All love stories have an ending, either because the love has faded, was dysfunctional, or because of death. My love story with alcohol ended because it hurt too much. My breakup happened on a day in early September, 19 years ago. Coincidentally, September is also National Recovery Awareness Month!
Back then didn’t think I had it in me to quit drinking. It was like a bad relationship I just couldn’t get out of. Eventually I was able to escape, but not overnight. I had to become aware of my problem, hit rock bottom, and then understand that there was hope and help.
MY LOVE STORY
I started drinking at a very young age. Why? I don’t really know. I had a loving family that treated me with love and respect; I have no tragic story, and no one in the near family but me drank. I was extremely shy, self-conscious and fearful. I grew up without a mother, and some therapists have told me that may have contributed to the issue. But, for me, the “whys” don’t really matter anymore. The fact is alcohol provided extreme relief from the pressures of life. My lover, the bottle, helped me get over my shyness, social anxiety and self-hatred. It made me feel whole and happy, at least while I was drunk. It took away my loneliness and kept me company.
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