I didn’t drink because I needed to.
To quell the desire to hide wasn’t gifted me to at birth, rather built over years of fighting to be heard by an imagined foe.
Foes hidden all around me, waiting for me to beat them into submission with my intellect and wit.
Wit that eluded me at the core, as I eluded myself into thinking I was winning a non-existant battle which was so important to me.
More important than the living and breathing entities around me, who were actual not fictional in my dramatic mind.
I didn’t mind the fight because as a girl we were supposed to be strong and outspoken, tipping a few with the boys defined us, with each glass I became increasingly worthy.
Worthy of myself…
I didn’t drink because there was no other choice; the years of watching others around me get lost in the syrupy-brain changer may have laid a foundation but they didn’t force me to tip those drinks to my lips.
My teeth, with their light purple film weren’t like that at birth…it took hours of bonding with fermenting grapes, hours of “hilarity” and imagined importance.
Importance mattered, like the breath within my body it was a life force without which I was nothing….
Nothing could be taken from me, I reached out my long, hard talons and clutched this hollow life I was creating with the talons that pierced me.
Pierced my soul, overshadowing the light of my God. Overshadowing my birth-right of identity, descending past my own recognition…
Descension into the haze of numbness where I chose to be, that choice which once felt like no choice began as a choice.
The choice to become something that is nothing, to stash myself behind the empty facade of what I’d made.
The facade whose cracks formed over time, the wine flowing through.
Through until inside the facade my heart bled the booze, screaming to get the hell out.
Out into the sunshine, onto the road where I could just be.
Something I didn’t know; something that may be nothing but it would be quieter out there away from the self depravation within.
Within the darkness of hiding within oneself there was a point where I turned.
Turned to myself and hated the ashen, crusty exterior which had once looked so glossy.
Looks being deceiving, trickery at its best….Turning me from myself as I was meant to be.
Being brave in that black cave of a moment the decision was made, self-hatred found to be insignificant next to the possibility of living.
Living as God has expected, designed and blessed me with….
With God I raged, I fought , I cried and bucked at the work I had to do…and I lost….
Lost that battle but turned to myself, feeling the cold realization that I was worthy of fighting for, not against.
Fighting to breathe unaided, to smile when I meant it and to weep as I felt.
Feeling as if it were natural for the first time in years, years where abandonment of my soul was a given.
Given a new life, learning and loving, frightened and shaking in my boots I took the first step on shaky feet.
One foot in front of the other, God-supported, family-nurtured I’ve arrived.
Arrived here staring alcoholism in the face within this 24 hours of sobriety where Sober doesn’t Suck!
Join the newsletter
Subscribe to get our latest content by email.