This is a reader story. We believe in providing our readers with a space for them to share their story however they see fit. The thoughts and views expressed are that of the author and should be treated as such. If you wish to share your own stories please see here for more information.
How could I know, I was just a kid and there were just bits of memories scrambled around the floor he would throw up all over every time he had to take care of me or when he would stay the night out just to escape that responsibility. Maybe I would be able to tell someone, I wasn’t so little anymore, but how could I? I almost bit off and swallowed my own tongue because he was too drunk and I just wanted to swing too high. It was a good idea for both of us. A little creature with a little dumb brain and a big creature with little to no responsibility for their own child. And it’s not that I don’t remember much, I remember the smell of alcohol so vividly, maybe because it would follow me where ever I would move to next.
Years passed and my parents divorced. You could say that alcohol is a great stain remover, especially when it comes to removing love from a family, parents from a child, normality from a life. I moved with my mom to her parent’s house, countryside, a beautiful, peaceful small village full of nature and ready to nurture me into a new, better life. Little did I know, it would fill my life up like a cup of fresh, homemade alcohol. Little did I know making that booze would be a priority every time my grandparents would have to take care of me. My mom was working mad hours and traveled every day to the city for work, and I never blamed her, she couldn’t know, she couldn’t help, my tongue stayed bitten and everyone was always tied. I guess that’s what alcohol did to them.
The whole village was full of old alcoholics who were more than happy to come over to our house, not once, but a couple of times a day, to get a drink or two, to mumble some words that I could never put together or believe their stories were true, but then everything became physical and I understood better. And I started becoming bitter. My grandfather would hit me, sike, he even tried to crash his car into my mom’s when I was inside, but “he was just a bit drunk” they said. “It’s not a big deal, “everyone gets drunk sometimes” they said. And if he hits you again “don’t tell anyone”, that’s what grandma used to say. The truth was, he wasn’t just a bit drunk, he was an untreated alcoholic for decades, it was a big deal, everyone would get drunk all the time, and the first time I told someone it backfired on me hard. So hard that “don’t tell anyone” stuck with me for the rest of my life.
My father would call or visit sometimes, never sober, sometimes just to get more drunk before he leaves for his amazing and fun life without me. He was finally free. But he would call less and less often, he would visit on holidays or my birthdays, in the end, he wouldn’t visit at all. Sometimes he would come over for a free drink or to take away something he bought for me as a gift so he can sell it and pay his alcohol and gambling bills. At that point, it didn’t miss him. But that smell would always remain in my room longer than he ever would.
I had my first drink on my 8th birthday. It sounds crazy looking back to it now, but at that moment I was almost honored to be offered a real, hard liquor. They would give me beer foam back when I was a baby when I didn’t even walk, but this…this was a real thing now. “I’m an adult now”, I thought to myself. I’m valid, I’m as scary, as real, as serious as them. I still remember the burning sensation in my throat and heart, I was sure I was setting myself on fire but then I really felt it. After only one small cup, I felt in my heart, body in mind. I felt drunk. I didn’t know that was it at the time, but there was plenty of time for me to find that out. Over and over again.
A couple of years later my grandpa got drunk enough to beat our dog because she barked at pigeons. By that time I knew what was coming, I was in her place numerous times. He would scream, threaten, yell and hit me for the dumbest of reasons. He wouldn’t like that I’m listening to music on my laptop, he wouldn’t want me to invite other kids from school over, he wouldn’t like anything about anyone, and what’s the better chance to let our your frustrations and anger than onto other people. I wasn’t his only victim, but I was only a child, I was scared if I tell someone social services would take me away from my mom, even tho she was a victim herself, fighting and giving her best to protect us all the time. Back to that day when he beat up my dog, the day that changed the course of my life forever, the day that the door to my future addictions started to open.
My mom and I moved to the city she worked in a couple of weeks later. I was 12 at the moment and moving to the second biggest city in the country from a small village was a huge change for me. I remember the first two years being on autopilot, I went to the new school where I had big trouble socializing, I experienced a street robbery, a couple of sexual assaults, and lots of lots bullying from kids in the school. Overall, I wasn’t in the best place mentally and I couldn’t find the way to cope with all the feelings I had. I didn’t want to be a burden to my mother, I didn’t have reliable friends or anyone I could share my experiences with. But then I met this one girl who was equally rejected as I was and we just kinda started spending all our time together, outside and in school.
My 14th birthday came around and we decided to buy some beers and a pack of cigarettes to celebrate. It was just the two of us and our first time doing any of those things, but it was far from the last. We got drunk after only 2 beers and tried to smoke the whole pack of cigarettes in one night, resulting in both of us having awful headaches and being borderline hangover. But something was different. My mind was quiet for that period of time, there were no bad thoughts, no intrusive thoughts, nothing. My mind felt calm after years and years of storms. My trauma was small, and all it took to make me feel better was a pack of cigs and a couple of beers. Little did I know it would take much more to feed the oncoming addiction that was on its way to get me. Little did I know a couple of beers don’t go for a long run and my sobriety is running away like it’s competing on Olympics. But that’s another possible win to celebrate, right? Right?
In the next year, I enrolled in art high school, it had a bad reputation in terms of drugs and alcohol abuse among the students but it was the only thing I wanted to pursue as a career so my mom just let it be. She still trusted me, I was hiding everything so well. At that point I was smoking every day, secretly, drinking occasionally, well, almost every day after I met some older kids from school on the summer break before the school year even started. That was the summer when I first got very drunk. It was the first time I felt completely free and happy in years. It was like I was a careless child again. It was like taking back my innocence from the world, owning it again. Only to find it get shattered times and times more later on. The amount of time people would take all kinds of advantages from a young, drunk person is scary. They were able to use me as a friend, as a lover, as a person, and my mind was so clouded I could never realize what really was going on. All that first-born happiness and freedom shapeshifted into guilt, hiding, and temporary bliss of being unaware, of fast forgetting, and not caring.
The next couple of years, aka my high school years, were pretty much defined by addictions, starting with alcohol. Most of the kids I hang out with were drinking, and it would be tons and tons of alcohol every weekend. None of us would buy food in school with pocket money but would save for alcohol on weekends, some would even steal money from their parents or drinks directly from the store. Looking back at it, we didn’t realize how dangerous some situations were. One of the girls I was very close with and always drank together would feed a lot of my mental health issues such as self-harm or reckless behavior, especially when we get drunk. We would smash empty bottles of wine and cut each other, at the time I didn’t feel anything, I was drunk most of the time and became numb, and on top of everything I trusted her.
Other types of substance abuse were slowly getting into our friend group but alcohol was still the main source of so-called “fun”. As deeper everyone’s addictions would get I would see people around me, young people, basically still kids, get into situations such as suicide attempts, accidents that could have lethal consequences, getting arrested. Everyone’s lives were slowly getting ruined and what scared me the most is the sense of control I thought I had over my life. That I wouldn’t end up like them, that I don’t have a real problem, that I know how to keep my addiction secret. At that point it hit me. If I wasn’t addicted I wouldn’t have a secret to hide. Guilt was growing, I was growing older and so was my tolerance level. It would take me much more alcohol and other drugs to give me the same thrill I had when it all started but it seemed like that same thrill will never be reached again, no matter how much I take, I couldn’t catch it. Slowly I was starting to fade away as a person and became more of just a shell of who I was, and that shell was filled with rage, anger, and all the disgusting things addiction brings. My mom tried taking me to therapy along the way but I lied my way out of it, everyone thought I was doing great, no one could notice how deep in it all I was, except for me, and I couldn’t help myself by myself. Until that one day came.
I was out with some friends that day, they got some wine I didn’t know was spiked with some opioids/pills. I drank some and started to feel like I’m completely losing control of my body. Like it wasn’t mine anymore. And it wasn’t, I felt like a mixture of all those disgusting alcoholics that walked thru my life. For the first time it hit me, I was running away from them so desperately I made a full circle, I became just like them, just like what I hated the most. My mind was there trying to keep me alive, but they left me in some abandoned building and at that moment I was sure I’m gonna die. I spent a couple of hours trying to make myself get up and get some water and try to bring myself to the bus station and go home. For a 10 minute walk, I would usually take to get to the bus stop it took me around an hour, I was falling on the ground after every 3 steps I would take. There was no one who would or could help me, people were just staring when passing me by and I felt so miserable I couldn’t bring myself to ever look myself in the mirror. What once was all fun and games now seemed like the end of a road, but I just couldn’t bring my legs to walk to the actual road. Somehow I got into the bus, got home, and passed out in bed for the next 16 hours. For me, it was the last straw or better say, the last sip that broke my own back.
I was around 17 at the time and decided to get clean, I stopped drinking for years, the only problem is I was reaching for other drugs such as weed and amphetamines. I felt sober but being sober from alcohol is one thing, being completely sober is something entirely different.
Not long after all that mess, I got into a relationship with someone who was a spitting picture of all my alcoholic abusers and bruised my vision enough to stick with them for the 2 years of reliving all the alcohol, substance abuse, and relationship trauma over and over again. I couldn’t leave, the scenery was so familiar, so familiar it almost felt safe. But it was so far from that. I didn’t know until then, love was an ultimate addiction that can keep you from battling any other one, just in order to keep your dealer, your love provider around. But no one told me even your most beloved and trusted dealers can screw you over, leaving you in cold turkey, all by yourself. The Source of your addiction is now cut, you’re split in half as well and left as a ruin. The only step I could’ve taken from that bottom was one up. And I did.
Since the beginning of 2020. I’m clean. I built a loving and healthy relationship with a partner who supported me thru all my struggles, as with addictions so with my mental and overall health. I lost many friends due to choosing sobriety over them, but in fact, I choose life. I choose to live. And not to give up.
Addiction in teenagers and youth is a very common issue, especially in areas like the one where I live, such as underdeveloped or third world countries, in many different groups or subcultures, even in places that seem completely normal to everyone. It can happen to anyone, anywhere, anytime. What’s important is being able to notice the issue on time and reach for help or if you notice it in someone else reach out and offer help. There is hope for everyone, and it’s never too late. Especially for young people with a tough past, trust me, it can get better, it does get better, it just takes as much effort to build yourself up again as it took the life to bring you down.
I hope for everyone going thru a similar situation to find a way out before it’s too late or before they find themselves in life situations like mine. Staying sober can be challenging and progress is never a straight line, but that doesn’t mean it’s impossible, it just makes you stronger and gives you more space and time to grow and work on yourself. It puts you another perspective on life and it gives you a chance to make a change in this world by setting a positive exam with your experience and will.
Leave a Reply