Alcoholism is just a sneaky deceitful bitch that will break you down completely in what feels like a second, but was actually the last decade of your life.
2012: “I am happy now, yes, but I am also sad and confused and still searching. I can’t tell you that, typing this, I am completely okay with my sobriety or that it is always easy. It is never easy; on the contrary, sometimes it is the most difficult thing I have ever had to do. But it is better than going back to the self-destruction that I set out to accomplish before. It is better than drinking.”
— It’s always better than drinking.
2021: I relapsed on December 12th and spent that whole week drinking mercilessly. I became a monster, screaming in the faces of people I loved, almost physically aggressive at one point. Cops were called multiple times over domestic altercations. Everything I’d been storing up in the ol’ resentment jar labeled ‘Mom’ got thrown in her face. [I’ll write about that in the future – my behavior was so shameful that thinking about it makes me actively want to hurt myself, and self-harm has never been an issue for me. For now, I’ll just say I’m lucky she didn’t hit me or call the police on me herself. Had I been her, I would’ve done both of those things, in that order, because I deserved them.]
I am terrified of who I became that week.
Terrified of a next time and who I’ll be then.
Terrified I’ll destroy myself and the people that I love and the little else that I love and have left as of this writing.
Terrified of myself.
I too am not a bit tamed—I too am untranslatable 