sj999

Hi all -

Been awhile since I've posted on the forums. I started seeing an incredible therapist (mainly began for depression, working on many other issues, but he happens to specialize in addiction treatment as well). I also drank again in early June and had several occasions of moderate drinking, but within just a couple of weeks found my drinking escalating a bit and then 3 weeks in drank so much one night that I wound up in the ER the next day to get fluids/nausea meds via IV because I was so sick that I couldn't keep anything down on my own for hours and hours (which was a pattern of mine/common occurrence in my past). So after speaking with him at my next session after that, he made it pretty clear that I can't drink safely and this is definitely the end. I think when I quit in January I was of the mindset that I might make an attempt to moderately drink in a year or so under the supervision of a therapist, and I'm actually a little bit glad I tried that sooner rather than later because I was able to get a lot of clarity going through this experience and talking about it with my therapist. Anyway, in the interest of closure, I wrote a goodbye letter to alcohol tonight that I would like to share here. (And currently 6 days sober again - had hit 148 before I drank again in early June.)


Dear Alcohol,

I know this last year has been rocky, and we haven’t been as close as we were in the past, but I think that’s because you and I both knew our relationship was slowly coming to a close. I met you shortly after my 18th birthday and now, a decade later as I approach my 28th, it seems a fitting time to say goodbye.

I tried to leave you in January, but I think I knew it wouldn’t be for good just yet. Were it not for you, I would never have been as close to many of my friends from college and beyond. We wouldn’t have shared so many adventures, nor been as vulnerable with one another. It likely would’ve taken me far longer to ever kiss, hook up with, or have sex with anyone. You fueled what little relationship experience I’ve had. You made me popular (albeit not with the right people) and bridged the gulf I felt between myself and others. You let me relax, removed my anxiety and inhibitions, and gave me permission to do nothing for days at a time because I didn’t think that was allowed unless it was to recover from something. You dissolved my shyness, made me extroverted, loud, bubbly - someone I wanted to be, but simply wasn’t without you.

But now I want to be me. And frankly, I’m not entirely sure what that means and it’s frightening. You were a great comfort at times, and I will miss that. I will miss you when I’m around others imbibing, and I watch them go on a journey together that I can no longer join. But I won’t miss acting like someone I’m not, losing stretches of precious time to blackouts and hangovers, the ER visits, or vomiting until I’ve expelled all of the bile in my stomach just to dry heave for hours until I’m able to keep down a single drop of fluid. I won’t miss knowing that I’ve compromised my ability to reach my full potential or behaved in ways that I’m ashamed of. I won’t miss binging again because of you when I’ve resolved to stop for the hundredth time. I won’t miss losing beautiful days, rainy days, or any days at all. You are one of many forces that have prevented me from being present, and I can’t willingly allow those in my life anymore.

Most of all, I won’t miss the depression.

It took me a long time to figure it out, and for some reason even once I did I stayed loyal to you for several more years. You have the incredible power to singlehandedly bring me back to the most frightening place I’ve ever been. I’ve gone there plenty of times without your help, but you have been such an insidious accomplice to the cruelest disease I can imagine. Overnight you’ve pulled me from places of relative happiness to ones where I question whether I even want to be alive, and while you may or may not have been able to kill me on your own, I suspect you could’ve eventually tricked me into doing the job for you. And for that, **** you.

Sometimes I wish I’d never met you. But suffering breeds compassion, and I do believe I’m now able to understand a subset of people I might not have otherwise. So although I never want you in my life again, I am grateful for what you’ve taught me. I doubt this was your intention, but indirectly you’ve made me more understanding, more forgiving, and given me the potential to be a far better clinician than I might have been otherwise. And so it is with very mixed feelings, but very strong conviction, that I part ways with you for good.

Goodbye,
XXXXXXX