We were laughing and singing. One guy had climbed onto the kitchen counter and used it as a piano to dance on while I pretended to bang on some keys. I laughed so hard that I fell off of the kitchen stool. We performed DUI tests on each other and cackled wildly at our failures. We cursed our bosses for being politically incorrect. It was a really great time and we all were in a safe enclosed space.

Then, more people arrived, heavily drunk. We asked if they’d gotten an Uber, but they declined, admitting they’d driven. I was very worried because they were not very physically functional. I asked a couple of questions about their state of mind but stopped when they became visibly uncomfortable. I wished them safety but didn’t think much of it. I thought high functioning alcoholics was a common phenomenon. I know those people got home safely, because later in the year, one of them – my coworker – showed up to our job visibly drunk. This was when I realized that the drinking scene in university was much bigger than I’d thought. Of course, I’d seen movies about college students making bold decisions during spring break, or your typical sorority house parties. I hadn’t, however, actually lived them a little until this moment. I continued to make friends who were stoners and alcoholics. At drag shows, movie theaters, even restaurants around my university, there were always people drunk out of their minds. Some, I would see stumbling home all alone. I would ask if they needed to call someone or needed a ride home, and most of them would decline. I still regret leaving some of them alone.

I kept limiting my alcohol consumption to parties. That is, until I studied abroad for a year, all alone. This was a challenging time, as my parents often fought to keep control of me; they insisted I wasn’t ready or responsible enough to live alone, and one family member even took thousands of dollars from my fund that was meant to keep me fed and housed overseas. This led to me completely isolating myself from many group events overseas, save for 3 friends I’d met in the foreign country. Drinking was far more normalized there. I remember one of the very first international student group events I attended was to go barhopping on a Tuesday night. I drank two drinks and woke up with a hangover the next day. I’ll never forget the helpless embarrassment I felt as I vomited into the bushes outside of my dorm after class. Throughout that year, I went through a debilitating adjustment phase and began to drink way more than usual. I am also eternally a lightweight, so I experienced quite a bit of disorientation throughout the year and don’t remember many details. Alcohol seemed to be stronger there. Moreover, alcohol was the easiest thing I could get my hands on, as marijuana was illegal and could get me expelled if I was caught. I drank and smoked hookah very often and did very little to quell my fears about life. This constant struggle within myself to forget while fiercely holding on to my traumas led to me making questionable decisions that negatively impacted my safety.

I put myself in so many dangerous situations. Once was when a stranger invited me to a party about three miles from my dorm. I remember being very cautious around him because he kept bringing me very bitter and very strong beer. He was a little frustrated by my behavior, of course, which led me to wander off and dance on my own. He followed me and tried to touch me any way he wanted on the dance floor. I kept communicating that I didn’t want to be touched, and he scoffed, saying I needed to drink more to lighten up. I just stopped dancing completely and looked at him, realizing he seriously had an issue. He tried to scold me on the dance floor as if I was some child, and I left him. He kept finding me, however, and insisted I stay in areas where he could see me. I kept wandering off anyway. In my tipsy brain, I felt I had a much better chance of getting home safely in a European country than the USA; not to mention, I’d traveled to this country alone, so I knew how to take care of myself. Despite this, I still found myself walking across a dark bridge with this guy and his friend. The guy who’d invited me to the party kept trying to wrap his arm around me, and I kept communicating to him that I didn’t want to be touched. He scowled. That was the moment I realized that I was on a dark bridge between two strong men, borderline drunk. I immediately went into survival mode. I tried to laugh off the situation, saying that if he was cold, he’d better wrap his arm around his friend. They laughed and I began to walk a little faster. Once we reached the well-lit train station, I stated I was going to take the bus home. The men both looked at each other, then at me. Not wanting to hear their response, I walked towards the bus stop. The guy who’d scowled at me insisted he pay for a taxi to get me home. I obliged and stood near a group of other people in an effort to feel safe. When the taxi arrived, I got in alone, and proceeded to lie to the driver about who I was, where I was from, and how many people knew me in the city. I didn’t want to take my chances. That night, I slipped the money the guy used to get me home under his dorm door. He later messaged me, asking why I’d done that, and I told him I owed him and didn’t want him to think that I owed him anything more than the money. The next day, he texted me, saying that he was day drinking and I should join him. I said no. I realized he had an addiction, and I didn’t want to get wrapped up in it. I met that same guy in the mail room of my dorm. I said a brief friendly “hi” because I was running late for class, and he got very upset. He grabbed my arm and demanded to know why I was being so short with him. I snapped. I snatched my arm away from him and told him not to grab me. I stated I had errands to run and a life to live, and that he had no right telling me what I could and couldn’t do. He said “whatever” and walked away. This experience was only one month into the year I would spend overseas. Since it felt way too much like home, I began to isolate myself and engage in self-destructive behaviors even more than I already had.

I’d all but stopped socially drinking altogether, due to anxiety, and would go down to every weekend bar party in the basement of my dorm to have one-euro shots all night. Then I’d stumble into my room and fall into a stupor. When I did hang out with friends at hookah lounges, I’d drink, go to the bathroom to throw up, come back, drink again, repeat. I had stopped caring about my life so much, that I eventually found myself wandering through the streets of Amsterdam at night, alone, high, and drunk, lowkey hoping to be kidnapped and trafficked so I wouldn’t have to return home. Yeah…things got that bad. I had really convinced myself I had a better chance escaping foreign captors and living peacefully off-grid in Europe, than escaping my dark past. I now know that no one can run from the past. I was fortunate enough to get an Uber while my phone was on 1%. I don’t even remember how I got to the bus stop where my Uber would be waiting. I do remember, however, being hopelessly lost, and just telling myself to keep walking. Somewhere between my immense self-loathing and self-victimizing, I found the survival instinct I needed to get home safely. The Uber driver was much younger than me and very kind. We shared music and I felt worthy enough to keep going. I spent the rest of my solo trip in Amsterdam blacked out in my Airbnb. When I look back on these days, I remember how I had made plans to go there and die, but failed. I’m glad I failed.

Shortly before my trip to Amsterdam, I started engaging in weekly therapy sessions with a graduate student who was in training. I knew I needed to take some sort of initiative if I wanted to get better, and therapy was a logical first step. In my very first therapy session, I almost immediately broke down in tears. When she – let’s call her Sabina – asked why, I choked out that I felt so much fear around opening up because I’d always been ridiculed or shamed for my feelings. I was terrified Sabina would use my words against me in an effort to make me feel crazy. She listened and passed me tissues. She told me that she’s known for being a “friend of tears” and praised me for being brave enough to come to her. She assured me it was her occupation to listen. Looking back, I really appreciated her kindness and patience, and knew sessions with her were things I could look forward to every week. As a couple of months went by, however, this feeling would be short-lived.

I was getting closer to my time when I’d inevitably have to return home. Naturally, I was very distraught because home felt hopeless. My drinking increased so much that I’d developed a ritual. I’d make a concoction of creamy whiskey and oat milk, and dip cookies into it each evening. I would experience intense stomach cramps almost every day, and with each menstrual cycle, I would throw up. These feelings and physical symptoms were new to me, but I chalked it up to stressors making me ill. I didn’t realize I contributed to the stressors. When my time to move out was just a month away, I fell into a sort of daze. It was very numbing, but also peaceful. I told myself that this feeling didn’t come from my suicidal ideation. I had felt like I’d finally accepted that I was indeed going home, and, with the tools Sabina gave me, could learn to lead the life I desperately wanted to live. I even remember one of the last entries of my journal I’d brought with me that year, expressing how I was nervous about revealing to my therapist of the suicidal ideation I experienced. But I was determined and proud to admit that I had gotten past those feelings and plans and was ready to take charge of my own life. I wrote that I could trust her with this knowledge now and was ready to let go. Unfortunately…during our last session, something must have gotten lost in translation. She began to look very uncomfortable, and her foot began to tap rapidly. I was nervous but determined to say everything that I had wanted to say to her. Eventually, she cut me off and admitted that my situation was out of her area of expertise. She kept persuading me to check into a psychiatric ward for evaluation and assistance she could not offer. I remember being in a state of shock, unable to find the words to defend myself. The only phrase that kept playing in my mind was “Am I crazy?”. I sat like that until the taxi arrived. She wished me well and said I could always contact her.

That day was very sunny and warm. There was no cloud in sight, and the cherry blossoms were in bloom. I sat, mute, grimly acknowledging all of the beauty around me, but unable to appreciate it. I resented the driver for attempting to make light-hearted conversation when I clearly wasn’t happy. He, of course, couldn’t have known. But he had to because he knew my destination. He said something encouraging that I couldn’t quite translate. Something along the lines of “good luck” and “these moments don’t last forever”. In retrospect, I appreciate his efforts. During evaluation, I was very reserved and vague. I was tired of being misunderstood, so, in English, I stated the details of the session that brought me to where I was with them. I stated I didn’t even know why I was there and acknowledged that my childhood circumstances led to my depression and self-sabotaging behaviors. I was trying to prove to myself that I was mentally healthy enough to manipulate them into not holding me against my will. And my wish was granted. They encouraged me, however, to visit the psych ward often to engage in their wellness program that my insurance qualified me for. I agreed and walked home. Once I got in my dorm room, I crawled into bed and cried the rest of the day. Looking back, I am glad I took the time I needed to forgive Sabina. I understand she was in training and panicked. She wanted to do what she could to ensure my safety because, quite frankly, she admitted she didn’t want me going back home either, and gave me several resources to try to stay in the county. I was still blaming myself for all of my sorrows and didn’t put much effort into staying. I had convinced myself that I needed to grow up and reject my family face-to-face. I stopped drinking, after this therapy session. Consequently, having a few drinks and marijuana on my last day in the country with a friend would contribute to my relapse.

My relationship to alcohol would only grow worse when I would eventually return home. When I came back to the states, I moved in with two family members in a big city. They both came from the same cultlike environment as me, and we were all dealing with our traumas in different ways. One of them – let’s call her Amy – was undeniably an alcoholic, whereas I had vowed to cut back on drinking because it negatively impacted my physical health. Unfortunately, I would be judged as snooty or, surprisingly enough, a psychopathic threat for not wanting to drink as much when we were all hanging out together or attending events. In my youth, I was the most resistant to the dysfunctional dynamics in my family, which caused them to accuse me of being crazy. So, it was no surprise that I would be pinned as an unhinged psychopath when I wouldn’t give in to peer pressure. However, this time was different. I was in desperate need of connection if I wanted to remain alive. Due to that social pressure, I began to drink more and more. Every time we got high together, I drank. Every time we attended an event, I drank. Every time I embarrassed myself with my awkward behavior, I drank. Every time my family members ganged up on me…I drank.

I drank so much and suffered from disorientation, that I even accidentally opened Amy’s beer because I was too drunk to realize I had already drunk my own beer. I remember this mistake vividly because the next day, I apologized to Amy for sipping on her beer. I had thought it was mine, and I promised to buy her another that weekend. I had even shared a funny story of how my dad drank my soda, despite it being open in the fridge, and remembered the betrayal I felt, not to mention the germs we shared. But two days later, Amy blew up on me for drinking her beer because she felt I had passive aggressively blamed her for drinking the rest of her own beer. I was very emotionally distraught because I was actually quite remorseful of drinking her beer, but defending myself was only mocked as me being manipulative. This was when I realized how damaging the impact of addiction had on relationships: I was drunk and careless, which hurt someone I loved; Amy was so reliant on alcohol, that anyone who threatened her supply was seen as an enemy. Once again, I had vowed to stop drinking again, but still occasionally drank in social situations. This restraint, however, didn’t last long. Life both at home and my job was becoming extremely overwhelming. I had begun to drink at work because my supervisor, an alcoholic, would sneak cocktails to me. We worked in a fast-pasted, high-stress environment, and since we both suffered from anxiety, she though alcohol would calm my nerves. Instead of politely refusing these cocktails, I accepted them because I though the drinks were a part of her love language. I couldn’t even comprehend the danger of operating machinery with alcohol in my system. Additionally, I can’t tell you how many times I drove home in big city traffic either tipsy or drunk. One New Year’s Eve night, my supervisor brought out strong spirits from the company storage unit to celebrate with us during the last hour of our shift. I drove to a New Year’s party after work, very tipsy. Later that night, as I was driving home from a hookah lounge, I had to pull over to throw up. Fortunately, I got home in one piece, after swerving on dark back roads. I ended up sleeping on the floor next to my bed, fully clothed. This type of behavior at work led to our general manager storing all alcohol in his office and locking it, which should have been a sign that my supervisor, other coworkers, and I needed help.

Despite all these daunting experiences throughout the years, I didn’t have my true wake-up call until I went to a river floating event with my two family members, and a couple who was a friend of Amy’s. The couple liked to drink too, so as we floated down the river in our inner tubes, we passed around a floating cooler filled with beer and played music. The whole event, which was meant to be relaxing, soon became stressful because the boyfriend was consistently negatively commenting on how drunk his girlfriend was getting. He felt he could handle his beer, but it was obvious he was dreading having to take care of his girlfriend, as if he had done it several times before. It was also obvious that he was very anxious, as he was constantly worried about being arrested. At the time, I didn’t know how to separate others’ issues from my own; therefore, as his anxiety rose, so did mine. I tried to go above and beyond to ensure everyone was comfortable, which only made things worse. Eventually, I became tipsy enough to stop caring, which…isn’t the best mindset to have while floating down a wide river. We kept floating until we happened upon a small island party. There was a DJ, dancing patrons, and LOTS of drinks. We finally landed on the island shore and immediately hit the sand, dancing. I remember being tipsy and not really aware of the state of my family members. One family member – let’s call her Sage – was very tipsy, but coherent enough to keep an eye out on us. She had become fed up with the couple’s antics and decided to distance herself and dance on the other side of the island. She encouraged us to do the same. By then, the boyfriend was very upset we’d decided to dance and have more drinks at the island party. He insisted the cops were going to swim to the island and make several arrests, but we ignored him. He kept berating his now drunk girlfriend and threatened to continue floating down the river if she didn’t come with him. She stayed with us but was visibly disappointed in her boyfriend’s behavior. At this time, I was analyzing how her boyfriend’s anxieties had caused a rift between them; it reminded me of how my own anxiety had impacted my relationships with Amy and Sage. I was sober enough to self-reflect on the island, but tipsy enough to accept unopened cans of beer strangers were offering me. I kept drinking to forget my feelings, which, in hindsight, didn’t work. Soon enough, however, I started to dance and laugh again, even when Sage judged me for my awkward social behavior. This judgement encouraged me to have another can of beer.

Then, a very tall man with a large mysterious bottle danced seductively towards us, offering free waterfalls of his concoction. Amy immediately rushed to him and opened her mouth wide, receiving a big gulp of the man’s drink. If I had been sober enough, I would have noticed that the way she was standing underneath the bottle, with some of the alcohol running down her neck, was a clear sign that she had already reached her limit and definitely did not need any more spirits. The enigmatic man then danced away. Amy became very lively and started talking about how much she loved us. She was stumbling into us and hugging us, saying that she knows she’s not the most communicative of her love for us, but her feelings were true. This was when I realized she was most certainly drunk. She was all over the place, telling us heartfelt things and tripping over her words. Sage noticed this too, so we gathered her and the girlfriend of the couple – let’s call her Renee – back into their inner tubes and resumed our journey down the river to where we parked our cars. The boyfriend was far ahead of us now, and for the rest of our trip, I listened to Renee complain about how she felt abandoned by her impatient boyfriend. She repeated things like “I can’t believe he just left me like he didn’t care,” and “he took my phone, how am I supposed to call him?”. I knew she was speaking from a place of discombobulation, so I just listened. I also held onto her tube so she wouldn’t tip into the water, as she had done earlier in our journey. I was drifting towards the back of the group, when I noticed a small stream of some substance in the water flowing past me. I looked ahead and saw Amy hunched over her innertube, head submerged underwater, as she vomited into the river. The trickles of vomit were ebbing and flowing my way. I freaked out, but realize there is nowhere to run, paddle, or swim. So, I accepted my fate and allowed myself to drift through the massive amounts of vomit. Everyone was silent. Sage, who’s the oldest, was clearly uncomfortable, but immediately took the role of babysitter. She paddled to Amy and lifted her head above water, comforting her as she was sobbing. I don’t remember everything Amy said, but I do recall hearing her berate herself for being irresponsible. “I don’t know why I keep doing this to myself!” she cried aloud, sobbing, and vomiting into the river. She apologized to us for her behavior, and we assured her that she’s forgiven. Once we reached shore, a security guard helped us out of our tubes, complaining about how he was going to have to fish a lot of drunks out of the water due to the island party upstream. Any other day, I would have been offended at such a statement, but this day I hung my head in shame and thanked him. The short walk uphill was long and grueling. Sage and Amy disappeared ahead while I helped Renee carry her things. I let her wear my flipflops because her boyfriend had taken hers with him. Watching her slowly and haphazardly walk up the hill was a triggering learning experience for me. She was behaving very childishly, in a way, very much like I had many times before. She couldn’t really stand on her own or hold her things. At times she would stop and stare into space, which kept me having to consistently nudge and gently encourage her. She was still groaning about her boyfriend. By the time I reached the top of the hill, Amy was passed out, face down in the grass. She had fallen chest-first into an ant bed between a fence and the back of our car. I gave Renee’s items back to her, who was spacing out on a bench while getting chewed out by her sobered boyfriend and return to help Amy into the car. I didn’t even notice she wasn’t moving at first, and quickly rolled her over, to fortunately find she was still breathing. We cleaned her up and put her in the back seat. Since Sage is somewhat sober, she becomes the designated driver, and I provided support because…I suppose two tipsy heads are better than one? While Amy is in the backseat, I take the passengers.

Travelling home wasn’t very nice. We were driving about 60mph, when Amy opened the back door, without a seatbelt on, and began to hurl. I remember the extreme terror I felt as I jumped through the small crack between the seats and wrapped my arms around her waist. I was holding onto her for dear life. With her body hanging halfway out of the car, she kept yelling at me to let her go, insisting that she’d be fine. I held her the entire 30min journey home. We had to stop a few times at green lights, too afraid to drive because Amy was trying to wriggle free of my grasp quite a bit. I kept attempting to strap her in without hurting her waist and nothing was working. Lots of angry drivers beeped at us, and Sage put on her hazard lights, motioning for them to go around. When we finally got home, I helped Amy into the house, cleaned up as much sand, dirt, and vomit as I could, and cried in my bed as Amy cried into her toilet, in the room next to me. I haven’t been drunk since.

For the next year, I still drank 1-2 drinks at parties. I’d purposely drive myself to these parties and concerts, so I’d have the responsibility of getting myself home safely. By this time, I had moved out on my own and spent several months away from my dysfunctional family members and relationships. This was a challenging, but good goal I had finally reached, because it helped me to raise my self-esteem. I was in the real world now; a world where I could earn a decent life for myself, thus proving that I cared about myself in the right circumstances. I lost several friends over time as I tried to sober up. The less I drank and smoke, the more people with addictive genetics drifted away from me. I made an effort to not take these separations personally, as I understand what it means to suffer from addiction. It’s a lonely journey in a massive group of people who only pay attention to you when you can support their fix. It’s convincing yourself that you can numb your pain with substances that only make your pain louder. It’s experiencing physical ailments that you know how to remedy but can’t figure out if you even deserve to try. It’s a brutal killer of relationships that makes your actions personal and not personal at the same time. It makes you forget who you are, and worst of all, it keeps you from remembering that you’re worthy of receiving help. We deserve a chance to thrive in life, even if our addictions have hurt those we love, including ourselves. It’s not our fault that our life’s circumstances led us down this dark path; this isn’t the only path we can take.

I stopped drinking altogether 6 months ago. I can’t describe how much I don’t enjoy the feeling of not being in control of my body anymore. My mood and attitude towards life has improved trifold. I also don’t suffer from menstrual cramps that arise from alcohol consumption anymore, which is a big plus. Energy drinks are my new party drinks, but even now, I have one energy drink a week, if even that. Nowadays, I rely on occasional sativa gummies and herb-based energy capsules to get my “fix”. I know I still have a ways to go, and I am miles ahead of where I started.

We are not hopeless cases. We are everyday people who need the right conditions to grow. We need relief from the circumstances that we had no control over in our past. We need self-acceptance, self-love, and healthy ways of channeling and processing anger. We need things that bring us peace, and these things must not be the cause of our demise. I am not saying that this journey is easy, just that it is obtainable. I was given many chances to try again, and I am very grateful for that. You can try again too.

My Experience With Alcoholism

Written by Reader.

It started when I was 19 years old. My friend was a bartender and often sneaked me into her job. I requested for her to make me a Bloody Mary because I liked the name.To be honest, till this day I don’t even know what it contains. All I remember was thinking about my Grandfather

who died before I was even born from a drunk driving accident. His car went over the bridge and my father said when he went to see him at the funeral his cheek bones looked like they had been caved in. That isn’t going to be me is what I said to myself.

I started drinking real heavily at the age of 22. I only went to bars alone and bought entire bottles of liquor which I always drank in one sitting. I didn’t think anything of it. I’ll never forget going to a Japanese restaurant and ordering a large bottle of Sake that serves 5-8 people and drinking it all to myself. The waitress put her hand on my shoulder and asked me if I was okay. I wanted to say no but I was already gone and just laughed it off. Most of my friends smoked marijuana so I convinced myself this was my way of winding down. I kept this routine going for years…

Then I would plug my headphones in and walk the cold streets of New York until 2 am. I thought I was Rick Deckard or something, I walked around in a trench coat with my collar popped up and spoke to no one. I strongly attached myself to the identity of the rebel loner but in reality, I was extremely depressed looking for someone to save me. I was miserable but I didn’t really know why.

During my time in community college I met a group of misfits that I meshed perfectly well with. We always had a bottle of Svedka in the lounge room and I would suck that thing down like it was a baby bottle. You see, I could never focus on my school work if I was high. But being drunk and writing a paper was a walk in the park which gave me more of an excuse to drink. At this point my tolerance was high so when the liquor ran out I would send one of the guys to grab me a beer from the 7-Eleven across the street.

It started getting bad when I started to invite the violence and recklessness. Me and my friend would always pre-game with a bottle of whiskey no matter where we were going. After getting extremely hammered we proceeded to take the train into the city. Walking in a straight line was nearly impossible. It’s a miracle I’ve never fallen onto the train track. We’d always piss at the end of the station since we thought no one could see us there. But this is New York, there was always someone there. I remember urinating on the platform, I looked back and a woman grabbed her daughter by the hand and yanked her away from us and was cursing up a storm. But I didn’t care. We laughed since we thought “we were showing them”.

The emotional and physical numbness would set in and that’s when I would ask my friend to punch me in the face. In the beginning he would always laugh it off and call me a weirdo. Now that I look back I think that he was pretending not to enjoy it as he was a little bit of a sadist. He always punched me in the same spot. My right cheek bone would quickly blacken and I’d wear it like a badge of honor. I’d come to work the next day, people would ask me what happened and I would laugh and tell them the truth. They’d laugh and call me crazy which is actually not the reaction that I was hoping for. I wanted them to ask me if I was okay, if I needed to speak to

someone etc. But nobody did. That’s when I felt even worse for thinking that someone else was going to come and solve my problems for me. How selfish and ridiculous does that sound? So what was my solution? I decided to drink some more and not tell anybody about it.

The worst it’s ever gotten during my college days was when I first played with the idea of ending it all. One night I got so drunk I walked to the Manhattan bridge off of Canal st. I played with the idea of jumping off. I remember looking at the water and freaking out that it looked black to me. I wanted to jump off but I wanted to survive. I had a million thoughts going through my head at

that moment. I was angry at everyone and everything. I became obsessed with questioning my purpose in life. Then I texted my friend and wrote “What does this all even mean?”. No response. Of course not, it was 3 am after all. The next morning when I woke up I saw a stream of messages from people I haven’t spoken to in a while. Exes, acquaintances. I was a drowning man grasping for straws. When I sobered up the idea scared me, but not enough. I kept drinking, even more.

Me and my college buddy eventually lost contact. I used to think that he was probably the only person who could keep up with me. But in hindsight, we were actually having a competition and trying to out drink each other. I was sad that he’d gone away because I wanted a partner but I decided that if I’m going to do this, I’m doing it alone. But what exactly did I agree to do?

Author Kurt Vonnegut once mentioned that smoking cigarettes was an elegant way of killing yourself. So that’s exactly what I decided to do. I was too scared to jump off a bridge, swallow pills or pick up a gun. So I decided that I would secretly do this and see where it would take me.

I liked the idea of inflicting pain on myself. I’ll admit that some of it came from a sense of bravado and testing my threshold. But a lot of it was also trying to make myself feel something. So I decided to get extremely drunk one night and look for a fight. I walked the streets of Manhattan looking for someone that looked at me the wrong way. I specifically walked past bars because if I got into a scuffle I wanted the other person to be accused of being drunk also. Am not going to drown myself alone now am I? Anyways, the night progressed and in a sea of people I was more invisible than I ever felt in my life. It was almost like the universe could sense that I was craving for attention, so everyone ignored me. I was trying too hard, and in the end I got nothing. So I went home.

I found a greek neighborhood very far from where I lived and nobody knew me. II could start a new identity and kill myself as much as I wanted there without embarrassing myself and seeing a family member. The owner of this one bar really liked me and started offering me free drinks every time I came. Mistake. Poor guy didn’t know he was only ushering me into my demise. I had a street dog mentality and attached myself to where I knew I would get attention.

I kept coming back over and over to the bar and that’s when I discovered the second Identity. I don’t suffer from multiple personality disorder or anything like that. But that’s when I began to acknowledge that there’s a duality in me. The drunk version of me, is the person who I’ve always wanted to be. Highly social, affable, loving and extremely generous. It’s what was labeled “The real me”. It was a warm, comforting nest that I could hide behind. It was almost a

super power. I ended up meeting people that I would never have the courage to talk to, saying all the things I’ve wanted to say to friends. I thought I was doing the right thing by being transparent…but in reality I was being extremely vicious.

My father got diagnosed with Lymphoma, and although I never had a good relationship with him it destroyed my soul. My father had a pretty good sense that he was going to die. He was always strong as an Ox, and I’ve never seen him get sick. Hearing him say that he was going to die angered me because he sounded like he didn’t have any will to fight. I think my grandfather’s depression got passed on to him and then on to his kids. My father’s vice was never alcohol though, it was cigarettes and my sister opiates.

He died within eight months which caused my sister to use even more and me to chase after the bottle. Even though you know someone is going to die it still hurts when it happens. I didn’t cry at the funeral, I saved that for when I was alone and when I would slip into my second personality. When I was drunk all I could think of was the way they had sown his mouth shut for the funeral and how much it didn’t look like him.

One night I decided to drink as much as I could and see if I could hear his voice. I went to my usual spot and drank more than the norm. I could barely walk straight and my vision was hazy. I sat down to take a break and when I looked up I could have sworn I saw my father crossing the street, looking at me. I burst into tears and just layed there on the sidewalk for a few hours. I don’t know what happened that night, but this is the night I decided that I’ve had enough.

I can talk endlessly about what awoke me and everything that helped me get off alcohol but It’s never just ONE thing. I started to take exercise seriously and took up journaling. I learned various meditation techniques and attended spiritual classes. I stopped consuming porn for an entire year and refrained from self pleasuring. And even though I felt like nobody was listening, I prayed. But then once it looks like things are going well, life decides to punch you in the mouth again.

Eventually my sister passed away from chronic usage and life truly didn’t make sense to me anymore. I was already on a road to recovery when this happened and I could have easily slipped back to my comfort zone. But I stayed focused on the path and remembered to use the tools that I’ve picked up.

This is a process that took years for me by taking incremental steps. There was a lot of meaningless spite I was holding on to and in return I got to live with the regret. I realized the consequences of leaving things unresolved with the people you love. More importantly I realized how finite our life is. What’s left of my family is me and my mother, she’s part of my purpose to keep going. I started taking spirituality even more seriously and learned how to meditate deeper, disassociating myself from my urges and thoughts.

I often think about my sister and imagine how we both could have helped each other out with our vices. I think she felt the same things I did and we could have put an end to this weird cycle

that preceded my father. The continuous mantra that I’m chatting to myself is that it ends with me.

It’s a continuous process, you never stop recovering. You don’t just reach the top of the hill and say “that’s it.” You keep going. Everyday. Remember how terrible you felt, how you let everyone down. It will fuel you.