Updated: Jul 3
“Good morning sweetie pie” she said as I placed my morning six pack of Yuengling on the counter at my local 7-Eleven. I don’t know if it was the anticipation of that early morning drink, the cold sweat slipping down my back, or the slight shakes from withdrawals, but I desperately needed a drink. My ritual since becoming unemployed…grab the beer and scan the Indeed job listings while waiting for my buzz to kick in. That was the highlight of my morning— plus a few OxyContin’s, topped off with a cigarette. By noon, I had graduated to Tito’s vodka & Red Bull before finishing the night with a bottle of Pino Noir and a few Xanax. No one chooses to become an addict, but that is where I found myself in the fall of 2016.
How it Started: It was the 80’s. I remember the party—when I got drunk for the first time—like it was yesterday. I remember the friend I kissed that night, and what she said prior to my passing out. “You aren’t happy, are you?” That was the understatement of the night. I felt as if I were dying inside. Having suffered with depression since middle school, drinking allowed me an escape from hopelessness, sadness, and the sense that something was wrong with me. Somewhere deep I was broken and I didn’t know how to fix it.
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